Transformation (19 page)

What he saw was that bitch Rachael going slowly by and she was flipping him off. She was smiling too. And driving the car? It wasn’t Everet. It was that prick Cooper. The guy who’d messed up everything. He killed Willow (in Ben’s mind) and beat him up in front of the coven (his real crime, worse than killing Willow in Ben’s mind).

Ben wasn’t panicked anymore. He was murderous. He stopped fighting the strap and simply released it. He dragged himself through the grass and several yards away as the car burned. He lay in the cool grass and groused. Now he had to walk and find another vehicle. He’d lost track of Willow’s pills, his booze, all of it.

Were they following me?
He wondered.
They just drove on past and left me to burn!
The more he thought about it the more pissed off he got. Now he had a motivation to energize him. He was going to catch those two and burn them alive.

21.

Bright blurry colors flashed by and hurt his eyes. The world was moving and making Ron sick to the stomach. He lifted his head, rubbed his face, and looked around. Francis was driving and he was going fast. They seemed to be on the 5 and heading north. Where they were, Ron hadn’t a clue.

Weed smiled when Ron opened his eyes.

“Hey brother man, I thought you might be dead.”

Ron rubbed his head in an attempt to wake himself up. He was still half drunk and mostly high. At least now he was mostly coherent. Mostly.

“Where are we?” He was looking out the window then turned towards Weed as the more important question came to mind. “And why are we here?”

“Almost to my old stomping ground. A little longer and we’ll be there,” Weed said cryptically with a smile. “Man you are going to hate where we are going, I apologize for that in advance, but it can’t be helped. You agreed.”

“Where are we going?” Ron felt a little more sober.

“You ever heard of SWORD?” Weed said the acronym with a big ass smile on his face. He was waiting for his black brother man to turn white.

“Why are you taking me there?” Ron’s stomach dropped. He tried the door handle in desperation.

“Ah relax man. We’re going 95. You can’t tuck and roll out of this one,” Weed smiled at the drugged up spade scared out of his wits.
Fucking eyes are as big as dinner plates
. He thought as he goosed the accelerator for Ron’s benefit.

“Supreme White Order of Resistance and Defense. Now that’s a fucking mouthful huh?” Weed laughed. He lit up another giant blunt took a drag and offered it to Ron. “If you don’t mind, try not to Bogart the thing with them lips,” Weed chuckled.

Ron waved him off and turned to look out the window. His options for escape were few. All he could hope for was to jump from the car when it was going slow enough.

“Suit yourself, but I think you are going to need this.” Weed took a long hard pull and held it. After a moment, he exhaled long and slow. “You sure? Last one I got.”

“Why are you doing this? Why drive all this way?” Ron still couldn’t wrap his head around this way of thinking. He still couldn’t believe what was happening, partly because he was still pretty drunk.

“Told you. It’s an adventure. You ever been on a white power compound?” Weed chuckled. “I’m assuming no. No worries, I’ll show you around. Give you a personal tour.”

The reality of Ron’s situation was starting to set in as they barreled northward. He watched old Francis sucking the life out of that blunt of his and smiling at his thoughts. Ron watched that smile and broke out into an ice cold sweat. He felt like puking and missed Donna more than ever.

After about twenty minutes, Ron saw a sign. They were south of Stockton. He must’ve been out for hours. Weed showed no signs of slowing down. But all of a sudden, the old man lifted his foot from the accelerator and the car dropped its speed. Ron was waiting to jump out at the first opportunity. He was still high and grateful for it. He didn’t think jumping from a moving car was going to feel good.

Even if he managed to leap from the car, not critically injure or kill himself, he would still have nowhere to run. The highway had been clear since he awoke, no cars or trucks for miles and no buildings. The 5 was pretty isolated so it made sense that it would be so empty, but Ron had never seen it like this. Not one car. He was worried that any escape over the flat expanse would end with a bullet in his back.

