“I never have and never will take the life of a woman or a child, before you ask,” replied Mike.
“As far as men go, well the three in the pit, I guess?” asked Max.
“Nope, only one of those,” replied Mike.
“Maybe two or three more?”
“I don’t know; I lost count. How many girlfriends have you had in your life?”
“Three. Just three,” replied Max.
“Are you sure you’re telling me the truth?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I know. I can see it in your eyes. Now look in mine. I have had many. Most didn’t last more than a month or two, and I only cared about two—Kelly and Sheila. Do you believe me?”
“Yeah, Mike. I do.”
“Baker is a bad guy, and together we can take him out,” said Mike.
“Okay,” said Max, breathing heavily. “But nobody else can know about this.”
“My family and friends’ very lives depend on it,” Mike replied. “I’m glad you were in the Military,” he added, “because I think they will interrogate us both.”
With as much trust as each man could come up with, they made a plan of sorts. Both agreed that going into a group that large would likely see them separated from the start. Max came clean about his plan to take out Baker but didn’t have any plans after that, assuming he could survive the response. Mike told him of his group and thought Saddle Ranch might be happy to add a Medic, if it came to that.
“I mean, who would want another medical professional,” Mike told him as a statement. “But?”
“But what?”
“They don’t call it the ‘Great Battle’ for nothing. Did you hear him say the helicopters aren’t ready yet?” asked Mike. “How long until they are—weeks or maybe days? You may want to steer clear of Saddle Ranch, if you make it that long.”
“If I have a chance at peace when this deed is done, I’ll fight for it without regret. Besides, like I said before, I’ve got nothing to lose now.”
With the hot sun fully overhead, they were thrown scraps of bread and a gallon of water to split.
“Are we going to try and get these guys a ride?” asked Max.
“Nope,” replied Mike. “They are probably the exact lot Baker would look to add into the group, but I’m not interested in spending any more time with them.”
* * * *
Their ride showed up just before dark. Four men and a pickup truck, the kind with an extended bed, drove into camp and took over. Mike and Max were moved into the tent of the eight-fingered man, and he was moved out.
“You guys get some dinner?” asked a tall, clean-cut man with a freshly healing scar over his right eye. It was clear to everyone he alone was now in charge.
“We fed them,” said Mike’s foe.
“I didn’t ask you. It appears that you men had some stew,” he said, looking at the near-empty pot by the fire. “Mike, Max, did you get enough?”
“Just some bread scraps at lunch,” said Mike, winking at the man in charge.
“Let’s have a chat,” the new leader said, grabbing the man by his finger nubs, getting a stifled scream out of him. “Just so we’re on the same page here, the Colonel told you to take care of these two men, and you guys ate without them?”
“Well, it’s not exactly like that. They said they weren’t hungry.”
The man in charge chuckled but didn’t laugh. Max wondered what may happen next, but not Mike. He saw it in the man’s eyes, the very same look he had seen in the mirror every day since he was 14.
The shot was quick under the eight-fingered man’s chin, dropping him straight away.
“Who’s next?” called out the shooter.
Everyone stood still, not answering.
“How about you get some food going for these two and us,” he said, motioning to his men who brought over a bag of canned foods. “Since you guys have already eaten, it would be a bad idea to take some for yourselves. Now, who can cook?”
They all raised their hands, and he chose the two most confident for the task.
“What’s your best dish?”
“Chicken cacciatore,” said one, with the other adding in “porterhouse rare.”
“Well then, boys. This should be easy tonight. Max,” he called out, “take a look at my cut.”
“Sure thing, sir,” he replied, making an extra effort to be respectful to a man he felt could get him close to Colonel Baker.
“Knife wound?” asked Max.
“How did you know?”
“I’ve been in this line of work, sir, for a while. I guess I’ve seen a little bit of everything. I’ll need to clean this up if that’s okay? Have you had anything done to it?”
“No, I haven’t had any medical care. Just too busy, I guess. And yes, you can take a look.”
“Okay, but it’s going to hurt. I can put some cooling spray on it, though, and give you something for the pain.”
“I don’t need any of that; just fix it!”
Max was concerned about inflicting pain on this man who had the power to take his life or get him close to the man who ordered his father’s death.
Mike knew better. A killer, regardless of his morals, never minded enduring pain.
* * * *
Thirty minutes passed. Max was done and still alive, sitting down to the best canned meal he could remember. “Chili con carne with beans and a kick” was advertised on the can. Mike still didn’t have much of an appetite but ate for the strength he would need soon. Surrounded by men they didn’t trust, both Mike and Max slept surprisingly well.
* * * *
“Up and at ’em boys,” came the leader’s call. “These two fine cooks have volunteered to make breakfast.”
They ate and got packed up. It took three men to get Mike in the back of the truck.
“I see you grabbed my bike,” Mike said.
“Belongs to the Colonel now,” said another man. “There are no possessions kept where we’re going.”
“Let’s head out,” called the lead.
Mike shared the truck bed with Max and the two new chefs. The others looked on as the truck pulled out but didn’t say a word. The old truck had lost its shocks, guaranteed if Mike were asked, with every bump causing a sharp pain in his side.
