Death and Conspiracy

by Seeley James

  “Hang on!” I yelled.

  Everyone on my rig grabbed anything they could hang on to. I aimed for the center of the big, iron gate in the outer wall. It was far too thick to break, but when we hit it, I got the desired result. It bent in a triangular pattern around the front of the tractor. It would never slide open again.

  Miguel aimed his useless rifle at Nema. She ducked back. The Hungarian ducked as well.

  I looped my twine through a metal fitting on the tractor and tossed the spool over the wall. I climbed to the tractor’s roof and gave Tania a hand up. With a boost, she grabbed the twine and scampered up the wall. Once over the top, she would use the twine to rappel down.

  Arrianne stuck her head out of the cab as Tania disappeared over the top. “Nema’s going to shoot me. I’ll stay here. Maybe I can talk her down.”

  “You have ten seconds to get over this wall. Don’t make me carry you.”

  “I appreciate you saving me,” she said. “You’re truly my hero, but things have gotten more complicated.”

  “Shut up and get over that wall.”

  Nema stuck her head out and fired at us. It was beginning to dawn on her why Miguel wasn’t shooting back.

  Arrianne reached up a hand. I grabbed it below her wrist and yanked her up to the roof with me. I picked her up by the waist and tossed her to the top.

  She landed bent in half and took her time getting over her fears. I could hear Tania talking to her on the other side. I couldn’t hear the words, but I knew she was giving Arrianne encouragement and instructions. Arrianne’s dark mane disappeared a second later.

  I grabbed the twine and followed her up and over to the other side. Beyond us, olive orchards filled every inch of the gently rolling terrain. Here and there, vineyards took up a field or two.

  Miguel came over the top as bullets pinged off the iron gate. When he reached the ground, I snipped the twine and pulled the remainder through the loop on the tractor. Five seconds later, Nema couldn’t follow us without a fifteen-foot jump. Not impossible, but a high probability of injury.

  We looked at the long driveway. Dirt for a quarter mile before it met with another dirt road.

  Arrianne pointed into the distance.

  We couldn’t see the vehicle approaching at an aggressive speed, but we could see the rooster tail of dirt it kicked up in the gathering darkness.

  CHAPTER 31

  “Does anyone have a phone?” I asked.

  “They put a hood over my head,” Tania said, “took all my stuff, drove around in circles for a long time. They didn’t take the hood off until they dumped me in the basement.”

  “Same,” the rest of us said.

  Miguel led us across stones set in the dirt at the base of the wall. They prevented mud from splashing up on the whitewashed wall. They also kept our footprints out of the dust. Arrianne was not happy. Something about her white walking shoes.

  We made it to the opposite side of the compound by the time the new arrivals discovered their gate problem. Voices shouted to each other over the wall. We ran for the olive grove, running down the rows between trees single file. It was getting dark when we split into separate rows to confuse our tracks until we reached a road. We crossed it and continued down the rows another fifty yards until we reached another dirt track. Then we backed up, stepping in our footprints to further obscure our path.

  The subterfuge chewed up a lot of our head start. We could see flashlights and hear voices not far away.

  A farmhouse in the distance caught our eye. We walked single file to the dark structure, hoping for a phone. Once we alerted the authorities, they could swoop in and clean up the Free Origins people. The closer we got to our destination, the more we understood that wasn’t going to happen. The front door was missing. None of the windows had glass. Some had plywood.

  After a quick check, we determined it had been abandoned for years.

  A small pickup drove by, shining a spotlight on the house. We managed to keep low and out of sight. I ventured a peek and saw the silhouettes of two men in the truck bed. Voices called from the back to the cab before it sped up and away.

  We climbed out a back window and made our way up the gently sloping hill behind the house. We zigzagged and back-tracked and single-filed until we reached the summit. Tania climbed on Miguel’s shoulders to see over the olive trees.

  “They found our tracks,” she said. “Nearest house is on the other side of them. Too dangerous.”

  She went silent for a moment.

  “What is it?” Arrianne asked.

