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  ‘She has joined a cult?’

  ‘Not a cult as such. There is nothing religious about the group she has hooked up with, despite the leader’s adopted name.’ Cannon shook his head. ‘I blame it all on the crazy talk about the Mayan doomsday prophesy and unfounded fears about the end of the world. You’ve heard of these “end of world” groups haven’t you?’

  ‘Doomsday preppers,’ Ramm said. ‘Yeah, there’s been quite a lot of talk about them in the last year or two. It’s just the latest term for the old paramilitary survivalist movement, if you ask me.’

  Cannon nodded in agreement. ‘The Bishop runs his group from a fortified compound out west. He lords over his people with an iron hand, and apparently heaps of charisma. He has gathered quite a following by all accounts, people who are prepared to fight on his behalf should the need arise.’

  ‘You said that law enforcement won’t help bring Shelly out. If she is an adult and went there of her free will, I can understand why. But you’d think they’d be looking for an excuse to enter The Bishop’s commune, to check on illegal firearms and such.’

  ‘They’re kind of nervous about that, ever since the Camp Davidian fiasco. And any way, it is common knowledge that The Bishop will not tolerate firearms within the boundary of his land. He once suffered an unfortunate accident with a gun and positively forbids the carrying of firearms by his people.’

  ‘Seems a gentle enough guy,’ Ramm said with not a little sarcasm. But he’d guessed there was more to The Bishop through Cannon’s earlier comment about the use of improvised weapons.

  ‘He supports the use of aggression in protection of his land. But he has an old time sensibility about it all. He encourages his people to train in martial arts and all manner of unarmed combat. Some of those he attracts to his movement are tough guys and brawlers. Others are skilled, ex military men, fighters and sportsmen.’

  Ramm nodded. ‘The reason you wanted to check me out. You want me to pose as one of these tough guys to get close to Shelly and bring her out.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Cannon said. ‘And I’m prepared to pay you handsomely for your trouble.’

  ‘Sounds like a job I might be interested in.’

  ‘Might be?’

  ‘How handsomely are we talking?’

  ‘As handsomely as your girlfriend, Bitsy, and a bit more on top besides.’

  Ramm took no time considering the offer. ‘I’m in. When do I start?’

  ‘Is tomorrow too soon?’

  Ramm glanced once at the bedroom door. ‘I’ll be ready as soon as I’m finished my dinner.’

  Now…

  Ramm brought the large roan to a halt and stared down the hill at the outer fence of The Bishop’s compound. He wore a liberated leather jacket now, but could still feel the chill of predawn. The horse shivered its flanks, snorted, and the steam rising off its back drifted up to join the mist overhead. Since Ramm’s recent fight at the barn the fog had lifted somewhat, burning off as the sun rose higher in the east. Below him he could now see the fence, and a good portion of the land beyond. Most of the trees had been felled on the property, but there was some sparse shrubbery here and there. The buildings that formed The Bishop’s compound were still far out of sight, lying beyond a fold in the land to the east. Earlier on fleeing the place, Ramm had headed south. His ride back had been more circular and had brought him to this place a couple of miles further up the perimeter fence. There was no sign of sentries but Ramm had to assume they were there. Still, apart from them calling in extra support, he didn’t have much to fear from them. One thing he could be certain of was that he wouldn’t be brought down by a sniper’s bullet. Cannon had been correct when stating The Bishop didn’t tolerate any firearms: knives, clubs, swords, even bows and arrows were in evidence but Ramm was yet to see as much as an airsoft gun in the compound.

  Riding the roan bareback - he had only taken time to fit it with a rope halter before setting off – he urged it down the shallow decline to the fence. The fence stood eight feet tall and was topped with barbed wire. It would be a formidable barricade to some, but not to Ramm on horseback. As they came alongside the fence, he again halted the horse. Bracing his palms on its shoulders, Ramm hopped up and hunkered on the horse’s back. Then he rose up fluidly to stand on its back like a trick rider in a circus. He ignored the pain in his ankle and thigh from the savaging the Doberman Pincers had given him, while he turned a quarter circle to face the fence. In the next instant he bunched his thigh muscles, allowed his buttocks to dip slightly then sprang up and outward. The jump was little more than three feet and Ramm cleared the barbed wire with ease. Unfortunately a sixteen hands horse didn’t shorten the drop on the other side. He dropped the full eight feet plus and again had to employ a commando roll to save his legs from the impact.

