Survivor

by Logan Ryles

“You know, if it can be done, T-Rex can do it. But baby, only T-Rex would love you this way . . . you know what I’m saying? Going out on a limb for you, bro.”

  “You’re the best, Rex. Truly. The shit.”

  “Don’t flatter me. I mean, if you wanted to show me some love, you could always hook me up with that sexy señorita you been hanging out with. I mean, baby, she fine!”

  Reed sighed. “Call me on this number when you’re close. We can meet north of the city. Before sunrise would be ideal.”

  “You got it. I’ll catch you soon.”

  Reed hung up and tossed the phone into the seat. He ran a tired hand across his face and tried not to think about the last few days. He tried not to think about Banks.

  He could still see her in the car, in the moments before he left to find David. He never thought that would be the last time they spoke. He couldn’t even remember what he said to her. Probably something about being careful and staying safe. Something cautious and distant. None of the things he longed to say to her.

  Banks didn’t want to hear the things he longed to say. The only thing she wanted was the head of the man who killed her father, and that was what he set out into the woods to find.

  And then things changed like they do sometimes. He saw his own father, and for the first time in his life, he realized that he needed that man more than he needed anyone else. There was a chance to break David Montgomery free. A chance to reunite what was left of Reed’s shattered family. He was going to move Heaven and Earth to make that happen.

  The BMW’s headlights flashed against the oncoming street signs as Reed leaned back in the seat and settled in for the drive. Up ahead, one sign stood out among the rest.

  BATON ROUGE. 289 MILES.

  Fifteen

  Holly Springs National Forest

  North Mississippi

  Kelly spent the next couple hours with Baxter, sitting on the floor and stroking the dog until he fell asleep. A sizable pool of drool formed under his snout as he snored, his wrinkled old body trembling with every breath.

  Banks wondered what his story was. Reed had never really said. She thought it odd for a freelance assassin who hid himself from the world and was often away from home—wherever home was—to keep a dog. What was even odder was the breed. Baxter was adorable but useless for any security purpose. He was a pet, nothing more.

  What did that say about Reed? The fact that he kept a useless pet around, nurtured it, and was obviously close to it?

  What did it say about her that he left Baxter with her?

  Banks closed her eyes and once more thought back to the burner phone Lucy had brought in from the car. On it was a single, unread text message. Reed’s final words.

  I’m going. Don’t follow. Take care of Baxter for me. I know you said not to say it, but I love you. Goodbye.

  When Banks opened her eyes, they stung. Lucy sat across from her, staring, and Banks looked away. She wasn’t sure what to make of Lucy. Her simple explanation that she turned up out of nowhere to protect Reed made sense, but Banks didn’t trust the simple or the obvious anymore. A few weeks before, she would’ve trusted a panhandler if he said he needed to borrow her debit card only to buy lunch. She was like that. She believed in people. Saw the best in them, even when all available evidence pointed to the opposite.

  But now . . .

  Kelly got up, sliding the sleeping dog off her lap and onto the floor. He didn’t wake up as she walked across the room and settled onto the couch next to Banks. Kelly brushed frazzled strands of hair behind her ear and folded her arms. The ice was still in her eyes, but her body was relaxed, save for the constant tremble in her hands.

  “Okay. So what now?”

  Banks bit her lip, then turned toward Lucy.

  Lucy shrugged, one leg crossed over her knee as she toyed with her shoelace. She wore black high-top converse shoes, and Banks couldn’t help but be jealous of them. She had left all her shoes—the only nice things she owned—in Atlanta.

  Nobody spoke, and Banks directed her attention to Wolfgang. Lucy had reaffixed his right hand to the chair after he ate the sandwich, and he now sat glaring at the wall as if it were to blame for world hunger.

  He must need to pee, Lucy thought. He’s been tied to that chair for a long time.

  “I’m going after Reed,” Banks said. “He owes me answers. And, well, I’ve got nothing else to do. The rest of you can do whatever you want. You don’t owe me anything.”

  Lucy and Kelly were locked in a death stare, both tensed as if they were prepared to leap for each other’s throats at any moment.

