A queen should always look her best.
Story time, if you dare. From the perspective of the one on the left.
I was up late, cleaning my gun while I waited for the scouts to get back. It’s been dark at the warehouse ever since the riots caused the power to go out. Life in Los Angeles has gone to total shit because of them, and it’s so bad that the military’s quarantined the city. The whole place has been cut up to Hell with the gangs, and they can be classified into three groups: The Lapdogs, the ones who used to be with the police and fire department and all that, we’re on good grounds with them because we used to control the city together; the Extremists, they furiously push their causes like anarchy and communism, hate the guts out of everyone except the press; and then there’s us, who want nothing to do with this and just want to leave.
The queen’s been working out our next move to get us out of this shithole, but the big thing that’s been stumping her is the military. We need to make our move soon, we’ve been dropping in numbers to the extremists, and it’s only a matter of time before they come after our money and weapons.
I hear footsteps approach the door. They stop just in front of it and I wait for their knock.
“Al.”
That wasn’t the knock. Already this is shady as fuck. I load my gun and step up to the door.
“What?”
“Open de door.”
“You know the drill.”
“Cobe ong, I vorgot, shust open de door.”
Things have been stressful, especially for the scouts. I still don’t trust him, though. I open the door a crack and point right at his chest. It is one of our scouts, but he seems on edge. I lower my gun slightly and ask him what’s up.
“Dey broke bove my armsh and pulled out a bunge of teet. Dey would had godden my eyesh iv I hadn’t-”
He’s interrupted by the sound of a car loudly starting up. Light floods the area, and a car roars right up to us. I jump out of the way, but the poor kid is smashed between the car and the door. It keeps going and rams right into a concrete pillar. The raid’s started.
I shoot my gun a couple times to make sure everyone’s awake, and start yelling to get Khloe out of here.
The horse and the pig get Khloe in her car. Khloe doesn’t go in without a fight first, though. I’m her personal bodyguard, so I pile into the car too. We speed off with about half a million dollars, mine and Khloe’s guns, and the pig’s first aid kit.
Khloe immediately starts yelling.
“Oi, why are we goin’?”
“That was a raid. We need to get you to safety.”
“And leave the rest of ‘em to die? I don’t look like some Marie Antoinette, do I?”
“We didn’t have time to pile everyone in, and we were outnumbered as it was. You’d certainly be dead by now.”
“Well, where are we going?”
“That’s up to you, you’re the queen.”
Khloe thinks for a minute.
“What did you learn from the scouts?”
“That the extremists are complete sadists. One scout made it back. They tortured him until he led them to the warehouse, and now he’s a splash of red paint on a car’s hood.”
“Shit. Take me down the blue line. You have a subway map, right?”
“I don’t-”
“I have one on my phone. Give me the charger,” the horse impedes. He plugs in his phone and we continue on the road.
We’re going through Compton as a shadowy figure jumps up from behind a car and starts shooting at us. I try to dodge some of the fire, but end up flipping our car on its side. The loon is still shooting, so we all hop out and get behind the car. Every one of us takes at least one bullet in the process: Me in the ear, the horse in the side, the pig in an arm and leg, and Khloe loses half of her tail. While the pig starts treating everyone’s wounds, I peek up and start shooting back. To little surprise, so does Khloe. She runs out of bullets and I duck down to reload her gun. All the while, I’m telling her to stay down, until she grabs me by the collar of my jacket.
“Look here, you little shit, I’m not a coward who sits idly by while my colleagues all get shot. You forced me out of the warehouse, but you won’t force me out of this. If I die, then I die. Understand?”
“Aren’t you at least afraid to die?”
“I’d be bleedin’ ice if I wasn’t bleedin’ blood, fuck yeah I’m scared to die. But I’ve experience bein’ shot at, and by the sounds of it, it sounds better to die than be at the hands of these fuckers.”
I sorta fell silent. I went back to reloading her gun as she waited patiently.
About 3 clips in, I hear the sound of screeching tires around a corner, and turn around to see 3 armored trucks speeding toward us. I’ll admit, I broke a cold sweat, until one stopped in front of us and the other two stopped in front of our car. A lapdog jumped out and rushed us into the back of the truck. We complied because, first, we were being shot at, and second, we could trust the lapdogs. We pile in and the truck screeches the fuck outta there.