Francis veered off the highway just before they reached Stockton, crossed over the shoulder and onto a dirt road running parallel to it. He barely slowed down at all. He flew down the road and soon it veered away from the 5 heading east. He never let up on the accelerator until he came to a T intersection in the middle of nowhere. He seemed to be coming to a complete stop, apparently to read the small signs stuck in the dirt at the side of the road. Ron was ready to move fast.

“Just another mile or two.” Weed said. And being savvy in the art of abductions and being abducted, he knew just what Ron was thinking. He put his hand on Ron’s forearm and held it tight as he stopped the car.

“Son, I need you to listen to me. You need to listen close or you will die.”

As Weed took a right turn and sped up, Ron listened and what he heard blew his mind and frightened him beyond belief. He never thought he would ever be in a situation where he would have preferred to be back at the Home Depot swinging from the end of Banjo’s rope.

For miles the two drove in silence along the road that entered the foothills of Stanislaus National Forest. They were rapidly entering a heavily wooded area, only a few dilapidated houses broke the monotony of the trip. Eventually the road turned to packed dirt and Weed slowed even further. Ron had no idea where he was and wondered if Weed did. But the man seemed to know where he was going.

Suddenly they came upon a gate that spanned the road. It was topped with razor wire and covered with a handful of warning signs. Weed stopped, cut the engine, and turned to Ron.

“Remember what I said. And don’t worry, they’re probably not even here.” Weed fully expected that the place would be a ghost town but couldn’t help himself. He was fucking with the poor guy, partly for his own fun—well mostly for his own fun, but also because he knew the distraction would do the man some good.

Ron just shook his head, his mouth dry.

Weed got out, keeping his gun trained on Ron the entire time. He figured the cameras in the trees weren’t working but knew that if these crazy bastards were alive they would never leave their front door unguarded, even during an apocalypse.

Weed stood in front of the gate, Ron to his right and in front of him. He looked at the dirt at his feet, freshly disturbed it seemed. He noticed the heavy lock on the gate. It looked new. He wasn’t a tracker and couldn’t tell if anyone had been here recently but decided he should leave. He’d assumed there would be no one home, let himself believe it to be a fact, but now that he was here and faced with the prospect of facing these extremist with a black feller as his plus one he was getting nervous.

He looked around at the trees ready to walk away but before he could take a step a voice rang out. Weed cursed himself.
No way to go but forward now
, he thought.
Turning around at this point will just fetch me a bullet in the back
.

“Who are you?” A voice echoed from the trees.

Weed yelled out. “I’m here to see Odin.”

There was a silence that stretched on for several moments.

Ron turned slightly to Francis. “Why are you doing this?”

Weed hit Ron in the head with his gun, but only lightly. “Shut up man and don’t fucking talk to me again or we will both die.” Then he whispered. “You don’t remember?”

Ron was pouring with sweat. He wanted to run but since he came too in a speeding car he hadn’t the chance. Now he was in a situation where he would get shot if he took a step sideways. He was certain he was going to die. His only hope was to cooperate although it was a very, very slight hope.

Weed knew what was happening. While Odin was being informed of his presence, most of what men remained in the compound spread out and scouted the area for a possible ambush. These men were the definition of paranoid and all Weed could do was wait. After a few minutes, he heard the voice again.

“Odin’s dead!”

“Odin can not be killed brother. Odin is forever.” That’s what Weed remembered Acid said the passcode was. Odin wasn’t a person but a position in the organization.

“What do you know of Odin?”

Weed grimaced. “Ah fuck son, I’m a one per-center. I’ll put the piece down if I know you got my spade covered. I can’t have him running off on me.”

Weed placed his gun on the road at his feet, the old fart routine in full effect.
Best these assholes underestimate me.

A hard eyed man, dressed from head to toe in camouflage, walked from around a tree just a few yards from the gate. He pulled the big lock and chain towards him and opened the lock. He pulled the chain out and opened the gate. He waved them in. Although the man was unarmed Weed knew there were probably a dozen rifles aimed at his head at the moment.