  Kelly spoke first, keeping her eyes on Lucy.

  “I’m going with you. I’m not finished with Reed, either.”

  Lucy shook her head. “Not happening, sister.”

  “What’s your angle?” Kelly snapped. “Why do you care what happens to him?”

  Lucy remained unfazed. “He saved my life, so I owe him. It’s that simple.”

  “Ha. Karma, is it? Keeping the universe in balance.”

  “Yes, actually,” Lucy said. “That’s it exactly.”

  Kelly folded her arms. “Well, if karma’s your game, I’ve got some of my own to settle.”

  Lucy shrugged. “Every girl must try.”

  “Oh, I’ll try. And if you get in my way again, I’ll split your pretty little head wide open.”

  Lucy’s back stiffened, but before she could retort, Banks stepped between them and held up both hands. “Stop! Just stop. We’re not starting this again. I’m going. If you’re coming, fine, but the fighting has to stop. We’re not enemies here!”

  Both women looked sheepishly at each other, then Kelly nodded, and Lucy’s shoulders relaxed.

  “Look, I’m inspired by the girl band, really,” Wolfgang said, “but all of you are getting in the way of something much more important than karma. So, if you’ll untie me from this chair, I’ll lock your asses in the basement and be on my way.”

  Banks turned on him, glowering. She leaned down and stuck a stiff finger into his ribcage. Wolfgang grimaced.

  “It’s boy band, dumbass. Girl band isn’t a thing.”

  Wolfgang sighed and leaned his head back. “Whatever you call this female power trip, my point—”

  “Squad,” Lucy said. “Girls call it a squad.”

  Wolfgang smirked, but his expression melted like ice on a griddle as the three women stared him down.

  “Squad,” he said. “Right. Squad, then. I really don’t care. You can all get your feminine vengeance on Reed, but before you do, I need to talk to him.”

  “About what?” Banks’s voice was barely above a hiss, her lips only inches from his face.

  Wolfgang shook his head.

  “Trust me, you wouldn’t understand.”

  A soft snort erupted from all three women in unison, and Banks straightened, folding her arms. “Oh, we wouldn’t understand?”

  Wolfgang held up his palms, his wrists still taped to the chair. “It’s not a gender thing. It’s just science, okay? Advanced science. I spent years studying in some of the best schools—”

  “You know, I don’t like his tone,” Banks said, still facing Wolfgang.

  “Neither do I,” Kelly growled.

  Lucy stepped next to Banks’s and folded her arms. “He’s saucy, isn’t he? Completely unsexist in the midst of his mansplaining.”

  “Mansplaining?” Wolfgang laughed. “No, no. What I meant was—”

  “Oh, now he’s going to clarify.” Banks rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I’ve had about enough of this. Maybe it’s time we clarified our position.”

  “Agreed.” Kelly walked to the kitchen while Lucy and Banks circled behind the chair and began to tilt it back.

  “Hey! I’m not a sexist. You misunderstood me!” Wolfgang wiggled in the chair, jerking his wrists and ankles in vain against the taped restraints. The back of the chair smacked against the floor, leaving him lying on his back with his legs suspended into the air.
>
  Kelly returned from the kitchen, a pair of scissors in one hand and a wax candle in the other. Lucy produced a lighter from her pocket and lit the candle while Banks accepted the scissors and took a step toward Wolfgang’s exposed crotch.

  “Hey!” Wolfgang thrashed in the chair, his eyes growing wide. “What the hell? Look, I’m sorry. Women rule! You guys are sexy and smart and whatever!”

  “And whatever?” Banks wrinkled her nose. “I’m not convinced.”

  She lowered the scissors against Wolfgang’s knee, and with two quick snips, opened a long gash along the inside of his pants leg, exposing a milky white thigh.

  “Whoa! Sister, let’s put the down scissors, okay? Let’s talk about this!”

  “We were talking,” Kelly snapped. “You had nothing to say, remember?”

  Banks held out her hand. “Candle!”

  Lucy’s eyes flashed with delight as she passed the burning candle to Banks. A pool of molten wax swam around the base of the wick.

