“Well, that sounds unlikely is all, sir,” said Max. “So, no disrespect but you don’t look like a South American tribesman, I guess.”
“But I am—adopted by the tribe when my father was killed on an expedition of some kind. It was just him and me far back in the jungle. I was only six years old… I found my father’s killer from another tribe downriver at age 13 and killed him dead in his sleep—with no remorse. I had to leave my tribe, my family, after that for fear of reprisal.”
“That’s amazing!” said Max. “But why are you telling me all this?”
“Because you lost someone close to you, and you seek revenge.”
“How would you know that?” asked Max.
“I have instinct, and I’ve been trained. I see it in your eyes. Who was it—a parent or sibling, maybe?”
Max paused.
“You’re only telling me part of the truth. I can’t have that where we’re going,” continued Sergio. “So, what’s it going to be?”
“My…father… They killed my father!” Max blurted out.
“And?”
“And I want to know if his name is in your notebook.”
Max felt a weight off his chest and was scared to death at the same time.
“Stop the truck!” ordered Sergio.
“Right here?”
“Right here!” he commanded.
“Meet me around back,” Sergio said, with Max wondering if this was the end.
He didn’t see a weapon visible but thought it didn’t make much difference in the long run. Maybe he will beat me to death with his bare hands or choke me out, like those MMA guys do in the ring, he thought, getting more nervous by the second.
Sergio half expected Max to run and was prepared to tie up loose ends right here, but he didn’t.
They met at the back of the truck, with Mike asking what was going on.
“We need to get some things straight, and I wanted to talk to you guys anyway about what happens next,” said Sergio.
“Are you going to kill me?” asked Max.
“I don’t think so, but it’s good you didn’t try to run. You know too much to be running around here by yourself now… Who killed your father?”
“I don’t know, but I saw Baker order it.”
“Was he shooting at us when he died?” asked Sergio.
“No. He was unarmed and pleading with them not to kill our dog.”
“Are you sure he didn’t shoot?”
“Yes—100 percent. He doesn’t…didn’t, I mean, even own a gun.”
“He’s not in my book!”
“How do you know? His name was Alphonz...”
“I know because I have only killed men who are shooting in my direction. I don’t know who did, and that game they play with the dogs is enough to make me want to kill them all,” replied Sergio.
With that, he pulled out his notebook and tossed it to a nervous Max.
“Go ahead. See if he’s in there.”
Max turned the notebook face-up with trembling hands and lifted the cover halfway before closing it, and tossing it back.
“I believe you, sir,” said Max, “and you can trust me too.”
With the truck’s solid back window, Mike had missed the cab conversation but got the basic idea.
“I showed you both my cards when we were at Ronna’s camp. Now it’s time to show me yours. You first, Max.”
“Okay. What have I got to lose? I aim to kill Baker and the man who killed my father.”
“You have a plan?” asked Sergio.
“Not really, but I thought maybe I could get close to him if he needed any medical attention at some point.”
“How about you, Mike?”
Mike paused and would never have revealed his plans if he hadn’t seen Ronna with his own eyes.
“My plan is to protect the Valley by any means necessary,” Mike replied. “What’s yours, Sergio?”
“Fair enough. I can’t tell you everything. I don’t even know it all yet, but I take orders from Ronna, who takes orders from the Colonel, who saved your asses back on Raton Pass.”
“I thought we put up a great fight,” said Mike.
“I’ll give you that. You should have seen how pissed off Baker was. I’ve never seen him like that before or since. I am in as good as can be expected with Baker’s group and the number four guy from the top. I don’t think anyone suspects me to be a spy, but who knows. When I come back with only you two, he’s going to be suspicious. We need to make his first impression solid.”
“How do we do that?” asked Max.
“With pain,” he replied, brandishing his concealed pistol and pointing it at Max.
“Left, or right?”
“What? Wait a minute… I thought we were...”
“Left it is,” Sergio said, firing a single shot through the upper part of Max’s shoulder.
Max fell onto the ground, holding his arm through the burning pain. The shocked look on his face amplified when Sergio said, “I’ll take right,” using his left hand to fire a bullet through his own right arm, just inside the elbow.
“Through and through on both accounts,” remarked Mike, not at all surprised with the happenings. “What about me?”
“You’re good,” said Sergio through grit teeth. “I forgot how much it burns,” he admitted, laughing.
“Are you going to be okay, Max?” asked Mike.
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that…but it’s better than dying.”
“It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid,” added in Mike. “You have to get it done before you think too much about what’s coming. Will they buy it?”
“I think so. Ronna or the real Colonel would never buy two flesh wounds to extremities only, but that ragtag crew Baker’s got won’t know the difference. So, Max, stand up for me and get us cleaned up a bit.”
He did as he was told, breathing heavily. “Did you really have to do that?”
“Yes, he did,” chimed in Mike.
They spent 25 minutes on the side of the road, with only temporary dressings applied.
Sergio discussed what he could about his orders, refusing to answer a few questions from Max and Mike about what was going on with the country.
Sergio finally commented. “The whole thing is a chess match, and there are a lot of high-stakes players, with most running other countries.”