  “Either the back roads are busy this evening, or there’s a bunch of them looking for us.” Tania jumped down. “We can’t use the roads anymore. But there’s another house half a mile that way.”

  She started jogging in the opposite direction from the searchers.

  “Wait,” Arrianne said. “I can’t keep up with you. I’m tired and thirsty and hungry.”

  “I thought y’all were supposed to be the Master Race,” Tania said. “If I can do this—you can do this.”

  “Yeah, but …”

  “And didn’t you say there’s a thousand of them trying to kill us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get moving, sister.”

  We jogged down a ravine and crossed a marshy area. Our feet sank into mud. We turned downstream for a few hundred yards. The wetland turned into a retaining pond. We skirted it and came out by a road. Headlights preceded a small Toyota Hilux, the preferred cheap-and-redneck rental for conference attendees, coming down a crossroad. We ducked back to the marsh and hid in the reeds. The compact pickup turned onto the lane. Its headlights flashed across us.

  We could only hope there were enough reeds between them and us to keep us concealed.

  There weren’t.

  The truck skidded to a stop a hundred yards up the road. Two guys in the back jumped down. As they came down the road, the little pickup backed up, illuminating the two men on foot. One was Earl, the tattooed man who’d advised me to run. He held an AK-47 at the ready. His companion held a shotgun.

  The truck stopped just short of lighting us up. They’d misjudged our position by a few critical feet. The peripheral glow from the lights illuminated us like daylight. But our eyes were used to the dark. The hunters had been staring into the bright cone in front of them. They couldn’t see us.

  The driver leaned out and pointed just north of us. “They’re in there somewhere.”

  Using our fingers, we mapped out a plan. I held tight to Arrianne’s wrist and gave her a serious look about staying silent. She was doing well so far, shaking like she had palsy, but contained. One gasp or surprised shriek from the schoolgirl bottled up inside her, and we were toast. Tania gave her an equally serious glare.

  Earl said, “Fuck this.”

  He opened up with an automatic burst. The spray came near our crouching heads.

  I slipped my hand over Arrianne’s mouth just in time to catch a yelp of fear and muffled it. She twisted, which made a splash.

  Earl cocked an ear in our direction. He raised his rifle and squeezed off another burst. This time five bullets flew over our heads with half an inch to spare.

  Arrianne couldn’t take it. She exploded out of my grip, splashed across the water, pushing reeds left and right and screaming.

  Her commotion drew our enemies’ attention. Earl saw the movement, aimed and fired.

  Tania reached out of the grass, yanked Arrianne’s wrist and dragged her to the ground.

  Miguel flew out of the reeds into Earl’s left side. He wrapped up the shooter and drove him to the ground. The guy with the shotgun aimed at the writhing bodies. Miguel rolled over, holding Earl between the shotgun and himself. He kept Earl’s arms pinned to his side.

  Which confused the guy with the shotgun long enough for me to tackle him from behind.

  The shotgun went off when we hit the ground. The man wielding it was so surprised by the violence of my actions that he hesitated. Which cost him dearly
. I jerked the weapon from his hands and slammed the butt into his temple. He twitched.

  Miguel’s adversary wasn’t going as gently into that same good night. They were struggling and squirming and throwing elbows.

  Behind me, the driver’s door opened. I wheeled on the interloper and fired a blast. Shotguns are deadly short-range weapons. At twenty-five yards, they’ll kill anything in front of the barrel. It was the driver’s lucky night. He was a good fifty yards away. Buckshot spreads out in an ever-widening pattern after leaving the barrel. And I fired a touch too early during my turn. Pellets pinged off the glass and hood.

  He jumped back in and floored the truck in a bid to run me down.

  I stood my ground and pumped a second shell and aimed and fired.

  The windshield spider-cracked into a thousand square shards. It was held together by the plastic sandwiched in the middle that qualified it as safety glass. I pumped again.

  He slammed on the brakes and lost control, sliding sideways. Dirt and gravel flew into my eyes. He found the gas pedal, his tires spun then caught, his truck careened into the olive grove.