  “Now, then,” Banks said. “I’m going to ask again. Why do you want to talk to Reed?”

  Wolfgang’s brows pinched together, and his gaze flashed between the three women leaning over him. Kelly’s face remained cold, and humor flashed across Lucy’s eyes, but she made no move to save him.

  He turned to Banks and grimaced.

  “Look, I’d tell you if I could. It’s just not—”

  Banks cut him off. “Something I’d understand? I get it!”

  She tipped the candle over, spilling a stream of liquid wax through the slice in his pants leg. It ran down his thigh toward his crotch, scalding and slowly drying along the way.

  Wolfgang opened his mouth in a muted howl.

  “Holy turkey mother stuffer!”

  Kelly’s face twisted into a disgusted glare. “What the hell? Are you five?”

  “I don’t curse,” Wolfgang panted, beads of sweat dripping down his face.

  “Well, shit,” Banks said. “I must not be trying hard enough. Are there any more candles, Kelly?”

  Kelly grinned for the first time. “Oh, yes. And some lighter fluid.”

  “Lighter fluid?” Banks said. “We could have a barbecue! Go get it.”

  Wolfgang whipped against the chair, banging his head against the floor as his skin turned a sickly shade of red beneath the pants. “Okay, you miserable, twisted freaks! Get me some ice. I’ll talk.”

  “Ice?” Banks asked, a smirk playing across her lips. “Did he ask me for ice?”

  “I think he asked you to ice his crotch,” Lucy said.

  Both women laughed, and the candle twitched, spilling more wax through the cut in Wolfgang’s pants. He screamed, and Banks jerked the candle back, a momentary flash of guilt passing across her features.

  She blew out the flame and nodded to Lucy.

  “Okay. Let’s pick him up.”

  They circled the chair and lifted Wolfgang by the shoulders, slamming the chair back down on all four legs.

  Wolfgang spat on the floor, his upper lip trembling.

  “Ice,” he growled.

  Banks leaned down until she was eye-level with him. “Start talking.”

  Wolfgang’s previous mood of satirical humor had vaporized. “Ice, you crazy witch. Then, I’ll talk.”

  Lucy gave Banks’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Give him the ice, sweetie.”

  Banks retreated to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a sandwich bag full of ice cubes. She dropped it between Wolfgang’s thighs without ceremony, and he squeezed his legs together.

  “Oh, sweet Moses,” Wolfgang breathed. “That feels amazing.”

  A ripple of devilish laughter erupted from the room, and Banks stepped forward, pinching Wolfgang’s ear and hauling his face toward hers.

  “Okay, you bastard. Start talking, or Kelly’s getting the lighter fluid.”

  Sixteen

  Baton Rouge, Louisiana

  Reed had never seen a state capitol building quite like Louisiana’s. It wasn’t made of marble, and it didn’t consist of polished columns supporting a Washington-style dome. The bottom of the structure was built of limestone, forming a block building with narrow window slits. Rising out of the middle of that block foundation was a tower at least four hundred feet high, reaching toward the blackness of the Louisiana night sky.

  He wasn’t sure if the tower reminded him more of a 1930s office building or the futuristic seat of power for an authoritarian government. It was certainly beautiful, but something about it was impending. Threatening.

  Or maybe it was just his own emotional reservations about the government after spending years living so far outside the law.

  Reed left the BMW parked a few blocks away, lost amid a collection of black government sedans, and wandered into the park just south of the Capitol. The Mighty Mississippi River rolled slowly by on his left, while a small lake lay under the shadow of the tall building on the north side. The streets were wide, quiet, and empty, with only an occasional city cop rolling by amid the shadows.

  Reed had been casing the Capitol for almost three hours, but it only took him a few minutes to identify which floor Governor Maggie Trousdale’s office was on. Google provided the answer to that. A momentary review of Trousdale’s Twitter feed produced a photo taken from her office window, disclosing that it faced the Capitol steps and the lake on the north side of the tower.

  Reed couldn’t see that angle of the building from where he sat parked in the shadows two blocks away. So, by midnight, he made the decision to step out of the shadows and close in on the Capitol. It was a risky move—any number of surveillance devices, cops, or security personnel might detect him.