  The roan had spooked as Ramm let fly, and it thundered away up the hill, heading back the way they’d come and to the shelter of the barn. Ramm wondered distractedly what had become of the attack dogs. He didn’t think they’d be any threat to the horse. He turned away and began a steady jog across the barren land, ignoring the pain that flared from his right ankle with every step. He’d suffered worse pain. Hell, he’d suffered worse yesterday on his arrival at The Bishop’s camp.

  Yesterday…

  A solid left jab, and a thundering right cross put the tall Texan on his back.

  Out cold the cowboy didn’t move, and Ramm turned away, massaging his scraped knuckles.

  He was ringed by dozens of men and women, all of them whooping and hollering at his victory, some of them casting insults at the downed man.

  ‘Your quick win means nothing.’ The Bishop was sitting in a throne-like chair bolted on the flat bed of a stripped down pickup truck. The large man pointed down at the pole-axed Texan. ‘For all I can tell that useless piece of crap has a glass jaw. You’re going to have to show me a little more before you’re allowed to stay here.’

  Ramm looked up at The Bishop lording over the combat arena and gave a slight shrug. ‘So send in your best man.’

  ‘That would be me,’ The Bishop stated with no trace of irony. ‘But it would not serve me to beat you down, would it? What would that prove when I could take on any other man here as easily?’

  ‘So who is your second best? Send him.’

  A stir went through the crowd. Men and women began glancing at each other, weighing and assessing. Some of them began slapping their chests, offering to fight. Others turned on their neighbours and began pushing and shoving, challenging the others claim to being the toughest. The Bishop stood up out of his chair, lifting massive arms in the air as if he was about to offer a sermon. But his name, as Ramm recalled, had nothing to do with religion. ‘Quiet down, goddamnit! The next man to open his trap will find he won’t be able to shut it again when I tear the jaw from his face!’

  Standing in jeans, boots and wife-beater undershirt, Ramm shook off his shoulders as he waited.

  The Bishop scanned the crowd. ‘Where’s Hector Buntz?’

  A fresh stir went through the crowd, and heads turned as a figure began pushing his way to the forefront. Everyone had fallen silent at mention of the name, and Ramm realised that it was through awe. Even before Hector made it through the assembly he towered head and shoulders over the less than diminutive fighters in his way. Ramm was a big man, but even he had to tilt his gaze upward to meet Hector’s gaze. Buntz was a giant. He stood six feet nine inches, but he was no glandular freak but a man proportioned for his height. His shoulders were huge, his arms bulging with muscle, and he could have propped a barstool on his chest muscles without it toppling over. He wasn’t fat the way many big men were: his waist was tight, his hips and legs were lean. Buntz was no brute, but a hard trained warrior.

  The Bishop regarded Ramm. ‘You still wish entrance to my group?’

  ‘Who’s your third best man?’ Ramm said. But he delivered it with a grin to show he was joking. ‘If Hector here is your test for affiliation, then I accept.’


  ‘Don’t let it be said that you were forced into fighting. You can always get back on the bus with the other no-hopers.’ The Bishop jerked his head to the battered old bus on which Ramm and another twelve hopefuls had entered the compound. Of that baker’s dozen only another two men had won their fights and now stood in the members’ crowd. Apart from the sleeping Texan, the others had been carried back and dumped on the bus, some of them unconscious, some of them destined for the hospital.

  ‘I only purchased a one way ticket,’ Ramm said.

  ‘It’s settled then.’ The Bishop eyed Hector. ‘Don’t hurt him too bad, Buntz. He’ll be little use to us with a crushed spine.’

  ‘What about his arms and legs?’ Hector rumbled.

  ‘They’ll heal,’ The Bishop said, offering his seal of approval for extreme violence with a wink.

  Ramm moved back a few feet as Buntz entered the fighting circle. The giant towered over him, and was almost as wide again. Ramm’s eyes pinched as he assessed his opponent. Even a monster like Buntz would have weaknesses. He just couldn’t tell what they were yet.