Both Ron and Weed were frisked. Ron got a less gentle once over. When the man spotted Weed’s tats, especially the giant swastika on his neck, he seemed to relax. He even rubbed it to make sure it was real and grunted an apology. Weed grunted his acceptance back.

The man took Weed’s gun, knife, and even his belt buckle. “You.” He pointed at Weed. “Walk with me. Tell the spook to walk ahead of us.”

Weed nodded. Ron walked forward.

“Why’d you bring the monkey?”

Weed was waiting for the questions. He knew the name Odin would protect him and whoever was with him for at least a space but his black friend would throw them off. They would have to ask questions.

“Not for the conversation, I tell you that!” Weed laughed.

The man grunted begrudgingly.

Weed dropped his voice and spoke flatly for effect.

“Sorry man that’s for Odin to hear.”

The three men walked in silence for almost twenty minutes. Every so often Weed caught a glimpse of a figure moving parallel to them in the trees.
Silly bastards,
he thought as he smirked.

Another gate. This one wide open and rusty. From the thick weeds growing at its base it had been open for years. Weed noticed that it was severely bent as if rammed open by a vehicle.

In a short distance they arrived at a large old farmhouse that was obviously abandoned. It had no doors or windows and was riddled with bullet holes. It had been on fire at some point in the distant past. Half the roof was collapsed and blackened beams stuck out like giant burnt matchsticks.

Around and behind the house there were two cinderblock buildings and a few canvas tents. Only a few men milled about. Three men departed the trees, one was middle aged and the other two were younger and probably in their early twenties. Weed took it all in and was busy tallying up in his head. He pegged Odin right away, a young man with black hair parted to one side and dressed in brown khakis waiting by the door of the larger cinderblock building. A large Nazi flag hung above the doorway and covered the second and third floors. Weed had never been here, but Acid was always dealing with the Nazis. They had guns, explosives, and a huge weed farm in the bordering state park. They’d even cooked meth for a while in the past.

Weed had no problem with these folks in the past. He was of the same mind about most matters, but now . . . now it just all seemed like bullshit the state of the world being what it was. All bets were off. Even a bunch of pissed off, fucked up, hardheaded bikers could see the logic of dropping all pretense of the ways things were. He was expecting these men to still behave according to their ideology, but seeing it in action was just ridiculous. It pissed Weed off.
How can one get sufficiently fucked up with armed men about
. Weed asked himself.

“That’s close enough.” Odin walked forward.

Ron was grateful the young man ignored him. He didn’t want to be looked at with those dead eyes. He looked as his feet and prayed to God for a quick death. He didn’t think he was going to make it and didn’t know if he even wanted to anymore. With Donna gone, the world was nothing but pain.

Weed met the young man half way and stopped. Ron was a few yards behind him. Every man on the compound gathered round, just as Weed had hoped. He counted a total of sixteen including their fuehrer. About two thirds looked to be under thirty and only a few looked like they had any serious military or law enforcement training.

“Outlaw?”

Weed smirked. “Don’t see no law around no more. Guess everybody’s an outlaw now.”

The young man didn’t smile, didn’t blink. “We maintain law here.”

Weed chuckled at the boy.

“You think our cause is funny? The saving of the human race?”

“Nah.” Weed smiled and locked eyes and folded his arms in a casual stance. He’d totally underestimated the degree to which the young man would take all this shit seriously. In his mind, he was addressing a young man, a child relative to Weed, with a handful of crazies. In the kid’s mind he was the Odin, the leader and savior of the white race.

“Why are you here?”

Because I want your fucking weed!
Weed thought. He eyeballed the kid. He thought of his stash. He took note of the three larger men who ringed him in. Apparently he took too long to answer as one of them lightly prodded him with the butt of his rifle.

“Answer Odin, race traitor.”

Weed turned with a sneer. He gave the man a glare that clearly conveyed what he thought of the man’s actions and what he would love to do to him.

“Look can we drop all this bullshit and talk like adults?”

Weed’s realized his comment clearly illustrated his lack of respect for these men. What they were doing was a joke to him. Weed tried to change tactics. He looked down and changed his tone.