Oil to Ashes 2, "Truce" (Linc Freemore Apocalyptic Thriller Series)

by Lee Brait

month. Trees had been cheaper than fences. And easier to shift a body through. He was surprised at how much easier it was to drag a corpse than he expected, when respect for the dead is not an issue. Jim opened an old tarp on his garage floor and Linc dragged the body through the back door. They rolled the brother over and dumped him on the tarp.

  "How did you do that?" Linc asked.

  "Do what?"

  "Kill him so clean and quiet. With no blood?"

  "An old trick I learned in the corps. From an elevated rear position you put the shot between the first and second ribs. The top rib is smaller than the second, which leaves a larger gap when you're looking down on it. A perfect trajectory straight into the heart. The bullet even creates a nice long tunnel through flesh that wants to close itself up. Takes several minutes for the blood to start leaking out the hole. No mess, no fuss."

  Jim checked the wound, "Should be any time now actually."

  He took a pencil from a neatly organized shelf and pushed it in the hole in the brother's back. Jammed it all the way in with his heel.

  "And that's the easiest way to keep it that way."

  Linc shook his head. "Where the hell did they find you!"

  Jim almost looked like he enjoyed himself for a moment.

  "Damn good thing I was home when you called Linc. You did a fine job in that forest. But this...this is not a guy you want with your family."

  "I can't thank you enough for this, buddy."

  "Bullshit," said Jim. "After what they did to my Janie..."

  Linc tried to answer and stopped.

  Jim helped him out and filled the silence, "So what was that thing with the X's and O's back there with Ryan? Was that some code GlobalShift taught you?"

  "Nope. Any code the company came up with would need a three inch manual to decypher and I'd have to pay them a royalty to use it outside of work."

  "It's our secret code," linc explained. "I figured we should have a way to tell each other if everything is okay or not. Current state of affairs and all."

  "Like Morse code in a signature or something?"

  "Something like that. It's just 4 X's or O's. The first character tells the other person if there's danger. O is safe. X is danger. The second is the level of danger. O is moderate, X is extreme."

  The third is whether to stay or go. O means leave and X means stay. And the fourth is how fast. O means no hurry and X is urgent."

  "So OXXX means extremely safe, get inside fast?"

  "Exactly. And Ryan knows to do what the code says and not ask questions. It turned into a bit of a game but that's the first time I've used it for real."

  Linc voiced what they both were thinking, "So what do we do with this piece of trash?"

  Ryan and Angie were safe but now they had a body. And not in some wood where nobody would ever find it. In his own back yard. DNA all over both their houses.

  "I dunno Jim, how do we explain it to cops who shoot first and have no time for questions?"

  "Yep, they sure as hell never asked too many questions when Janie needed them."

  "Don't see why we should rot in some cell while they catch up with the details," said Linc. "You never know with the state of things now. One dodgy judge or DA owned by the wrong people and we could be the ones getting the chair."

  "With you all the way," said Jim. "Would have bet my life on our system once. But not now. I'd say this scumbag's had all the justice he deserves."

  Linc stared vacantly at the body.

  "Come and have a coffee," said Jim. "Settle your nerves and lets figure out what to do with him."

  He flicked on the light in the hall and Linc followed him.

  Army photos and pictures of Jim and Mandy and Janie littered the walls of the hallway. Baby steps and picnics and birthday parties. Combat buddies and graduations and photos of Janie standing on podiums at swimming events. There was nothing about her rape or missing fingers.

  Jim put the pot on and turned the TV up a little.

  "You leave the TV on all the time now?" asked Linc as he deposited himself on a kitchen stool.

  "Yes. It's depressing but you need to know."

  "Yeah, me too."

  A new bulletin started, "Recapping today's main story, truce has been declared between America and the Middle East. All parties have agreed to an immediate ceasefire and plans for withdrawing troops and freedom fighters have been agreed to by both sides."

  "My God," said Jim. "I never thought it would happen."

  "Wow, hard to believe," said Linc. "This felt like the end. All this violence. You think they can make it stick?"

  "Sure hope so. Hell, if they can get our boys home they'll be able to put an end to all this gang BS."

  "So we better get rid of our friend before the chaos settles," Jim added as he muted the TV.