“Why would another country want to do harm to ours?” asked Max.
“Land. But not just any land—usable land, with resources in farming, forestry, minerals and petroleum,” replied Sergio.
“Don’t they have enough land already?” asked Max, as he wrapped Sergio’s arm.
“There’s never enough. Have you seen how many people live in China and India?”
“I have one question you probably won’t answer,” said Mike.
“Shoot!”
“I met with the Colonel several times and saw an old friend from my younger days setting up boxing rings across the country in FEMA camps.”
“Okay,” replied Sergio. “Is that the question?”
“No. The question is why were they hired, paid, and everything a full two weeks before the EMP hit?”
Sergio smiled. “You’re right, Mike. That one I won’t be answering today. Let’s keep this focus on the Valley for now. As you know already, the Colonel has a good friend and mentor named Samuel there that he will bring hell from the skies if he has to in order to protect him.
“Follow my lead when we get to camp. Don’t talk to anyone else about this, and Max, reign it in. If you kill Baker or anyone else before I give the word, you will be a liability and no longer an asset. The Great Battle for the Valley is only the beginning of their plans, not the end.”
* * * *
They pulled in to the compound early in the afternoon.
Mike had a guesstimate of how many people might be here, but he only calculated those marching with Baker across Raton Pass. He would come to learn quickly that the daily radio broadcasts
Baker had done from the beginning, never missing a day, were working like gangbusters.
Throngs of people came from all four directions, packing in like cattle waiting for the slaughter. No wonder the President said only twenty-something percent of people had reported to the FEMA camps so far, Mike thought.
Tents filled the wide-open camp, with ponds scattered haphazardly throughout the area. At first look, it appeared to be a random shuffle of people, like Times Square at noon on a Monday, but over the next few minutes a pattern formed. Not as choreographed as the FEMA camps but a pattern, just the same. Walk-in checks were all done from the east side, and vehicle check-ins—or forfeitures, as they should be called—were recorded on the north end of the camp.
Any citizen entering the camp relinquished everything but their clothing. Weapons, including rifles, pistols, crossbows, bows, knives, baseball bats, tire irons, pepper spray, and even bear and wasp spray were all confiscated and logged, not for an eventual return to its rightful owner but for bargaining tools, and they were now the sole property of just one man.
Pets were not allowed, with no exceptions. The deranged mutt cuts game commenced each night after dark, with most new residents only hearing the gunfire, and included shooting at any living thing someone could care enough to bring along.
Sergio pulled through the north gate ahead of a line of old cars, trucks, trailers and motorcycles on two, three and four wheels. He made a point to end up behind a few to give Mike and Max some final instructions.
“A few more things, gentlemen. Don’t even look at the women, single or not. They are all processed and evaluated on check-in. The first picks go to Baker and the next to his higher-ups.”
“Like you?” asked Mike.
“No, I don’t participate in that, and so far, Baker has never asked why. Next, always address him as ‘Colonel’ and ‘sir’ if it’s a long conversation. I don’t know where he came up with it, but he will have you killed if you forget it. Last for now—no fighting, no matter what. They don’t have a fighting pit here, but they do have a large hole dug a half-mile up the road for the bodies of all participants of disorderly conduct.”
“I thought the point was to get the most people they could in the group,” said Max. “Dominate with numbers, right?”
“Not exactly,” replied Sergio. “They have to feed everybody, so to him it’s about adding the right people. The ones who toe the line and don’t question anything—at least not out loud—are the ones who stay.”
“What if someone wants to leave on their own?” asked Max.
“Just like that song ‘Hotel California’—the one by the Eagles where he says you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave. The only ones walking out of here are the ones who never came in.”
“What about the kids?” asked Mike. “Are they abusing them?”
“Not that I’ve seen, but it’s a big camp and I can’t be sure. They are going to frisk you first and take your bike,” he whispered to Mike. “Once inside, I’ll give you this,” he added, jingling the key to the Indian before stuffing it back into his pocket. “Actually, better put this in my boot in case I have to talk to Baker today. You will need it later, and I topped it off with gas at Ronna’s camp. Okay—here we go, fellas. Stick to the story, no matter what, and wait until I find you in the next few days before we talk. Last thing, I’m going to be not so nice to you in just a few minutes; trust me, it’s part of the plan. Game faces! Let’s go!” he said, as he drove through the gate.
“Hey, Serg,” said the gate guard. “Where’s the rest of them?”
Two other guests walked around to look in the truck.
“We got ambushed—outnumbered five to one,” replied Sergio. “The guy, Mike in the back, wasn’t worth a crap, but I guess he’s got the worst of the injuries. And this guy,” he said, pointing to Max, hid under the truck and let the rest of us take fire. Good thing he’s competent at patching things up ’cause he can’t fight for crap,” he added, dragging him out of the truck with his good arm and pushing him to the ground.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Twenty-one
Baker’s Camp
St. Vrain State Park, Colorado
“They’re here,” said a guard on his walkie-talkie. “Colonel Baker wants to see you, all of you,” he clarified.
He turned around, talking into his radio for several more minutes. Two men were called over to help Mike off the truck, where he and Max were patted down, revealing no weapons.
