Sometimes the strangest people become heroes. Matti never thought he would ever be one. But somehow it had happened. But somehow he became the wrong sort of hero... perhaps!
Matti, in his final year at college studying electronics had achieved very little before this moment, but now, circumstances had changed. To say he had achieved very little is perhaps unfair, but he had achieved very little he would want to trumpet to the world. He had never had any sporting achievements. He had never climbed a mountain. At 20 he was still a virgin. Had barely had a girlfriend. He was brainy – no question, and in the top two or three of his year in his subject, and had a great career ahead of him, no question. It was just not something people trumpeted – you don't tell the world "Hi, I'm a brainy nerd who's good at fixing electronic stuff!" Even in appearance he wasn't "masculine," particularly. Five foot ten, thin, long curly hair. He was friendly, but generally walked through the world anonymously except for his good group of friends, and it was likely he would do the same for ever... But now, he was a hero, a very unlikely hero. Maybe an unwanted hero for some. He also felt traumatised by what he had seen.
Matti had been driving his fiat panda home from college early on a Friday evening after studying all week – a seventy mile drive along a highway, then another thirty miles out into the small township where he lived. Matti lived with his parents on a farm a mile from Douglastown, a community of just 20 houses on a small road into the high mountains, and it was there to his home he headed. It was quiet, but he had loved his childhood there. He was looking forward to starting one of the jobs he had been offered in the state capital where he studied. He still had to do a couple of months of study and exams, then have a free summer at home with his folks working around the farm before moving to the job.
On the mountain road he had just been passed by a juggernaut, going too quickly. It had disappeared around a corner, then a huge crashing sound. Matti had seen the tail of the lorry veer, as if out of control, taking the corner too fast. It was only seconds before he had reached the corner to see one of the most devastating scenes imaginable. Matti had stopped violently, taking in what looked like carnage.
The lorry had swerved, had lost its tail, and had ploughed into a group of bikers passing the other way. Bikers often used the mountain road, both for its spectacular ride as well as being a short cut to the next state. A freak accident. But a horrific one. There were bikes scattered all over the road. Men lying on the ground. The lorry itself had gone over an embankment and was resting on its side.
Matti had phoned the emergency services from his cell phone immediately. As immediate as his call, he knew it could take them half an hour or more to get to the scene – the road was rough, narrow and could be twisty. A helicopter might get there quicker but could only really assess the scale of the crash.
Matti had leapt out of his car and rushed to see who he could help. There were motorbikes on fire, in danger of exploding if the fuel tanks got too hot. Some were on top of their riders – they were the greatest risk. Matti helped several guys – and women – to get out from under the bikes. He looked around and saw that a couple of guys and one woman were without doubt dead. Matti, with just his first aid did what he could – ripping people's shirts off to create bandages, leaving the unconscious in the recovery position. He stopped the bleeding on someone's head. A number of the bikers who weren't too badly injured helped as well, but Matti seemed to know what he was doing, so looked to him for orders, and did what he yelled at them to do.
After 20 minutes or so the helicopter had landed, and the two men in it came to help, after reporting back on what had happened. The first ambulances took forty minutes to get there, just before the fire engines. It was a cramped space, but soon the whole accident spot was covered with men and women in uniforms. Matti continued to do what he could, and found himself cradling one of the men who was clearly very weak, getting weaker, and in the end died.
It was a couple of hours later when Matti found himself in the hospital sitting on a couch in a waiting room with his parents. It had all been a blur, but now the horrors of what he had seen were beginning to overwhelm him. The newspapers and television reports the next day listed the scale of the casualties. 4 dead, including the one who had died in Matti's arms. 14 seriously injured in hospital. 6 allowed to leave hospital the day after the accident. The newspaper had done the figures, reckoning Matti had saved the lives of at least 8 people in what he did before the emergency service had arrived.
He had save the lives of at least eight of the most prominent biker gangs in the state, a gang loathed by many. To some he was a hero, to others the best they could say is that he obviously didn't realise who he was dealing with.
It had taken Matti many sleepless and nightmarish nights to begin to recover. His life had gradually returned to normality. The fuss that surrounded him had melted away. He had returned to college. After a couple of months he seemed to have moved on, and had completed his final exams, and had a couple of offers of good jobs to move to after the summer and had accepted one.
