The Sacrifice
Copyright John Mathewson
(Gyppo’s fiction pen-name.)
The moon hung blood-red in a sullen and lowering sky. The shadows of the roadside trees held the inky blackness of death.
A bat flitted across the sky as somewhere distant thunder rolled heavily.
In the red glow of the moon the wet road was a river of blood, slick and shiny.
Then, crashing through the darkness came four outlaw bikers. Fierce lights stabbing the sleeping countryside, hell-fire flames bellowing from short open exhausts, their Colours streaming in stinking rags, scraggy beards blown back from the hard wind-whipped planes of their shade-wrapped faces,
Four mechanical Horsemen of the Apocalypse, shivering timid souls as they crashed through a slumbering village. A baby cried and a policeman was glad. Glad he was off duty.
Sometimes in line astern, sometimes four abreast, they bellowed and snarled down the red river of the road, calling and shouting to each other.
But, as the miles mounted, their shouting jocularity and happy obscenities faded.
Almost without realising it at first each of them found himself looking down at the long bundle strapped to the tank before him. They knew they were tough, truly hard men, but what they planned made even them feel nervous. There was not one who wouldn’t have turned back if the others had shown any sign of weakness.
But on they rode, hard faces hiding their thoughts.
Riding the red road to a Meeting.
A Meeting such as none of them had never known.
A Meeting which filled their minds with unfamiliar dread, and time after time drew their reluctant eyes back towards the long bundles they all carried.
Oilskin wrappings preserved the contents, keeping them free from wind, rain, and the accumulated road filth of many miles. For whatever else happened the bundles must not be lost.
=====
Then as they came down off the plain and entered the town they rode more slowly, their snorting mounts seeming as choked by the slow progress as they were. But they couldn’t risk attracting The Law.
Not now. Not at a time like this.
Turning up a side road they found the house they sought. A place they’d never expected to visit again. They parked their bikes, hot and oily-smelling from the long journey, in a narrow passageway alongside.
With slow reluctance they un-strapped the bundles and stood, holding them awkwardly, as the eldest of them took a deep breath and knocked on the side door.
An old woman let them in, saying nothing, but the shock in her eyes told them all they needed to know.
She led them up a dimly lit staircase, the threadbare carpet doing little to muffle the thud of eight heavy boots and the clink of one loose kick-starter plate. She showed them their room, and after promising them an Eight O’Clock call left them to get what sleep they could under the circumstances.
=====
At Eight-Fifteen the eldest of the four looked across at the other three, his face schooled into a hard mask, hiding his thoughts, rejecting his reluctance.
“Time to start.” He said flatly.
An open razor gleamed faintly in the grey light of the morning.
=====
The pretty young girl in the white dress, her face radiant as she held the hand of the man alongside, turned and saw the four men stood towards the back of the building. Her bright eyes widening with shock and disbelief she nearly crushed the hand she had been holding so tenderly.
Faces still tingling with the unaccustomed lack of hair, feeling naked without their wrap-around shades, and thoroughly ill at ease in the hired suits, they smiled, uncertainly at first. Smiles widening they moved forward in a mutually supportive phalanx.
“Don’t look so surprised…” The eldest said gruffly. “Even bad-ass outlaws can make a sacrifice for their kid sister’s wedding.”
===