  I gave him another taste of buckshot despite the distance. I pumped again. Empty.

  The shotgun owner popped to his feet and raised a fist. I slammed the rifle butt into his forehead. He went down again. You might think a redneck would learn his lesson the first time.

  A voice squawked over a radio. “Mikey, you copy? We found ’em. Out here. We’re at … Hold on.”

  The radio was on Earl’s belt. He was doing a great job of wrestling Miguel despite the weight differential. I pushed the shotgun barrel in his face.

  He stopped squirming.

  Miguel took Earl’s rifle, stood, and hauled Earl to his feet.

  Mercury floated down from the sky in his formal toga. Tell me the truth, homie. Did Mars render assistance in that awesome—but very expensive to me—escape from the compound?

  I said, Not now. Go away.

  Mercury said, I’m serious, dude.

  I said, Does that mean Mars bet on me surviving? Can you send him over here? I need some help.

  Mercury grew uncharacteristically stern. Did you see Mars?

  I said, I saw him. But he never said a word.

  Mercury’s suspicious gaze scanned me head to toe. OK, Ima take your word for it. And hey, nice to see you made it through the first quarter of the game. Don’t keep it up. I need that thousand aurei.

  Sure, I said. Anything to help you out.

  Mercury smiled and patted my back and rose into the night sky. Flipping gods are going to drive me crazy.

  When my gaze returned to Earth, it landed on Miguel, who was squinting at me. He said, “You OK?”

  “When we get home, remind me to refill my prescription.”

  The truck came back crashing across the hillside through the olive trees. He hit the road two hundred yards uphill and smashed down the gas pedal. His headlights lit us up.

  “You?” Earl looked me over. “They told us sand niggers was gonna blow up the conference, kill us all.”

  “They lied.” I shrugged. “Shocker.”

  Earl stepped into the headlight beams and flagged down the truck. Miguel backed him up with the AK-47, just in case the driver didn’t take directions well.

  The truck slowed to a stop. Earl said, “Stand down, Tommy. Turns out, just more bullshit from Paladin. This here’s a good guy and—” he looked over his shoulder at a big man holding an assault rifle and wisely decided to refrain from racial epithets “—a friend of his.”

  “You guys have a phone?” I asked.

  “Grabbed our guns and a radio. Don’t even have an extra magazine.” Earl scratched his chin. “Make you a deal. We radio in the wrong location, give you a head start. You let us go.”

  “Great idea.” I patted him on the back. “For you. But you see, we’re taking your truck, your rifle, your ammo, and your radios. Consider it the penalty for attempted murder.”

  The former owner of the shotgun moaned and rose to his knees. He threw up. Tommy got out of the truck. We frisked them all, pocketing three knives plus the pistol in Tommy’s boot.

  Tania and Arrianne staggered toward us out of the marsh. Arrianne’s face glowed white in the darkness. A bullet had grazed her back, leaving a long, ugly scratch. Her stretchy top barely stayed on her shoulders. We helped Arrianne into the truck bed. Tania climbed in, whipped off her shirt, leaving her in a sports bra, and used it to bandage Arrianne.

  Miguel rode shotgun. Or AK-47, in this case. I brushed the last crumbs of glass out of the windshield frame and took off.

  Headlights crested the hill behind us.

  CHAPTER 32

  I put the hammer down, and the little rental whined its way down the road.

  Tania pounded on the back glass, screaming about a box of #00 shells in back. Miguel passed her the shotgun through the sliding back window. She loaded as our pursuers gained on us.

  Miguel opened his door, stood on the seat leaning out, wrapped his seatbelt around his forearm for safety, and took a couple shots at the oncoming headlights.

  The radio in the console squawked. “Tommy, that you? Don’t shoot at us.”

  I picked it up. “Who is this? Paladin?”

  “Hell no. Those Free Origins assholes left an hour ago. Went on their mission.”

  The news made me ill. ROSGEO was underway.

  And we were flying around olive orchards being pursued by a bunch of well-armed morons.