  Buntz shook off his shoulders and began a lateral sidestep, proving nimble on his feet for one so huge. Ramm didn’t move. His sidestep was a feint. Buntz smiled and moved the other way. Ramm turned with him, keeping his left side to the giant.

  Suddenly Buntz lunged in, his left arm jack hammering at Ramm’s head. Ramm slipped the punch, and dug his knuckles deep into the man’s exposed ribs. It was like punching a drum, and his punch had little effect.

  Buntz laughed, and the crowd grew vocal again, encouraging their champion to smash Ramm into the earth.

  They moved in trading blows, kicks, punches, and once a headbutt from Buntz that left Ramm reeling. He had to rally with a flurry of punches to keep the giant from pulverizing him. He finished with a kick to Buntz’s stomach, and a right cross to the jaw that sounded like a mallet striking a coconut.

  Both combatants danced away from each other. Ramm shook his right hand, and saw Buntz take note.

  Buntz came at him again. This time his jab was followed by an uppercut that deliberately fell short, just as he powered in an overhand left. The punch struck Ramm on his forehead, almost breaking his neck as the kinetic force drove down towards his shoulders. Sparks popped behind Ramm’s eyelids, but in reaction he flicked out his right boot and caught the giant’s leading knee. Buntz stumbled, and Ramm forced himself to use the pain to power his return strike. His right elbow slammed into the giant’s gut, the point driving in deep. Ramm immediately pivoted a half-turn and used the same elbow in a rising strike to Buntz’s jaw. Ordinarily the combination of moves would have stopped a normal man. But Ramm was forced to reassess his earlier opinion of Buntz. He was a hard trained warrior, but he was also a brute. Buntz barely registered the jaw breaking strike as he pounded his fists into Ramm’s body, both punches lifting him off his feet. Ramm went down.

  Buntz didn’t allow any respite. He swung a kick into Ramm’s gut, and Ramm was forced a full yard across the dirt.

  The crowd cheered wildly.

  Ramm shook his head as he came up off the floor. He stood with his legs splayed, body slightly forward as he fought the crippling pain in his belly. He could barely breathe, let alone fight.

  Or that’s the image he portrayed.

  As Buntz came forward, Ramm sprang in the air, cocking his right arm behind his ear. As he hit the apex of his leap and began his descent, he whipped down with his bent elbow, and its point found the bridge of Buntz’s nose. The cartilage collapsed and blood flowed over the big man’s top lip.

  Ramm landed on his feet to the side of the giant, forcing Buntz to turn towards him. There was a glaze over the man’s eyes, but Ramm trusted that Buntz’s recovery time was ever bit as freakish as his build. The giant blinked a couple of times.

  ‘First blood,’ Ramm said.

  ‘I drink blood for breakfast,’ replied Buntz. ‘And eat the hearts of men for lunch.’

  ‘And no doubt you suck the marrow from their bones for dinner.’

  ‘No usually I have fried chicken with biscuits and gravy.’

  The giant laughed, and despite himself Ramm kind of liked the guy’s sense of humour. Still, it wouldn’t stop him hurting the giant to save his own skin. Buntz reached for him and Ramm leaned aside, snapping in a sidekick at Buntz’s knee.

  Buntz braced his leg against the impact, but Ramm had been faking. He re-chambered his knee, changed its trajectory and slammed his boot into the man’s throat. As he dropped back to his feet Ramm powered in two rapid elbow strikes to Buntz’s ribs. That should have dropped him.

  It didn’t.

  Buntz enveloped Ramm with both arms and hauled him skyward. Ramm felt weightless as the giant heaved him overhead and held him suspended in the air. The experience lasted only as long as it took for Buntz to hurl him through space. The only thing that saved Ramm a crushing landing on the hard earth was that he landed in among the crowd of bystanders. He tumbled down and momentarily lay stunned. A couple of those in the crowd weren’t mindful of where they placed their feet and Ramm was stood on more than once while he blinked up into the angry faces of those he’d had the temerity to land on.