  "I have a reciprocating saw," said Jim. "We could cut him up. But it would make a big mess."

  He poured the coffee and Linc drew the smooth rich vapour into his lungs and took a grateful gulp.

  "Just realized I haven't eaten for a day," said Linc.

  Jim took two energy bars from a cupboard.

  "Perfect. Thanks."

  "We already have his DNA spread all over the place," said Linc. "Chopping him up seems risky. Let's take him somewhere else."

  He paused, "And besides, it's hard enough to hold on to whatever stops us from becoming animals during all of this. Dismembering a body is a step too far for me. Not when there are other options."

  "I guess you're right. Combat has hardened me more than I realize sometimes. How about we weight him down and drop him in the river?"

  "How long do they take to start floating?" asked Linc.

  "Hmm, yeah, too risky. How about a shallow grave?"

  "That works. It would have to be somewhere at least fifty miles away. Somewhere you or I never go. Has to be random and isolated."

  Jim pulled a map from the kitchen drawer and spread it on the counter. They ran their fingers over highways and deserts and reserves.

  "How about Chadbourne Road?" said Jim. "At the foot of the mountains?"

  "Never heard of it before," said Linc. "It's perfect."

  He looked up at the TV in time to see images of a fire at an airport. Planes gathered in the middle of the runways, away from the burning buildings. The caption said "LAX closed".

  "Do you think that was before or after the truce?"

  "Hard to know," said Jim. "Could have been burning for hours with emergency services the way they are."

  The picture changed to a woman with a microphone. An array of serious and well rehearsed expressions passed across her face as captions came and went. The screen went black.

  "Have we lost another one?" asked Linc.

  Jim grabbed the remote and flipped through channels until he found one that worked.

  "Looks like it. More than half of them are gone now."

  Jim put the sound on again.

  "...as further details of the truce agreement are revealed."

  "A second Boeing 777 has vanished today. This time, one hour after take off from Hartsfield–Jackson Atlanta International Airport. An American Airlines spokesperson said the company will not rest until the Boeing 777-200 and all 386 passengers are found. We'll bring you the latest as events unfold."

  "Air marshals are optimistic that two of the thirteen closed airports will reopen within..."

  Jim hit mute again. "Sorry, that's too depressing."

  "Pray that's the last time," said Linc.

  They sat in silence for a while, each waiting for the other to break it.

  An obnoxious version of Greensleeves began to play in the hallway.

  "Jeez, the door," said Jim.

  He hit a button on the TV remote and brought up an image of a young woman standing at the front door.

  "It's Isabella from Janie's support group. I'll try to get rid of her but we have to get this body out of here."

  Linc and Jim treaded light and fast past the rows of photos and
into the garage. Jim popped the trunk and they took an end of the tarp each, dumped the brother in and slammed it shut.

  Greensleeves caterwauled again.

  "Jim, could you could let Angie know what's going on?"

  "Sure."

  "Tell her I'll be back in a few hours," said Linc. "Thanks buddy. I don't even know how to thank you for all this."

  "You've been delivering justice all day to the scum that hurt my Janie. That's thanks enough."

  Jim pointed to the wall, "You can take the shovel and the camping lantern."

  With all his weight on the shovel, it only penetrated a few inches at a time. The soil was rich and smelled of life. A nice contrast. But it was thirsty too, and firm. Yesterday's rain was not enough to soften it. And it was filled with roots, even in this space he'd found between the trees.

  He dug a few inches and hacked at some roots. The details of his work were hard to see under the flickering lantern, but it didn't matter. This was a shallow grave, not the statue of David he was carving. Then repeat. Dig and hack. Dig and hack. Monotonous like a football drill. A bored mind looks for something to do. It thinks of all the things that will go wrong. It tells the body it's tired. Makes you want to give up too soon. Setting targets and playing counting games had always helped. Thirty five rows in the stadium, seven aisles, makes two hundred forty five steps per lap. Times three laps is seven hundred thirty five steps. Count them down and focus with everything you've got on the next thirty five and the number that remain. Block out every other thought that wants to get in and make you want to quit. The mountain gets smaller with each gut busting step.

  So far the hole was six inches deep and two feet by two feet. Wide enough but only a third of the length he needed and only one sixth of the depth. The mind wants the body to think it's impossible. To quit. Give it