It was late June, Matti working on the family farm, helping to set up a new irrigation unit in the fields (something his skills in electronics allowed him to build, saving his family several thousand dollars.). It was late June when the normally quiet peaceful community of Douglastown heard the roaring heading up the small road from the state highway, and those who looked could see the dust rising. By the time it was less than a mile away, most who were in the township were worried, frightened, confused. Sometimes bikers would come through and rarely stopped, but still people were cautious. Most, when they saw the cause, moved indoors, locked their doors, called the police. This day over a hundred bikes or more were pouring into their streets, stopping, gathering. A huge number of leather clad guys, many with tattoos, many with shaven heads, most with women who had ridden with them, were leaving their bikes and gathering in the city square. Those around could see the badge each had on their shoulder – either of their jackets or tattooed on their arms – a picture of a razor blade, with the words "The Razors" on the logo. For those who knew this was terrifying – the most feared biker gang in the state – few had seen them before, most had heard of them, the rumours wild and exaggerated.
As the rest of the bikers hung around in the square, four walked to the local shop. The one who was clearly the leader spoke to the woman in the shop – Jen Stephenson – a tough lady in her sixties, who would close the shop for nothing. "Ma'am. Tell me where I can find Matti Baker. Where does he live? Don't wanna hurt him, want to see him."
Jen had paused and took the leader at face value. "A miles up the road, at the Old Bridge Farm."
Within five minutes the bikers were gone. Five minutes later they were pulling onto the field behind Old Bridge Farm.
The four leaders walked to the farmhouse, knocked, waited. Matti's mother answered the door. She had watched the bikers pull up, pull on to the field. She knew this could be trouble. She had phoned her husband to come back quickly. Matti was inside the door, looking over his mother's shoulder.
"This where Matti Baker lives?" Matti's mother – Joyce – looked the guy who spoke up and down. He had long hair and beard. Leather top and jeans, leather boots. He had tattoos of dragons on his arms. Clearly a hard tough biker, and she recognised the razor tattoo on his shoulder.
Joyce was frightened, but maintained her calm. She felt she had to answer honestly, there was no point in messing around. "Yes, it is."
"Good. We're camping here this weekend." With that he turned and walked away.
Joyce, her husband Tom and Matti were at home. Their daughter Nina was away – something for which Joyce and Tom were relieved.
The next couple of hours they watched as the bikers set up tents, then watched as a lorry turned up, which when opened out completely made a stage with sound system installed. At one time Tom had showed them where their outside water supply was, and allowed them to plug their system into the barn power supply. It felt too dangerous not to. Some time later another truck turned up, which turned out to be some sort of catering truck. Then a huge camper van. Another truck arrived which seemed to have camping gear.
By sundown the camp was set, with tents surrounding the stage, a larger tent a little away from the rest. There was a band warming up. Tom, Joyce and Matti were sitting in the house, their initial fears dissipating but still very cautious although they had been treated courteously, and they had been helpful back.
It was about 9pm, already dark, when there was a knock on the door. The rock music had been thumping away for a couple of hours already.
It was the guy who had asked if Matti Baker had lived there. This time he seemed a bit more talkative. "I'm Killer. Lead biker here. There'll be no trouble this weekend. Don't worry. But gotta live by our rules. All three of you, come with me."
Again realising they probably shouldn't say no, they followed. Killer led them through the crowd, and onto the stage, the band stopping for a few minutes.
"Hey guys. This is Matti Baker. You know who he is." Killer pulled Matti to the front of the stage, and he was acutely embarrassed. Suddenly one voice cheered, then another, then others came in, until the entire crowd – maybe two or three hundred – were cheering. Even his parents were joining in.
At last the cheering faded away. Killer stepped up to the microphone again and spoke. "This guy ain't never going to be a biker. But he is always going to be razor." He turned to Matti. "Take your shirt off, son."
Matti did, and one or two of the crowd wolf-whistled ironically. "Don't move." Killer beckoned to two other guys who came up on the stage, got out some sort of device and put against Matti's shoulder. For a moment Matti's shoulder was on fire, but as they moved away the stinging receded, but Matti could see the tattoo of a razor blade on his shoulder. It took a second to realise the crowd was cheering again.
Killer was speaking again. "Okay son. You ever in trouble you get in touch. You ever need something, we'll do what we can." Killer turned back to the crowd. "Okay Razors, we're going to party this weekend. This guy and his folks are guests of honour. We look after their place this weekend. They can do what they want. I'll talk to them about rewards."