The leader of the four-man transport team occasionally rode in the back, talking to one of his men quietly, so as not to be overheard.
“You take the pain well, Mike,” he said. “It hardly shows on your face.”
“We have something in common,” said Mike, pointing to the man’s forehead.
“How many, Mike?”
“How many what, sir.”
“How many lives have you taken?”
Mike paused, knowing anything could be a test, and a careless lie could get him and his new friend killed on the spot.
The man continued before Mike could answer.
“It’s in your eyes—cold—the thousand-mile stare. Same as mine. So how many?”
“I don’t really know,” replied Mike.
This got a whoop out of the leader, followed by a bang on top of the truck’s cab.
“He doesn’t really know!” he shouted. “I believe you! I do!”
“How many for you, sir?” Mike asked before he could take it back.
“Fifty-six, before it went dark, and thirteen—no, make that fourteen with your guy back there—in this Next-World.”
“How do you know?” asked Mike, now curious.
“This here notebook,” he said, pulling a small pocket-sized navy-blue spiral notebook from his backpack. “Every kill has a name, or at least something about it, to jog my memory.”
Max sat quietly between the two killers and wondered if his father’s name was in the notebook. He hadn’t seen his father’s executioner, only the man who ordered it. Was he sitting next to the man directly responsible? He couldn’t be sure but thought it possible, at least.
* * * *
The drive took a little over eight hours, with
two small skirmishes that were over in seconds. Mike mostly kept to himself on the ride over, not wanting to appear too close with Max. They got him out of the truck once to pee, but even that took two men holding him up. He had a rendezvous at Saddle Ranch that simply could not be missed as long as he was breathing, so he focused on healing fast.
Mike thought about his favorite movie ever, called Tombstone. There is a scene when Doc Holliday, played by Val Kilmer, pretends to be sicker than he is and shows up at the last minute to help Wyatt Earp defeat a man called Johnny Ringo. It was a masterpiece and his favorite part of the movie. Would it work now, he thought? It would have to.
He was pretty sure he would get regular visits with Max, since they both heard the group was short on medical practitioners. Hopefully, they could finalize the plan a little at a time, only carving out a rough idea ahead of time. Mike needed to be careful about balancing his injury while still being productive and moving quickly up the ranks. No outfit needs a sick man hanging around for too long, he remembered hearing in a movie, or was it a TV show?
They pulled in late, after dark, with an announcement. “We’re here. Everyone sits tight, and nobody leaves the truck.”
* * * * * * *
Chapter Nineteen
Mike ~ Camp ~ Colorado
Mike, with Max’s help, rose to a seated position. He saw a slew of small campfires, with men, women and children milling about and a few laughing out loud.
“This isn’t what I expected,” Mike whispered to Max. “I thought the women were all locked up. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Over here,” said the pickup truck leader, still without a name, who could be Mike’s twin both in looks and behavior. “We’ll stay the night and move on at first light,” he added.
Mike was confused, and that didn’t happen very often.
“Move on tomorrow—to where?” he asked Max.
* * * *
He would have his answer in only another minute as he stared into the eyes of a Military man.
“Ronna, is that you?” Mike asked, already knowing the answer.
“The last time we met, you were pointing a pistol at me and threatening my leadership, I remember,” he replied.
“I was just trying to make a fair deal for my people,” Mike replied. “I didn’t realize who you were,” he added, careful not to say too much in front of his fellow travelers.
“And who might I be?” Ronna asked.
“All I know is we have a mutual friend who travels by helicopter most places,” said Mike, wondering where this was headed.
“Bring him inside for a chat,” Ronna said, walking away.
“Okay, Mike. Let’s go,” said the two men who had helped lift him before.
Mike tried hard to use his legs and got some traction, at least more than before, he thought. He was brought to a tent much bigger than the last time they had met and with ten times the security.
“I see you have grown your little group,” said Mike, waving his hand in a half-circle.
“I have,” he replied. “Not bad for a former coffee barista, don’t you think?”
“So why am I here?” Mike asked, cutting the small talk. “I was expecting to see Colonel Baker.”
“He’s no Colonel—just some crazy guy who has, successfully I will admit, amassed a large army of cult followers willing to die for him,” said Ronna.
“Join or be killed is what I heard,” said Mike.
“You’re not far off… This man,” Ronna said, pointing to Mike’s doppelgänger, “is Sergio. He is a spy and has worked with me for many years, before all of this. He has a special set of talents that I hear you share.”
“What’s that?” asked Mike.
“He cleans things up, gets rid of loose ends, and is loyal to his government. Now, he has infiltrated Baker’s group and gained his trust. It’s what you intend to do, isn’t that right?”
Mike didn’t answer, and it didn’t matter.
“Let’s see if I have this right,” said Ronna. “You have a wife, or a girlfriend, now and a new boy you took from them. Your group with Lance, the other cop (Lennie, I think), and the rest are headed for Saddle Ranch in the Valley. Am I warm?”
