Marla then leaned close and spoke softly but with conviction. “You don't really believe that, do you?”
James shook his head. “I don't know. Why take the chance?”
“Because it's our home,” she said.
James kissed her on the forehead and then collapsed onto his pillow. “Let's sleep on it, okay?”
Marla agreed and turned off the flashlight, rolling onto her side next to him. James hadn't decided yet, but if they were going to make the long trek back home, they needed rest. He felt as homesick as Marla, but they were living in a new world now, where foreign attack could be immediate and unexpected. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered what their future would be.
It was the middle of the night when James lifted his head, startled awake. A man stood over him, talking with urgency. A split-second realization followed, and everything soon came to him. James sat up, rubbing his eyes, and saw Sheriff Davis. He was in his full police uniform and he had a rifle slung over his shoulder. He didn't have to say much, though the message was clear. They had been found.
“They're outside,” the sheriff whispered. “More than I can count. We're clearly outnumbered.”
James looked to his side and saw Marla still sleeping. “What do they want?”
“Four people,” Davis answered. “They said your names, but I didn't recognize the other two.”
James thought to himself as the reality of the situation came over him like a bad dream. He shifted out of bed and pulled his pants on.
“They're armed, and they've got torches. I've never seen anything quite like it,” the sheriff continued.
James stood up, balancing against the wall. “How many?”
Marla slowly began to wake, moaning as she turned over.
“I don't know,” Davis said. “At least a hundred.”
James looked around the room, wondering what was keeping the prisoners from storming the entire church. Everyone around them was still sleeping. The church looked as peaceful as it could be.
“Come on,” the sheriff said. “We've got to get you out of here.”
James slipped his shoes on in haste, not quite following what Davis was saying. “What are you talking about?”
The sheriff shifted around, losing his patience. “They're convinced that you’re here. We've got a crawl space in the back where you and Marla can hide until after they search the place. It's the only way this is going to work.”
James held a hand to his forehead, thinking. “No, no. That's ridiculous. Why don't we just escape out the back door? I don't want to put this church in any danger.”
The sheriff stepped forward, adamant. “Because we're surrounded. There's no chance of that now.” Torch flames moved past the stained-glass windows. The prisoners were already assembling in a circle around the church, eliminating any chance of anyone’s escape.
Marla rose from the mattress and asked what was going on.
“Get dressed, and let's go,” James said to her. He then glanced at the sheriff. “Let me have a look at what we're dealing with here.”
“You need to hide now,” the sheriff said, pointing toward the back room.
Marla stood between them, alert and cautious, with a hint of fear in her eyes. The light of the passing torches continued outside. “How do they know we're here?”
“They don't,” Davis said. “But they're sure set on finding out.”
James thought to himself, trying his hardest to reach a solution. It was another ambush, and this time they were out for blood. “How many people do you have outside guarding the church?
“Ten or fifteen. Just enough to keep them at bay,” Davis responded.
James knew that if he went out there with Marla, they'd be as good as dead. But he didn't want the townspeople to be sitting ducks either. “Let me see,” he said, walking past Davis. He moved around other sleeping couples and families and entered the lobby with Marla and the sheriff.
“James, get back here,” Davis protested, catching up with him.
But James proceeded into the lobby and turned into the reading room. There were a couple of people sleeping inside in the darkness. He bypassed them and went to the office where he could see a plethora of torches outside amid a mass of people surrounding the building. He ducked down, peeking through the window as Davis and Marla cautiously followed. Bill Mosley suddenly woke up as if sensing their presence in the room.
“What is it?” he said, coughing. “Who's there?”
“Just us, Bill,” the sheriff said in a calm tone. “Everything's all right.”
Not satisfied with the non-answer, Bill turned his head to glance outside with his unbandaged eye. “Who the hell is that?”
James remained low and watched out the window. Within the blur of faces surrounding the building, he looked for anyone familiar. There looked to be at least a hundred of them, maybe more. Several held flaming makeshift torches, just as the sheriff had described. The others had rifles clearly stolen from the prison. A line of townspeople bravely stood at the front ramp, blocking the prisoners from entering. Marla then squatted next to him at the window as they stared into a vanishing future.
The sheriff stepped forward, staying out of view from the window. “Come on, you two. I'm not taking any chances.”
James turned his head from the window. “It's not going to work. If one of us doesn't come out, they'll burn this church to the ground. Trust me.”
Somewhere in the front of the mob, Brant stepped forward, revealing himself as the leader. He shouted to the men guarding the front of the church and made his demands.
“We only want those four people. An old couple and a younger one. They must have come to you today. I don't know where else they would have gone. We've scouted out this entire area.”
“They're not here,” one of the men shouted. “Continue your search elsewhere.”
But from their lack of movement, the escaped prisoners showed no sign of retreat. Brant then pulled a pistol from his coat pocket and pointed it up, firing it into the air. James could hear gasps from people in the church waking up. He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do, but he knew he needed to do something fast.
