Chapter: The Road Back

Erik half listened to the radio chatter as their convoy ran across the compound. They passed through the snake-like entranceway of barriers, weaving in and out until they bounced onto what the locals called roads.

The trucks picked up speed and started to head out of the city.

They would be skirting the area that they referred to as shanty town before circling Camp D and coming back in another direction to try to keep the locals unsure of where they were.

Erik and the others looked outside of the Bronco as they raced through the streets, the lead Bronco using its horn to warn others away. They left the better areas of the city and moved through the shanty area.

Here, places were packed together, butting up against one another. Rusted metals, reclaimed wood, and plastics were used to create some kind of shelter for people to live in. Fires burned here and there as people looked out from the shadows, wearing all different kinds of clothing that they’d pieced together—much like their homes.

The turrets of the three trucks were all facing different directions, looking for threats as they rolled through.

Erik shifted his shoulders, adjusting his vest, and checked his rifle between his legs, pointed down at the ground.

They went over a large bump. Erik reached for the bar on the ceiling. “Fucking Christ there, Honcho!”

“Me no specken des Deutsch,” Honcho, their Swiss driver, said with a grin on his face.

Dillon snickered as Erik shook his head.

“I know you can speak German, you Swiss fuck.” Erik punched him in the shoulder.

“Well, be better to have a Bronco with some culture in it, not just you American fuckers,” Honcho said.

“Hey, we’re cultured,” Rugrat yelled from above.

"Yogurt it more culltured than you!" Dillon said.

"Look at the brains on this one!" Rugrat sounded geuninely impressed byt the retort.

“You wear a European bathing suit and a cowboy hat around the base!” Honcho yelled back as they hit another bump.

“Whoa, got me all tingly with that one,” Erik said.

“I nearly fell out of my fucking swing!” Rugrat yelled from above hammering on the ceiling.

“Explains a few things,” Dillon laughed.

“Come here and let me kick you, you small fuck!”

“You’re all gefickt,” Honcho said as they swerved to follow the fucked-up road.

“You know what I hate? Those who can’t understand other cultures and traditions, and the Swiss,” Rugrat yelled from above.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Honcho yelled back.

“Shh! That’s about the smartest thing his inbred mind can come up with—too much and he might just explode!” Dillon warned, being rewarded with a kick. “What was that for?”

“I dunno. Couldn’t really hear it all but felt that you were saying something stupid,” Rugrat said.

“Fuck, looks like he’s a mind reader,” Erik said to Honcho.

“Mind reader? I think he’s just marginally less brain dead than the rest of you.” Honcho flashed a brilliant white smile as they continued on their South African massage tour.

They left the shanty area; it took some time before they got to Camp D.

“Who the fuck named these places? Nothing cool like Alpha or Delta, just fucking D, like the dickhead who named them,” Dillon said, getting a bit stir-crazy in the Bronco as they moved past the camp’s security.

“Sounds like you’d be at home here,” Erik said noncommittally, only paying half attention to Dillon’s bitching.

“Wouldn’t mind getting a vacation from you fuckers,” Dillon said as they weaved through a security checkpoint with machine guns looking outwards.

“Come on, admit it, you love having us around!” Rugrat yelled as they cleared the check point, entering the main area of the camp.

“I can tell you with complete faith that the government lied in saying that you don’t need a hockey helmet to go to work. Wait! Is that why you joined the army? They even gave you a free helmet!” Dillon asked, as if the stars had finally aligned and he’d gained a new truth.

“Marines fuck boy!” Rugrat looked down the turret hole and yelled at Dillon.

“You were a marine fuck boy?” Dillon asked slowly, a puzzled look on his face.

Rugrat started to swing his size-fourteen boot around.

“The children are fighting again, dear,” Honcho said to Erik.

“Eh, one less kid,” Erik said.

“Car two, this is three. Rugrat, will you stop kicking Dillon? Over,” Rossy said.

“Car three, this is two. Currently having gladiator test for favorite child. Over,” Erik replied without missing a beat.

“Car two, this is three. Understood. Five bucks on Dillon. Out.”

Dillon and Rugrat’s fighting died down. Dillon smiled while Rugrat’s sand-stained face showed signs of a smile under his shemagh covering the lower half of his face.