We graciously thank the lapdog and he gets us to a hospital. All the hospitals are owned by the lapdogs. The one in the truck tells us that they want our help in return for getting us to safety. Khloe’s escorted off to the radiology ward, while we settle in and have our wounds treated.
Two hours pass, and Khloe regroups with us.
“So what do they want?”
“They want to raid a train station where a bunch of extremists are holed up. It’s right down the block and they’re getting concerned. We’ll be on the ground, they’ll be in the air.”
“That doesn’t sound right,” the horse states.
“Well, they got us out of that pinch. We had no car, dwindling ammo, and all of us were injured. Chin up, they’re leaving now.” Khloe got up and left.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do now,” the pig grunts.
With that, we all make toward the armored trucks. As we’re driving to the station, we see all sorts of gruesome displays all around us. Heads speared on pikes with Hitler-staches drawn on them, hammers and sickles painted in red across buildings, barricades made of barbed wire and corpses, and much, much more. My stomach sinks as we get closer, and it drops when the truck stops. A lapdog opens the door and debriefs us on what exactly we’re doing here.
“You just have to keep them distracted. We’ll have the helicopter over soon which will provide sniper support.”
We all trudge our way onto the pavement behind the truck. Khloe’s the first one to start moving toward the train station, pointing her rifle everywhere along the way. The pig needs help from me and the horse to get up the stairs, and we’re immediately pinned down by gunfire. We don’t forget our duties, and the horse is the first one to start shooting back. I start shooting, then Khloe jumps in. A couple of the extremists go down, and over the gunfire nobody notices when the helicopter joins in. The extremists start going down much quicker and eventually the whole area’s clear.
Once the area’s silent aside from the helicopter, we start going in. There really are no more of them. It was only about 10 of them, the Lapdogs couldn’t deal with 10 extremists?
I’m scanning around in one of the trains and a shot rips through the air. Shortly after, Khloe and the horse tackle me getting into the train.
“What’s going on? Are there more?”
“It’s the lapdogs! They killed Hope!” the horse screams.
“They led us into a trap. Us gone is one less gang for them to worry about. This is the most vulnerable we’ve been in a while, this was their chance to get the last of us.”
Fuck, she’s right. There’s only 3 of us and we’re stuck in a corner.
“But they won’t get the last of us. Look, there’s a motorcar.” Khloe points in front of the train. There’s a car on the rails, tethered in several places to the train, “And there’s a map right there, with the brown line highlighted.”
“What are we going to do with this information? They are shooting at us!”
“Al, I know what I’m doing. The helicopter will circle around us, and once it’s behind the train, I’ll go for the car. They’re flying too low to see me. We’ll outrun the helicopter, then ride the brown line to San Diego.”
I’m not in any position to oppose her, so it’s on her now. The helicopter whirs behind us, and Khloe bolts for the door.
“God, save the Queen,” I mutter.
I hear Khloe start the car, and a second later another shot rips through the air as the helicopter passes in front of us again. The train starts rolling, and several more shots blow holes all through the ceiling. The horse and I lay under the seats as the sniper continues raining hell on us.
We’re crawling across the rails for about two hours, and the helicopter flies away.
A minute or so after we can’t hear the helicopter, Khloe hobbles back into the train. She’s very clearly injured, and lays on the floor facing me.
“They got me. Not in the chest, but bloody close,” She reveals the bleeding gash in her shoulder.
“Good lord!” I scream. I scramble for a first aid kit, and find one behind a panel in the wall. I put the bandage on her arm as tight as I can, and we continue down the track.
We’re stopped by the military, who thankfully have bigger problems than a couple drug dealers, prostitutes, etc. They see that Khloe’s hurt and we’re taken into their care. When they pick up Khloe, there’s a her-shaped pool of blood on the floor, and she looks close to death. As they’re carrying her off the train, her glazed eyes look to me and she gives the weakest thumbs-up I’ve seen. Of course, I follow the guys taking her away-- I am her personal bodyguard after all.
In about a week, she’s back on her feet. She’s changed her plans: Now that there’s only 3 of us, she can take us in to her friend’s gated community. We set off toward San Antonio Rodriguez.
