to his waistband, his fingers touching his .45. Suddenly, bright lights filled the dark sky. Through the fog, beams emitted from everywhere, casting light on LT and his men who were frozen in place. Engines fired up. Loud rumbling was heard all around them.
"W e're surrounded," LT said, realizing what was happening.
The bikers slowly worked their way in as the mist disappeared. They inche d closer, the bikers cautious, moving in slow. "What do we do?" Red asked, looking around him. "We're surrounded."
LT didn't answer. Realizing they had nowhere to go, he flicked hi s kickstand and turned off his motorcycle's engine. Then, LT dismounted, standing tall. "Follow me," he said. "Slowly."
Red and Whisky stood up, taking a few careful steps back. Ever so slowly, the three men walked backward. All the while the speed racers were inching closer, engines rumbling, their patience waning.
Step by step, the Seals made their way closer to the nearby church . It was the closest, the only building in the area. Finally, LT could feel the ground under his boots go soft. He was standing on grass now, on the edge of the church's lot.
"Run!" LT shouted. He pushed Whisky and Red, who nearly tumbled bef ore catching their footing. He urged them toward the church, saying, "Get inside." LT then turned, pulling his .45 from his waistband in a fluid motion. He took aim at the nearest bikers. Two were within ten feet, now, seated on their motorcycles, grumbling engines.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
LT unloaded an entire magazine of .45 caliber rounds toward the two bikers, striking them each multiple times in the chest. The rounds tore into the bikers, taking them by surprise. The bullets hit them square, the impact casting them from their seats.
LT pushed the magazine release button on his pistol, expertly droppi ng it to the grass and pulling another, his last, from his belt. He slammed in the last mag, clicking it into place and releasing the slide.
He was hot again.
Then, to his dismay, the two nearby bikers stood up. They were baffled, taken by surprise, but uninjured. They looked to their chests. The bullets had found their mark. LT's shots had been perfect. Their jackets, their shirts, each had five holes in it. But underneath, their skin was untouched.
The first of the bikers looked to LT. He still had his helmet on, but s omehow LT could tell the biker was laughing underneath. The biker opened his shirt, showing his untouched skin, then tossed his hands up as if challenging LT.
LT fired once more, again striking the biker square. The rounds fo und their mark again, but this time, the biker was ready. He stood his ground, allowing the bullets to strike.
After a few rounds, LT quickly realized his efforts were futile. He turned to run. LT sprinted across the lawn, directly on the heels of his friends.
"Hurry up!" he shouted.
They near the church doors. Hoping they are open, the three slam into them. Whisky fumbled with the door handle, jingling it until the door creaked open. "Inside," LT said, turning around to check their six.
To his shock, four of the riders were bounding across the lawn. Th ey ran in long strides, almost skipping across the lawn. They looked like clowns bounding on stilts, the sight was almost too much.
LT turned to fire, but it was too late. The bikers were now coming up the church steps, taking three at a time.
"Go!" LT shouted. Whisky pushed inside the church, grabbing Red and dragging him in. During the commotion, Red had slowed, nearly falling at the door. Whisky wasn't sure what was wrong with the man, and didn't have time to ask. He grabbed his friend's collar, and jerked him inside. "Get in LT," he said.
LT faced off with the ringleader. It was Manitas. The large biker squa red away, reached down for LT. He grabbed the Seal's shirt, pulled him close and grunted like a wild animal.
But LT had a surprise. He held up his .45 at an angle, pushing the tip of his barrel into Manitas' jaw. LT squeezed the trigger. The