//------------------------------// // July 2 1969 Califoalnia // Story: Luna Angels // by anarchywolf18 //------------------------------// The early morning commute of downtown Pinto Creek was shattered that day, when the resident pool hall erupted into flames with a thunderous explosion. The nearby pedestrians quickly cleared away from the scene and watched in horror as only three survivors stumbled out through the flaming door. The dogs who escaped quickly patted out any flames that clung to their clothes. One in particular had to stop, drop and roll to put out his flaming shoulder. Flames bellowed from the doorway, as the door shattered under the massive foot that kicked it down. Out walked a stallion, far taller than and muscular than any one of the diamond dogs who fled. He reached to the back of his belt and drew a .45 pistol, aiming it directly at the diamond dogs. Nothing was seen on his face, for the bandana he wore. All that was revealed were his eyes, filled with murderous fury. "You Diamond Dogs think just by pissing on a fire hydrant makes it your territory!? Fuck that! You pissed on the wrong block, pooch!" the masked stallion shouted. The dogs stood frozen to the spot, anticipating the pull of the trigger. One of the diamond dogs spat on the ground and glared at the stallion. “You ain’t got nothin’ on us, dog meat! Long as there’s all these witnesses around, you won’t dare shoot. An’ we can keep ‘pissing’ where we damn well please! These dogs don’t lie down!” the dog said. The masked stallion growled quietly, stepping deliberately toward the dog and placing the barrel of his gun against his head. “You ain’t dogs. You’re cockroaches. And cockroaches get squashed,” the stallion said. An ear-splitting bang resounded across the block, and the civilians scattered as the diamond dog’s blood sprayed the pavement. Before the other two diamond dogs could run, they were stopped by the stallion shooting a bullet between them. They turned, and saw the stallion holster his gun. “Tell the rest of your bullshit MC that this is your first and last warning. Now, get the hell out of here!” the stallion said. The diamond dogs ran for their bikes and the stallion watched them go. In the distance, he could hear sirens approaching. Quickly the stallion holstered the gun, the heat of it searing through his jeans. Nearby, he could see the lime green pickup truck that had delivered him to the bar. He sprinted directly over and laid flat in the truck’s bed. Shortly after the ride began, the stallion removed his bandana, smiling wickedly. This was his town. And nobody was going to change that. Somewhere in the Califoalnia Desert, Big Mac had set up his camp, using nothing but his motorcycle and a tarp as a makeshift tent. Sleep was not easy for Big Mac to come by. His time on the night patrol had kept his body restless, and his mind on constant alert. Whenever morning came, he never felt completely rested. But, he knew the way to remedy that. Taking a handful of small, dry twigs that he had collected that morning, Big Mac made himself a small, almost smokeless fire to heat up water for a cup of coffee. He filled his small pan with water from his canteen and heated it over the fire. As he waited for the water to boil, he took a bite of the jerky he bought from the gas station the day before. From his jacket pocket, he produced a package of Applewood cigarettes. His smoking ritual always began the same. Before ever lighting the cigarette, he pinched off the filter and tossed it into the fire. As he watched the filter smolder and curl, he hovered one end of his cigarette into the flames and spoke the words from his platoon sergeant that had stuck with him. "War...they say it changes people. But, they're wrong. War doesn't change anyone. It just shows what we are underneath." Big Mac never knew what he meant until he had gone back home to Sweet Apple Acres. The first thing he got when he returned home was a spit in the eye and being called a baby killer from one of his sister's friends. After that incident Big Mac slowly realized that he couldn’t live his old life. The first person that realized it too was Granny Smith. She could see that whenever Big Mac looked at her that he was never really looking at her. His mind was always somewhere else to some terrible memory of his time in the war. The day that he left home, his two younger sisters were in tears. "Why are ya leavin’ us, Mac?" "Is it ‘cause o’ my friend?" Big Mac said nothing. For a long time, he had wondered why he had not answered them before he left. After so long, he knew it was because he had no answer. Every day since, he regretted turning his back and saying, “Blame Uncle Sugar an’ his bullshit ideals.” The ash of the stale cigarette fell onto Big Mac jeans, bringing him back to the present. After he dusted off his pants, Big Mac mixed the instant coffee with the boiled water, using a piece of jerky as a spoon to stir. Big Mac gulped down his coffee like it was cold water, tasting bits of uncooked coffee and specks of the jerky seasoning. Once he was finished with the last bit of jerky he had on him, he stood up, stomped out his fire and went to his motorcycle to check the tires and anything else that might cause trouble down the road. Once Big Mac was finished checking his bike, he grabbed his gear and rode towards southward, past a large, green road sign that read ‘Pinto Creek 20 miles.’ A boisterous commotion rose from the old farmhouse on the west border of Pinto Creek. In the nearby barn, a stallion was fixing his motorcycle, when he heard the approach of multiple motors from somewhere beyond the wall of junked cars. Seconds later, he saw the familiar bikes of King, Thor and Coastie cruise up and park their bikes in the row with all of the others. The three new arrivals casually walked into the club house, relishing the smell of cigarette smoke, freshly poured beer, and the loud blast of the Neanderthals record that was playing from somewhere in the living room. Most welcome of all was the sight of Honey Sweet dancing topless on the table in the middle of the room and shaking everything her momma gave her. “Hey! Look who’s back!” shouted somebody in the room. Everyone in the room cheered at the sight of their returned friends. Honey jumped off the table and danced her way over to King. “Sorry, Honey. Not this time. We got business to take care of,” King said, gently refusing Honey’s advances. Honey briefly feigned hurt, then started windmilling her hair around just as another track started to play. King, Thor and Coastie walked their way through the room, collecting the cold beers that were offered to them. They walked all the way to the corner where they knew they would find Goth. True to his nature, there he was. Tall, broad-chested and skinny-legged, as if he only worked the upper half of his body his entire life. His messily tattooed arms moved with artistic deliberation as he painted wildflowers and psychedelic patterns on the naked breasts another one of the mares present. “Y’know, babe, you got a great figure,” Goth said, as he stroked his brush beneath the mare’s breasts. The mare giggled in response. “I read somewhere that the greatest minds were always wrapped in a pretty package. How ‘bout we get together later for a bit of a poetry jam? Explore one another for a little bit?” Goth said. “Mayhem told me you already tried that line on her,” the mare said. “Then again...I wouldn’t say no to a little jam session.” Before Goth could answer, he noticed the arrival of the three returning members. “Guys! When did you get back?” he asked. “Just now,” King answered. “Have you seen Sun Dance around?” “No. That means he’s probably upstairs. Getting his own piece of ‘heaven,’” Goth said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to keep my attention on this curvaceous beauty.” King nodded briefly and walked toward the stairs. “You two stick around and get reacquainted with the guys. I’ll go see Sun Dance,” he said to Thor and Coastie. “No problems there, man,” Coastie said, as he took a joint that was offered by another mare, took a hit and shotgunned the smoke back to the mare. Thor and Coastie made themselves comfortable while King trotted up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, there were only four rooms. And King knew exactly which one Sun Dance was in. He followed the sounds of moaning and opened the second door on his right. The room was filled with the usual kegs of Red Coyote beer and One Shot whiskey. As usual, there was Sun Dance, pants down and legs splayed as Heavenly Touch worked her magic. In one hand he had his usual cigarillo. In the other, his usual glass of whiskey. The moment that Sun Dance noticed King in the room, he gently patted the back of the mare’s head. “Aw...Heaven. Sorry, babe. I got business to handle now,” Sun Dance said. Heaven stood up and smiled, before straightening herself out. “King. Nice seein’ you back,” Heaven said. “Likewise,” was all King said, as he watched Heaven go. Much as he admired Heaven, he knew that she only had eyes for Sun Dance. A zip of a fly signalled to King that he could turn around. “Welcome home, King. The other’s come back with you?” Sun Dance said, as he buckled his belt. “Yep. They’re downstairs, enjoying some well-earned drinks,” King said. “Nice to hear. How’d that meeting with the Strays go? They give us the okay to start a chapter in Las Pegasus?” “They said that as long as we don’t move in on their catnip racket, they won’t mind us there,” King answered. “Now, that calls for a drink,” Sun Dance said, as he reached over the side of the couch and tossed King a bottle of moonshine. “Life’s gonna be good now. New members. New turf. And I hear those Strays got some pussycats who can suck the stripes off a zebra.” He and King both finished their drinks in seconds, and tossed their bottles to the pile in the corner. “Let’s go join the party. I got some news to share,” King said. And he and King left toward the stairs.