  Not to mention the fact that my personal deity had bet against me.

  “Paladin lied to you,” I said. “There aren’t any Arabs. I’m Jacob Stearne.”

  A different voice crackled on the radio. “Holy shit. Where are you?”

  There was a certain amount of glee in the newcomer’s voice. An amount that spoke volumes about how big a bounty Paladin had put on our heads.

  Another pair of headlights appeared. This time, five hundred yards in front of me.

  A third voice jumped on the radio. “I see ’em. They got Tommy’s pickup.”

  Arrianne leaned in the back window. “There’s a back road on the left. It goes through a thicker grove. Maybe they won’t see us.”

  “Hang on!” I warned my passengers a split-second before sliding sideways onto Arrianne’s track. Gravel and dirt spewed from the tires. I drove up a hill, praying there was no one coming up the other side because we caught air at the top. When we crashed back to earth, something broke. I wasn’t sure what, but you can’t hit the ground that hard without breaking something.

  As soon as I stepped on the gas, I knew what had broken. The tailpipe. If they couldn’t see us, they could hear us.

  “You can’t be serious.” Tania’s voice assaulted my ears through the slider window. She was talking to Arrianne. “Jacob?”

  There was a pout in Arrianne’s answer. “A hero like Jacob would make the perfect provider for his family and a great defender of the white race.”

  “If that’s your theory, what about me? I’m the one who saved your cracker ass and dressed your wound.”

  “Well, that’s your job, isn’t it?”

  Tania stuck her face in the window. “Stop the car. I’m shoving this bitch out on the road.”

  I twisted to glance at her. “Just ignore her.”

  “I’m done ‘ignoring’ dumbass white people. I’ve been patient. I’ve forgiven them their trespasses. Where does it get me? Nowhere. Why don’t you white people stop being assholes for a change, huh? I just saved some screaming idiot from getting shot in the back, and she treats me like hired help. I don’t need to be patient.”

  Miguel gave her a fist bump. They both looked at me.

  I felt their stares. I glanced back and forth at them. “Hey! Who pulled you out of a burning Humvee during the war?”

  Tania said, “Some of y’all aren’t so bad.”

  She pulled out of the window and said to Arrianne, “One more racist word out of you and you’re going over the sid
e.”

  “For what it’s worth, Arrianne—” I called through the sliding window “—there’s a reason I never slept with you. I could never love a racist. With that much hate in your heart, where will it turn next?”

  A pair of headlights flew over the ridge and gained on us with aggressive speed.

  Miguel leaned out the window again and offered them the disincentive of a couple rounds. One bullet took out a headlight.

  They answered with half a magazine.

  I drove serpentine, swerving left and right without a pattern. We rounded a long, sweeping turn.

  Miguel leaned in the cab. “They’re hunting us.”

  His point was crystal clear, one truck chased us while the other got in position to shoot. I killed the headlights, sped up, jammed the brakes, threw the steering wheel into a hard left, pounded the accelerator, and did three doughnuts in the road. A choking cloud of dust arose. I backed in between rows of olive trees and waited for the happy hunters to drive through my dirt-smoke screen.

  They approached at a high rate of speed. Miguel blew out the front tire with an award-winning shot. The compact SUV’s nose plowed into the road, flipping the vehicle in the air.

  Miguel and Tania hit the ground running. They got to the crash site before I could find Tommy’s 9-mil. I arrived after they’d picked through the wreckage. Lights above the trees told me a second truck was coming.

  I said, “Anything?”

  “What’s wrong with these people?” Tania yelled. “Can’t bring a freaking phone on a car chase? None of them?”

  “Rifle’s nosed into the dirt,” Miguel said. He tossed the useless weapon aside.

  I said, “OK, give it up. Back to the truck.”

  As we turned to run, I found a phone. It had bounced ten yards from the wreck. It was bent like an elbow, the glass shattered. It couldn’t possibly work.

  We made it twenty yards into the trees as the second truck came through. A more cautious driver, he sensed something wrong and slowed before running into his pals. They found the wreckage and rendered aid.