It was just before nine and the Blades were crouching at the perimeter of the Horsemen’s compound outside of Buckeye. There were at least eighty bikes arrayed on a concrete pad in front of the large building. This was the first time he’d seen the Chrome Horsemen’s clubhouse, and it was ugly as shit. Plopped in the center of a large dirt lot backing up to a canal, it was just as Quinn described it. A prefab industrial building with large windows on the front, painted black. The Chrome Horsemen colors, a demon riding a stylized motorcycle with a bloody horsehead mounted between the handlebars, was painted on the center window. It had no class, no style and no redeeming features other than it was it was in the middle of nowhere, so there was little danger of getting caught by the police. On the other hand, with the van parked at the nearest business, but still a half-mile away, there was no way they would be able to make it back to the van if things went badly.
Phil finished snipping open the chain link fence that surrounded the Horsemen’s compound, then tucked one handle of the twelve-inch bolt cutters under his belt to make sure he didn’t forget and leave them behind.
“Can you make the shot?” Phil whispered. There was at least one guard outside, but the dumbass was standing close to the building and in the light. With his night vision destroyed, there was no way he could see them crouching in the darkness, even if they were less than twenty-five yards away.
“No problem,” Gage said, nocking an arrow. As Berk and Phil pulled the fence back to give him a clear line of fire, Gage drew the arrow back and let fly. They heard nothing other than the soft woof as the arrow left the bow, but the man dropped like a sack of potatoes, the arrow sticking out of his chest were his heart would be.
“Nice shot!” Arsen whispered, pumping his fist in triumph. He didn’t know Gage had a bow, and he damn sure didn’t know he was as capable as he was. There was no way he could have a guaranteed kill shot at that range with a pistol, and the noise would probably would have brought the Horsemen on the run anyway.
Gage picked up another arrow, and let it fly, followed by five of its brothers. All six found their mark, puncturing the fuel tanks on the parked motorcycles. While they waited for the fuel to drain, Gage taped a nine-volt battery to his bow. He nocked another arrow and drew it back, then waited.
“Jeff!” a man called, stepping around corner on the opposite side of the building. “Do you smell gas?”
Gage fired. The shot was at least fifty yards, more than double the distance of the previous shot, but his aim was just as deadly.
“Remind me not to piss you off,” Phil whispered, grinning at Gage.
“You better do it in case they come out to see what that asshole was shouting about,” Berk suggested.
Gage looked to Arsen who nodded. He picked up another arrow, this one specially modified with a wad of 0000 steel wool affixed to the end. He nocked it, and as he pulled it back, the wool contacted the battery. Almost instantly the wool glowed red hot and then burst into flame. Gage aimed high and let the arrow fly in a high arc, the air passing over the wool as it flew fanning the flames. It painted a bright yellow path through the night sky before dropping into the middle of the bikes.
Nothing happened for a moment, then they saw flames licking up from the spilled gasoline. “Bummer,” Berk hissed. “I wanted to see an explosion like in the movies.”
Gage carefully placed his bow aside and drew his weapon. It was about to get real. It took a surprisingly long time before the Horsemen realized their bikes were on fire, but there was plenty of fuel to keep the fire burning until they did. As the tires and seats caught, the fire began to grow, thick clouds of dark smoke billowing into the air.
“The bikes are on fire!” a Horseman yelled after opening the door, ducking back inside and reappearing a moment later with a fire extinguisher, the rest of the club rushing out behind him. The Blades waited a moment to see if more men appeared.
“Do it,” Arsen said, as he opened up. With so many men standing together as they whipped at their bikes with jacket and blankets, the Blades couldn’t miss. Their suppressed pistols popped, sounding like loud claps or a nail gun, but the effects were no less devastating. There were several women standing back, watching the men fight the fire, then die, but by unspoken agreement, they weren’t targeted.
The muffled sounds from their weapons made the Horsemen slow to respond to the threat, so they stayed focused on fighting the fire. They didn’t realize they were being cut down until more than a third of their brothers were hit. Arsen dropped the magazine out of his Glock and slammed a new one in, racked the gun, and continued to fire, his brothers doing the same. The women dashed for the clubhouse, and several Horsemen made an attempt to follow. One by one they fell before they made it to shelter. When nobody was left standing, Gage holstered his weapon and nocked a regular arrow. He shot it through the front window. Three more, the last of his supply, followed, the last one finally knocking a big enough hole in the glass for a fire arrow to pass through.
He nocked the three remaining fire arrows and fired them through the broken window in quick succession but nothing appeared to happen. “I didn’t think that would work,” he said as he rose. It was time for the Blades to retreat.
As they were trotting back to their van they heard a muffled thump behind them. They slowed to a stop then turned to see the night sky lighting up. “There’s my explosion,” Berk chuckled.
They began to run again. “I wonder if that was a bike or the club house?” Zane panted.
“Probably a bike,” Phil gasped, struggling to keep up. He’d already given Berk the bolt cutters, but he was still lagging. “I doubt—” he was cut off when a much bigger thump lit the night all around them a moment before they felt a breath of hot air pass over them.
“Holy, shit!” Berk panted. “Now I’m glad I wasn’t there to see it!”
“We need to hump it, brothers!” Arsen called as he put on a turn of speed.
They reached the van, legs burning and out of breath. Zane ran around to the driver’s side, piling into the van and starting it as the rest of the brother crawled in. “Move your fat ass, Phil!” Arsen cried, waving the last brother into the van.
The van was already rolling as Phil jumped through the side door, Berk slamming it shut behind him as Zane floored the accelerator. “I’m so fucking out of shape,” Phil gasped, lying on his back in the back of the van.
Arsen checked the time on his phone. “We have two hours to make a two-and-a-half hour drive.”
As the van squealed out onto Highway 85 heading south, Zane planted his right foot against the floor. They might not make it, but it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.