Brant approached the church with a confident stride, mashed fedora atop his long hair. “Look, fellas. You're testing our patience here. All I want is those four individuals I named. We know who they are. We’ve got their driver's licenses. I know you've seen 'em, so cut the bullshit.”
James turned from the window and rushed out of the room. Several people were already awake and gathered in the lobby, concerned about the men surrounding their church. James stopped at the front double doors, hesitant to do what he knew had to happen.
“Have you lost your mind?” the sheriff said, approaching him with Marla in tow.
“I've got a plan,” he said, turning to them both. “I'll make this right, trust me.”
Marla threw her arms around him. “You're not going out there! Listen to the sheriff. He's trying to help us.” Her increasingly loud voice woke up most of the people in the room, who then began to rise, confused and afraid.
“I started this,” James said, gently pushing her away. “Let me talk to them.”
“They'll kill you,” Marla said.
“Marla has a point,” the sheriff added, listening in.
Another gunshot sounded outside. James hugged Marla again and then extended his hand toward the sheriff. “I'll be fine. I'm not going out there to die.”
The sheriff stared at him in disbelief and then shook his hand.
“Just make sure Marla is safe,” James continued.
Marla shook her head, tears welling in her eyes, as she grabbed his shirt. “Don't do this, James. You can't.”
“Marla, I have to,” he said, stroking her hair.
“Are you crazy?” she said. “Listen to me.”
The sheriff placed his hand on her shoulder, calmly pulling her back. “Let's go,” he said. “We don't have much time.”
James pl
aced both hands on her teary cheeks. “I have a plan. One that will keep all these people alive.”
Marla gripped him tightly, repeating “no” again and again.
He kissed her on the forehead and then released her. “Damn it, Marla. Go with the sheriff, now!”
“I'm going with you,” she said.
“No, Marla,” James said. He glanced at the sheriff as Davis pulled her away. “I'll be back. That's a promise. I love you.”
The sheriff wished him luck, holding Marla at the wrist. All she could do was stare at him with quivering lips, sadness and fear in her eyes.
“I love you too,” she said in a shaky voice.
James nodded while trying to mask his fear. He pulled the .38 pistol from his pocket and ejected the magazine, checking the rounds. He had a few shots if it came to that, but he didn't plan on further aggressions. He took a deep breath at the door and said a quiet prayer under his breath. He swung the door open and walked outside. The townspeople immediately turned around. The door closed as James continued down the ramp toward the mob of prisoners who had vengeance in their eyes.
They had chains, bats, and knives in addition to firearms. He didn't doubt their intentions were to decimate the church and its occupants. He only hoped he could sway them away from it. James walked between the thin barricade of townspeople as they parted for him to pass. Brant's eyes narrowed as James approached, as though he hadn't a fear in the world. Inside, however, he was terrified.
“What do you want?” he asked Brant, raising the volume of his voice and crossing his arms on his chest. He figured a little aggression would help. He stopped a few feet in front of Brant and observed the angry faces before him. “Haven't you done enough?”
Brant studied him with silent skepticism. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I'm talking about my wife and my friends. They got shot escaping the prison, and now they're dead. You came here to finish me off?”
“What do you mean, they're dead?” Brant asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Gone,” James said. “Now, unless I can talk to Julian directly, you're wasting my time.”
Murmurs swept through the crowd, and shouts of “Kill him, too!” and “He’s lying!” rang out. Brant raised a gloved hand, urging calm. He then stared James down, looking for a hint of deception on his stoic face. “You've got some real nerve, buddy boy.”
“Are you going to take me to Julian or not?” James asked.
Brant stepped forward, seemingly amused with a wide smile across his bearded face. A quiet tension gripped the onlookers, the only sound the crackling of torches behind them. James maintained eye contact, careful not to look away. Suddenly he felt a punch, like a sledgehammer to his chest, fast and hard, that sent him to his knees. The prisoners cheered as he fell. Brant stood over him with a balled fist, staring down with growing anger, his eyes daring James to get up. “You've got a mouth on you.”
James gasped for air as his eyes watered. One hand went to the pavement and a line of drool flowed from his mouth. For a minute, the world seemed to fade from his consciousness and all he could concentrate on was getting a breath of air.
“I'm a writer,” he said, looking up. “And I'd like to write a book about Julian. If he'd do me the honor.”
Brant studied him for a moment and then laughed loudly as some of the men joined in. “Now, why in the hell would you want to do that?”
James rocked back on his knees and signaled to the church. “Because I've always been fascinated by him. I've got nothing left. My wife and friends are dead. If I can spare this church and its people any pain, that's what I'll do.”
Brant cut him off, holding a silencing finger in the air. “This is what's going to happen. We're going to sweep the inside. If we come up empty-handed, you're going to show us where their bodies are. Got it?”
James nodded and slowly rose to his feet, still clutching his chest. “You'd just be wasting your time.”
“You'll make no demands of us,” Brant said. “We'll burn the whole place down if it suits us.”
“Why would you do that?” James asked. “I'm surrendering.”
“Julian is very upset,” Brant said. “He had taken a liking to those two women, especially Marla. He wants a scalp or two to alleviate the pain.”