  But then again, this was downtown Baton Rouge. It was quiet and peaceful. The center of government for the state. Was it all that unnatural for a private citizen to take a walk next to the lake?

  Reed had no idea. He wasn’t sure what normal, private citizens did. But the walk seemed like a milder risk than forgoing reconnaissance altogether, so he circled the base of the Capitol and headed toward the lake without looking back.

  It was warm enough in Louisiana that he would’ve been comfortable in a T-shirt, even though it was now late November, but Reed wore a light jacket to conceal the Sig and the two extra magazines.

  Five minutes of fast walking brought him fifty yards from the Capitol steps, where a row of park benches stood back-to-back, some facing the lake, while others faced the Capitol. Reed took a seat with his back to the lake, situated under the shadows of an old oak tree with gnarled limbs that twisted and curved up to the sky and down to the water.

  The tree was likely here before the Capitol, Reed thought, and maybe even before Louisiana was a state. Maybe this tree was planted by French settlers or Native Americans, or maybe it predated both and survived them all.

  Things like the tree made Reed wonder if humanity was the problem with the world. Nature simply existed, all at once, in all of its natural turmoil and violence. Storms and ice ages came and went, trees grew and fell, and animals hibernated and ate each other. Yet, despite the brutality of it all, there was a sense of harmony. A sense of purpose. This was the way it was and the way it was meant to be. There was a system—an established order.

  Not so with people. People were always reinventing themselves and changing the rules. What was socially acceptable one century was perverse and offensive the next. People like Reed, who lived outside the law and made a way for themselves by whatever means necessary, were villains in the modern, enlightened era. But five hundred years ago? Reed could’ve been a warlord, a sort of god revered by the people.

  Or maybe he would have been a rambling thug carrying a sword instead of a Sig. He didn’t know, but it made him wonder if everybody was just fooling themselves, believing in peace and harmony and education, while this tree, this mighty oak, just outlasted them all in quiet splendor.

  Reed leaned into the bench and traced the outline of the Capitol, working his way up one floor at a time until
he settled on what he knew to be Maggie Trousdale’s executive office. Even though most of the building was dark, a light was on behind her window, and he could see the faint outline of a slim, shapely figure walking back and forth behind the glass. Her long hair was tousled and tangled over her shoulders, but at almost a hundred yards distance, it was difficult to make out any more detail.

  Reed reached beneath his jacket and withdrew the rifle scope. The dustcovers were already flipped open, and after a glance around to make sure nobody was watching, he lifted the optic while keeping both eyes open, staying alert for peripheral threats.

  The crosshairs hovered over the executive office, and the woman came into view. She wore a simple white blouse that was as wrinkled and disheveled as her blonde hair, almost as though she’d just had a romp in the hay. But when she turned toward the window, the stress lines in her face removed any suspicion of recent ecstasy.

  Maggie Trousdale was on the brink of a mental breakdown. He saw it in her stooped posture and slumped shoulders and the dark circles that broke through her smudged makeup. Maggie leaned against the windowsill and looked out toward the lake, staring directly over Reed’s head, oblivious to his presence.

  Reed zoomed the scope in a notch, holding it steady with his elbows pinned against his ribcage for support. Maggie closed her eyes, and he saw her lip tremble. She lifted a tumbler into view and took a long gulp of an amber liquid, swallowing and setting the glass on the windowsill without opening her eyes.

  So, she was drunk. And distressed. And battered. What the hell was going on?

  Maggie stared out the window a moment more, then flinched and turned away. Her back stiffened, and she ran a hand hastily through her hair before walking out of sight.

  Somebody must’ve walked in. Reed lowered the scope and checked his watch. It was now approaching one a.m. Who else would be there at this hour?

  He tapped the scope against his knee and reviewed his mental notes about Trousdale. She was in her early thirties, elected to her first term as governor, had a bachelor’s degree in pre-law from LSU, but never attended law school. Her last job before being elected governor was on her family’s alligator farm—whatever an alligator farm was.