“Open your bag,” they told Max, referring to his medical bag. “You have any needles in there or anything sharp?”
“Yes, it’s a medical kit. Of course, I have needles and scissors—even a scalpel.”
“All right. I’ll take it for now,” said a guard, adding to another guard, “Follow behind them.”
Sergio held on to Mike’s key, knowing full well they would be frisked again before talking with Baker.
* * * *
The leader’s main canvas tent, with three more attached, amassed a footprint of nearly 2,000 square feet in the center of the camp, complete with a top-of-the-line portable toilet and rain-fed shower. Armed guards and middle-level guys surrounded it on all sides, facing outwards and doing their best to hold still like Buckingham Palace guards.
Mike and Max were frisked again, even removing their footwear and socks while Sergio got a quick pat-down fully clothed.
“Welcome, gentlemen, to my little piece of the country,” came a booming voice from the other side of what could have passed for a nice house in any town before the day. Living room furniture matched perfectly with area rugs. Ceiling fans throughout the tops of each room kept an even, cool temperature.
Baker walked out in a long red robe, like the eccentric Hugh Hefner was famous for wearing. His stature was plump, one might say, standing no more than 5’3”, or maybe 5’4”, Mike thought. This wasn’t the man Mike was expecting to see after hearing all the stories; but to be honest, he had never really thought about it.
Max clenched his fists at the sight of this man so close he could touch him. Would he ever get this close again?
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Baker said. “You must be Max, ’cause you’re not gut shot.”
“Yes, Colonel. It’s good to meet you,” he heard himself say, instinctively reaching out his hand.
“We don’t do that here,” said Sergio.
“Oh…sorry,” said Max, now resigned to take his time and not do something stupid on his first day here.
“It’s fine. One can never be too careful,” said Baker. “Can I get you two something to drink?”
“A beer would be great, Colonel,” said Mike, half joking.
“Well now, that’s the problem with cutting the line,” Baker replied. “You missed the sign out front with the rules of conduct. Let’s get them in front of it when we’re done here,” he said to a guard.
“We don’t drink here; nobody does. How about some lemonade?”
“Yes, sir! Thank you, Colonel,” said Max, with Mike agreeing.
“I hear you ran into some trouble on your way here. Is that right?”
“Yes, Colonel, we were headed...”
“Not you, Sergio. I want to hear from them,” Baker replied.
“We were ambushed,” said Mike, speaking up. “Some got hit, and some got killed on both sides.”
“Is that so? Lucky, Sergio, that you and Max here didn’t get shot in the gut like Mike, or in the face. Just arms, I see, but not the same side.”
Max was getting nervous and was not expecting this much scrutiny.
“And Max, I hear you hid under the truck during the what-did-you-call-it, Mike? Oh yes…ambush. Is that right?”
“Well, sir, I am a medic and we are trained to lay low. We can’t help someone else if we’re dead.”
Baker paused.
“Colonel, it’s time for your bath,” came the voices of females from the back.
“I guess the good Lo
rd was watching out for all of you today. He knows we have much more work to be done in His name. Sergio?”
“Yes, Colonel?”
“Try to be nice to Max, will you?”
“Yes, sir. I will try.”
“I know you will because I’m putting him under your supervision,” said the Colonel. “Mike also for now, but only until he heals up. I have other plans he can help me with. Show Max around and get him introduced to the other medical staff and get Mike settled into the infirmary.
“I’ll call for you in the next few days, Mike, to go over your pledged information.”
“Any questions, Sergio?”
“No, sir. I can do that.”
* * * *
Mike had his own room, or tent suite, at least for now, and Sergio appointed Max as his primary caretaker.
“I see what you did,” Max told Sergio. “You had to make it look like you didn’t like me so he would tell you to watch me.”
“I don’t like you. Never have,” Sergio replied with a straight face, “and Mike’s the same.”
“Wait a minute. I thought... I mean, have I ever done any...”
“He’s messing with you,” said Mike, laughing.
“Wait, are you?”
“Am I?” Sergio replied.
Max looked confused.
“Yeah, I’m just messing with you, as Mike said. Now,” he added in a whisper only they could hear, “don’t trust anyone—and Max, that includes all the medical staff too. They may not be okay with everything, but they will rat you out in a cool second to save their own skin. Got it?”
“Yeah, but what about Mike?”
“He’s been around the block a few times and needs no such instructions. Here,” he said, tossing the Indian key to Mike. “It smells like sweaty boots but starts… One hell of a machine!”
Mike pretended to take a big whiff, holding the keys to his nose.
“I smell bacon,” he joked.
“Ooh,” said Max. “That’s just not right.”
* * * *
Mike and Max spent the next few days quietly observing their surroundings. Mike didn’t get around much—only twice a day to sit in the sun for a couple of hours each stint. He didn’t mind; it was enough to see the pace of the camp. Who came, who went, and the interactions between the guards, the citizens (if you could call them that) and the hardware. Keeping an eye out for the helicopters Baker had talked about, he saw none, and heard even less.
Next World Series | Vol. 5 | Families First [Homecoming] Page 18
