LAIR OF THE WULF- a Barbarian in Chicago- part 2
CHAPTER SEVEN

Ragnar, Eric, and an Alliance of Rogues

Of the survivors of the BLM and ISIS, there were only thirteen- six were of the blacks missed by the aircraft and the shotgun carnage in the station, and seven of the Muslim jihadists. Looking at one another over the scene of the wreckage, the eleven had stumbled towards one another, recognizing each other as fellow rogues, intent on slaying evil whites. They had plenty of weapons strewn all about, some still grasped in the dead hands of their fellows, and ammunition aplenty.

Still, as the white haired elder and his blonde grandson emerged from the station door, which was broken back upon its hinges, the light in the building illuminated the dead black and crimson bodies within. Both held their shotguns at the ready, and the demoralized and momentarily cowed black and brown terrorists, although clutching weapons at least as potent as those held by the old man and the youth, drew back in fear. When attacking in force, outnumbering their prey, they considered themselves brave. But now, facing just two opponents, after being smashed and bloodied when they had least expected it, they reverted to their true cowardly type.

They hid, and did nothing at all, as the two who had slain so many of their rogue’s alliance, walked over to the old pickup, gleaming in a sheen of classic green paint, entered the two doors on either side, and banging the old doors loudly shut, slowly drove away. The youth kept his shotgun barrel leveled out over the field as the man drove, and the men standing in the plane wreckage just watched with their hands kept down by their sides as the truck rumbled slowly away and out of sight. They had had enough carnage for one night!

Coming together slowly, the brown and the black men stopped in two separate groups a few feet from one another. Abdul Jawaad, who perhaps now knew what the pilot of the plane had been trying to tell him earlier, spoke in somewhat broken English to the black men before him. “We have still our… mission,” he said slowly, hoping he had chosen the proper words. “We go to slay- Wulf the barbarian!”

Although the black men probably did not understand completely his earlier words, they understood that. They too now desired more than ever to take revenge on some white cracker, for they had been conditioned since childhood to understand that everything bad that happened to them was caused by whites! They muttered and shouted, mostly obscenities and the type of black slang that no foreigner from another country and language would ever understand, but there was no misunderstanding of their anger upon the name of Wulf.

Nodding to the jihadists still led by Abdul, their white eyes startling in the dark of the night and their upturned faces, Abdul knew he still had a band to lead north. Beckoning to all of the men, Abdul held his rifle upraised in the sky and shook it. Then, he walked purposefully towards the largest remaining undamaged vehicle, a big van. All of the men, black and brown, followed him, those still without weaponry gathering rifles and pistols from dead hands as they went.

The van rumbled into life, and the remnants of the BLM and the Isis Islamic terrorists were heading north. They were on a

jihad, a jihad in the North Woods reservation of the Ojibwe.

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on G𝘰𝘰gle to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.