The church doors suddenly opened, and the sheriff walked down the ramp, approaching them. “That's enough of all this nonsense. I'd like you all off this property now.”
Brant stared at the sheriff in amusement. “You're harboring our prisoners, Sheriff.”
“What prisoners?” Davis asked. “This man came to us alone. Now, get moving and leave us be.” Laughter rang out from Brant and the inmates near him.
A short, stocky inmate with a knife in hand stepped forward. “Don't listen to this fool and his lying ass.”
Brant stroked his beard and raised a hand. “Sheriff, you better hope this man's telling the truth.” He paused and turned to the inmate at his left with tattoos on his face and a bandana around his head. “Devin, take a small team in there and search the place.”
Ten inmates moved ahead and approached the church in a group, with the sheriff leading the way. James remained behind with Brant as the search party sprang forward. He tried his best to look indifferent and defeated despite the growing fear he felt for Marla. His only hope was that Sheriff Davis had hidden her as well as he claimed he could.
“Nervous?” Brant asked. James could feel Brant watching him from the corner of his eye.
James shrugged. “No need to be.”
At that moment, Brant's knife flashed within inches of his throat. “Don't test me, friend. I could kill you right now for what you've done.” James looked away, saying nothing as the sharp metal end pressed against his skin. “How'd you get inside the prison without us knowing?”
James stared back at him and tried to stay calm, though his heart was beating a mile a minute. “We cut through the gate and ran through the courtyard,” he began. “You were having a party and didn't notice us.”
“I see...” Brant said, gray eyes flickering with malice. He removed the knife from James's throat and placed it inside a sheath on his belt. He then walked past James, toward the church, but the guards blocked the entrance ramp, staring back at him with defiance. Time seemed to crawl by, every second a torture for James, until finally, the church doors swung open and Brant's team reemerged from inside. It was all James could do to restrain himself from letting his eyes search the group for Marla.
Upon their approach, James felt immense relief to see them empty-handed but succeeded in not showing it. The sheriff walked with them, pressing them on. “I told you they weren't in there. James here is the only one,” he said.
“Shut your face, old man,” the inmate with the tattooed face snapped.
“Nothing?” Brant asked as they got closer.
“Nah,” his man told him. “We checked all the rooms.”
Brant observed his men standing around, wondering what came next, then clapped his hands together. “All right, brothers. Our instructions were clear. Let's head back home.”
“You heard the man, let's move out!” one of the inmates shouted.
James waved to the sheriff as he was herded with the mob, rifle barrel against his back. The sheriff waved back, keeping his hand in the air for a good while.
“Let's go!” Brant shouted. “Move out!” He turned to see James being forced to join their exodus and smiled. “Try to keep up, writer man.”
James was pushed beside Brant and forced to walk next to him as the crowd herded away from the church in one angry mass. Many held their torches high, leading the way down the darkened road. James turned back to look at the church fading in the distance. He could still see the silhouettes of several of the men, the sheriff included, watching them go. He may have averted an imminent attack. Now all he needed was a plan to stay alive.
11
Brotherhood
It was early morning and Jame
s walked along in a stupor, taken prisoner by a murderous cult, exhausted from three days of terror and almost no sleep. He walked between Brant and his underling, Devin. They continued down the desolate street with open fields on both sides, leaving the church far behind. The thought of sprinting into the darkness to escape crossed his mind, but that would serve no purpose.
They would recapture him in no time, and he would pay a price for it. He was completely on his own. Halfway down the road, several of the inmates began tossing their torches aside, disposing of them as the flames dwindled. He asked Brant if they were going to walk the entire way back to the prison. Brant chuckled as he lit a cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke.
“Not quite,” he answered.
As they approached the parking lot of a vacant gas station, James saw four old military Hummers and a cargo truck parked in a line.
“You're riding with me, so I can keep an eye on you,” Brant said.
James marveled at the sight as they entered through the darkened parking lot. “Where did you get those?”
“Funny you should ask,” Brant said. “We ambushed a military convoy a few days ago.”
James turned away, disgusted.
“I’m sorry that upsets you,” Brant chuckled, noticing his reaction.
The group began to splinter off as they drew closer to the Humvees.
James said no more as he followed Brant to the first Humvee. He got in back while others piled into the remaining vehicles. With the click of several ignition switches, the engines roared to life in unison. James couldn't believe it. Like a parade almost. Brant circled the front of the vehicle and jumped into the front passenger side. He closed the door as the Humvee drove ahead, leading the convoy.
From the back seat, James looked out the clear vinyl window zipped closed. The engine rumbled, and they accelerated down the road through town, headlights beaming. There were five people inside, including James, three in the back, and Brant and his driver in the front. The flimsy door beside him rattled with the wind. James reminded himself that he was going to survive. He had to. Marla was counting on him. He owed it to her to get back home. The engine's rattling noise only increased with speed. He couldn't hear a thing outside his own thoughts.
Hideaway (Book 2): An Emp Thriller Page 11