  Aching all over, Ramm crawled onto his hands and knees. He craned up to see Buntz storming towards him, his feet nimbly skipping as he made to punt Ramm in the air like a football. Ramm reared back on his knees and Buntz’s foot missed him by inches. Ramm, who’d been saving his right fist, clenched his knuckles tight, his index finger protruding from the others and struck the collection of nerves on Buntz’s outer thigh. It would take more than that to give the giant a Charley Horse, but Ramm wasn’t finished. As Buntz fought for balance, to come at him from the front, Ramm swung an uppercut into the juncture of his thighs. Buntz groaned. Even giants weren’t immune to a punch in the balls. But he wasn’t finished either. He hammered down at Ramm, and it was as if two telephone poles had landed on Ramm’s shoulders. He was sure that the compression had concertinaed his ribs and that they were on the stress point of shattering. Time he halted the ongoing punishment before he was no use to man or beast, let alone Shelly Cannon.

  Ramm dropped to one side, propped himself on his left palm and jacked his legs off the floor. He hooked the toe of his left boot around Buntz’s right ankle, his right boot heel jamming the man’s knee. As gravity pulled gainst him, he scissored his feet and Buntz’s lower leg buckled, the cartilage popping loose, the anterior cruciate ligament almost twanging like a plucked guitar. Buntz roared in agony and fell face down in the dirt. Ramm knew the big guy wouldn’t stay down. Neither did he wish to hurt the big guy too badly, but he axed his right heel in the air and brought it down between the giant’s shoulders. Buntz did an impression of a starfish.

  ‘Stay down,’ Ramm commanded. ‘Or the next kick’s to the nape of your neck.’

  Buntz lay there stunned.

  Ramm clawed himself up off the floor.

  The Bishop was once again sitting in his throne on the back of the pickup.

  ‘Have I proved myself worthy enough to join the gang?’ Ramm asked.

  The Bishop stared at him, eyes as emotionless as tarnished steel in their perusal. Then a faint smile played across his lips.

  He rose up, and his arms went skyward. This time he did offer benediction. ‘Welcome, brother. My home is now your home. As long as you obey the rules you are allowed freedom to roam the communal areas and to share in our mutual bounty.’

  Ramm wouldn’t be sharing in any of the proclaimed bounty. He liked women, but he’d never forced himself on any woman and wasn’t about to do so now. Plus, he wasn’t too good at obeying the rules.

  By morning he’d found Shelly Cannon where she’d been all but locked in with the other sex slaves. But before he could release her, The Bishop’s men had discovered him sneaking through the harem – a crime punishable by death in The Bishop’s world. The manhunt had begun.

  Well, the chase was over and now Ramm was back.
>
  Now…

  The Bishop’s compound was a reclaimed military base, defunct since the fall of the Berlin Wall. Many of the buildings, the mess halls and the barracks still existed, though faded now and in need of some restoration. They were arranged around a parade ground, and on the extreme right were the hangars and sheds that once housed helicopters, jeeps and other military transporters and weapons. The fighting arena was at the centre of the parade ground, as it was at the centre of the way of life here. Right now it was deserted. The only people Ramm could see were a couple of sentries over by the hangars, but they were totally unaware of his presence. He’d no idea where The Bishop was, but he doubted he’d joined the search for Ramm when he’d fled the compound during the night.

  Ramm had to get across the camp, and into one of the hangars currently guarded by the two sentries. The particular one he sought concealed an entrance to a tunnel in the earth, at the end of which he’d discovered the harem where the women were imprisoned. Shelly Cannon might have joined The Bishop’s band through her own choice, but she hadn’t banked on being put to work as a pleasure slave. He’d already confirmed that she was ready to go home, but had been forced to leave her behind when he was discovered by a patrol. The guy had got off a radio message to his pals before Ramm had killed the one who witnessed him speaking with Shelly, but no names had been mentioned. Ramm was confident that no one was aware of whom he’d come looking for. But he worried that The Bishop had moved all of the women out of precaution, should Ramm escape the manhunt and bring others back with him. The guards could have been set outside the hangar as a ruse, to make things look like they still had something to hide inside. Or The Bishop trusted that his dogs would bring down Ramm and bringing back other rescuers would no longer be an issue. There was lots of “what ifs” to consider, but they would only waste time. Ramm’s tiny window of opportunity was shortening. Once others discovered the dead men at the farm, they might conclude that Ramm had doubled back and hotfoot it back here.