“Looks like I won’t be able to tell the wife I’ve lost one now.” Erik sighed.

“You married, Doc?”

“Three times. Fourth one’s somewhere in Thailand,” Erik said.

“But you’re not married yet,” Dillon said, confused.

“Never will be again,” Erik said.

Dillon looked at him in confusion.

“He likes lady boys!” Rugrat said.

Erik hit Rugrat in the leg.

“Ah shit, right on the nerve, my legs numb!” Rugrat complained.

Dillon snorted shaking his head.

The trucks had been to Camp D many times before and made it through the factory-turned-compound easily. They reached the larger reinforced building that was the headquarters of the camp. Bronco one and two moved in front of the Benz that was resting there; the third Bronco boxed them in from the rear.

“Thailand, woo-hoo!” Dillon said.

“Thought you lived in Colorado?” Rugrat asked.

“Thought you were into women, not lady-boys,” Honcho said.

“Well you know, go for a little dip in Thailand, enough pay and they can all be my wives!” Erik said as the Bronco came to a stop. He heard the others snorting and laughing as he unlocked the door. He got out of the Bronco and scanned the area as he rested the barrel of his rifle in the crook of his elbow.

The trucks continued to run as everyone dismounted, looking around and stretching out the kinks.

“Fuck, Honcho—you wanna calm down that Swiss massage? There wasn’t even a happy ending,” Dillon said. Even as he stretched, he kept his rifle at the ready.

They milled around, talking to the others in the different trucks. Rossy had a talk with the driver of the Benz before he headed to Erik.

“So, diagnosis?” Erik asked.

“Brain fucking dead. This shmuck probably tongue punches his boss’s fartbox every morning,” Rossy said in a low voice. “The Benz is up-armored, but he seems to care more about getting to the compound in time for a dinner appointment than about being safe. Idiot looked up the fastest route from here to the compound, trying to argue with me that we need to take that way.”

“I’ve got a cure for that.” Erik tapped his rifle.

Rossy grinned, his eyebrows relaxing.

There was a commotion at the front of the headquarters to the camp, a bunch of suits and powerful-looking people smiling and laughing with one another.

Rossy flipped on his throat microphone. “Everyone get ready to mount up. Package is on the move.”

The driver got out of his Benz that was running to open the door for his boss.

“See you in camp,” Erik said to Rossy. The two of them separated and moved to their trucks.

“It’s pizza night, wouldn’t miss it!” Rossy shot back. They got mounted up. Dillon took the turret this time, with Rugrat behind Erik.

The suit entered his Benz, and the driver rushed to his door.

“Bronco Two, this is Bronco One, you’ve got the lead, take us home. Over,” Rossy said.

“Bronco One this is Bronco Two. Understood. Out.”

The lead Bronco moved off. The second was starting to move when the Benz spun its tires, pushing to get in front of them.

“Silver Dragon, this is Bronco three. Your position is third in formation! Over!” Rossy barked.

“We don’t have time to wait around!” the driver said, not listening to radio procedure.

Rossy talked on a side channel. “Trucks, keep that fucker boxed in—can’t trust him.”

Honcho turned his truck, cutting off the Benz idiot.

“Why couldn’t we put one of our people in there again?” Rugrat asked.

“Fucking Union or some shit,” Dillon said.

“Ain’t no fucking Unions around here,” Honcho said.

“Still some dumb motherfuckers,” Erik grumbled, shifting his shoulders and armor.

The Benz driver tried to get ahead a few more times but to no avail.

They exited the camp as Rossy kept berating the driver to stop pissing about like an idiot.

Erik looked at the Benz. The idiot was just making everyone’s job harder.

The Benz calmed down after seeing that there was no way for them to get ahead. They rode through the rough landscape, it wasn’t long before the road that was empty on both sides started to fill up with burnt out cars, craters and pitted roads with a shanty town on either side. They looked out for threats as they rushed past.

The roads started to get more complicated as they had to weave down streets, not slowing their speed any as they even forced some cars out of the way, charging forward. They’d rather do the insurance pay out than get stuck.

People seemed to be watching them from every angle.

Erik gripped his rifle tighter as they continued on their path.