He continued, “You know about the Great Battle for the Valley, and you have an ally with a real Colonel who is my commander, and he has intervened on your behalf at least once that I know of. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s right,” replied Mike. “It was right after he intervened on your behalf, when Baker took you prisoner.”
“You do know your history,” replied Ronna.
“I pay attention is all,” replied Mike.
“You will return to Baker’s group, you and Sergio, alone at first light and mention nothing of this stop. Your truck was attacked at dark with only the two of you escaping. You reclaimed the vehicle, camping for the night somewhere down the road,” added Ronna.
“And the other men we rode here with—what about them?” asked Mike.
“Collateral damage. You should know that.”
“I want Max,” said Mike, as if he were in a bargaining position.
“The Medic? Why?”
“He’s not a part of this, and I want him alive. We need him at Saddle Ranch. Call the Colonel.”
Ronna laughed. “I don’t care about it either way, and my commanding officer likes you for some reason—maybe the boxing—so you can keep him. But I need you to help me with Baker. I assume you have some plan cooked up already to help your friends when they get to the Valley. But mark my words, I will be the one to take him down and everyone who willingly works for him. You will report only to Sergio, who will treat you badly in front of Baker. Your friend, the Max guy, will need to toe the line and keep quiet about this stop here tonight. If he doesn’t, Sergio will quiet him his own way. Understand?”
“Yes,” replied Mike, “but what about the other five guys on the truck?”
“On the next stop, keep Max in the truck and put your heads down. This business is messy at times, but a soldier like you doesn’t mind, do you? Don’t answer. Just keep an eye on your friend.”
* * * *
Everyone slept next to the truck and headed out at first light, as planned. Sergio kept the radio with him and brushed off questions from the other men working for Baker. “We’ll sort it out when we arrive,” Sergio told them.
“When we stop, stay in the truck, no matter what,” Mike whispered to Max as he checked his wound. “Don’t ask why. Just do what I’m telling you. No bathroom break or anything else, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. What’s going to happen?”
“Nothing you will want any part of, trust me,” replied Mike.
* * * *
They had to go around most towns and stayed off the freeway entirely, adding a few more hours to their destination. An hour and a half into the trip, Sergio ordered the driver to stop at a state-sponsored picnic area—the kind of rest stop a traveler who had to use the bathroom was tricked into pulling over at, with the blue sign they hoped said “Rest Area.”
Who needs to stop here without a bathroom? Mike thought.
Apparently, now it was a thing, as many tables were filled with trash and the cans overflowed long ago, never to be emptied. A few people wandered about but kept their distance.
“We’ll get breakfast going here. By the time we pull into camp, we’ll miss it, and I’m hungry,” announced Sergio. He wasn’t sure how this would go over with Baker’s guys, but no man wants to miss breakfast. He has used this little trick more than once before, and successfully every time.
“Breakfast sounds good,” said one. Another added, “Plus we have two cooks, and I don’t want to wait until lunch to eat.”
Sergio got the two self-proclaimed chefs of sorts to start a fire and heat the water for three pouches of Mountain House scrambled eggs with bacon. Mike could smell it from the truck and felt like he hadn’t eaten a thing in weeks.
“Everyone gather around the fire,” called out Se
rgio, when breakfast was done cooking.
“I’ll be right there,” hollered Max at Mike’s instructions. “Just changing his bandage.”
“Put the food up on the picnic table,” ordered Sergio.
“Stay low,” Mike told Max. “It’s about to get loud.”
Mike peeked over the side of the truck bed after hearing the first shot. He watched as Sergio took out Baker’s three men before even one could fire back. And the two cooks? Well, they had cooked their last breakfast.
Max jumped when the truck tailgate was opened two minutes later. “Hold on,” said Sergio, returning promptly with a small package of tortillas and a jar of hot sauce. “These meals make one hell of a burrito, and now there’s plenty for everyone.” He made one for himself before saying, “Dig in, fellas.
“Twenty or more men ambushed us, and the truck took fire,” he said, standing back and unloading nine rounds into the truck’s side, missing Mike and Max as well as the vital parts of the vehicle. “Like I was saying, we took fire and gave it back. The three of us barely made it out alive and couldn’t even save our friends’ weapons. That’s the story, and no more.”
He made a sweeping motion with his hand towards several people looking to pick over the downed men and recover what they could. “Have at it, folks. Today is your lucky day!” Sergio said, with a mouthful of egg.
“Okay, Max. You’re driving. Mike, holler if you need anything,” he added, climbing into the passenger’s seat.”
* * * * * * *
Chapter Twenty
Heading to Baker’s Camp, Colorado
“Okay, Max. What’s your story?” asked Sergio.
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
“What I mean is, where are you from? How did you end up with those idiots where I found you, and what do you want?”
Max was tongue-tied for more than a few seconds, wanting to ask the only question he had but afraid of the answer. He answered Sergio’s questions as well as could be expected, carefully picking his way around the obvious.
“That’s interesting,” Sergio replied. “If I told you I was from a small tribe in central South America that rarely saw any outsiders, would you believe me?”
Next World Series | Vol. 5 | Families First [Homecoming] Page 17
