13

Her hands up in the air, the shotgun against her back, Ann Shepard stepped off the curb. She stumbled slightly. Roger caught her arm with his good hand. The Outlaw behind him cruelly jabbed him with the barrel of an M-14 rifle, sending the curly-haired teenager sprawling in the street. Roger grimaced with pain as he fell on his rag-wrapped right arm. Blood stained the cloth. The Outlaws stood over him, their weapons pointed at him, until he stood and walked again.

The Outlaws, one in a chromed Nazi helmet, the other sporting a bandage on his face and a stubble of beard, pushed the teenager and pregnant woman across the shady street. In addition to the weapons, that the bikers pointed at Ann and Roger, they carried shotguns slung over their backs. They wore pistol belts. Bandoliers crossed their jacket's insignia of flaming skull: "Forever Outlaws."

A block behind them, several houses smoked and crackled. Outlaws stood on the sidewalk, assault rifles and shotguns ready. They could care less if the entire island ignited into flame. From time to time, they fired at a movement or shadow in the side yards. They had contingency plans for major fire. They thought they had contingency plans for everything.

As fast as the pregnant woman could walk, the Outlaws marched their prisoners the length of the block, leaving Avalon's residential area. At Crescent Street, the Outlaws prodded them down toward the Casino.

Tourists usually crowded Crescent on Sundays. Only steps from the sand, its shops and hotels viewed the boats moored in Avalon Bay. But today, the warm wind stirring the palms carried smoke and ash. Today, broken plate glass and litter from the looted shops covered the deserted street and walkways.

The Outlaws on motorcycles cruised past the bikers escorting the prisoners; they slowed. Not looking back as the Outlaws U-turned, the biker with his face bandaged shoved the pregnant woman: "The hotel!"

They herded their prisoners through the doorway. A few steps behind the bikers, the Outlaws on motorcycles jumped the curb, stepped on their kickstands and dismounted.

"It's a party!"

"Forget that. Any woman with a belly that big's only good for head."

"Take what you want," the Outlaw laughed, "and I'll take mine."

Only seconds behind their buddies, they walked into the hotel's lobby. But there was no one there. They heard feet running up the stairs.

"Hey, us too!" The Outlaws ran up the stairs after the others.

The fire door to the second floor slowly swung closed. They whipped it open and saw Outlaw jackets enter one of the rooms. Laughing, they ran after the other bikers. One of the Outlaws called out, "Second on her!" The other laughed, shouted, "First on the boy!"

Pushing open the door, they saw the curly-haired teenager, the pregnant woman, and the Outlaw in the chromed helmet all pointing weapons at them.

As the two Outlaws stumbled astounded back, a hidden hand put a Colt Lawman to the head of the second Outlaw, spraying his brains onto the hotel room's wall. The other Outlaw fell backwards over the body, tried to crawl, looked up to see the Colt and a 12-gauge muzzle pointing at his face. He rolled onto his back and put his hands up, pleaded: "I give up, you got me, please don't please don't don't..."

The Colt's flash slammed his head back. Glen Shepard dragged the messy bodies into the room and closed the door. He stripped off the dead men's jackets, no filthier for all the new gore than they were before. He threw the larger to his wife, the smaller to Roger.

"Welcome to the Outlaws."