“But what? It’s either this or die. They’re learning a hard lesson but it was bound to happen. If it gets worse before the sun rises on a brighter day, they’ll have to suck it up and soldier on.” His words burst forth, spilling over with an unexpected level of exasperation.
“Whoa, where did that come from?”
“Sorry, I’m just beat. I guess I’m expecting more from The Normals than I should. They’ve been heroic…really – done everything we’ve asked of them and more.”
“Now, that’s the Ben I know and love. Kick off and get some sleep. I’ll wake you in a few.”
Annie had carefully watched the exchange between Ben and Lena, her eyes half closed but alert enough to garner the gist of the conversation. They were good people, in her estimation, and she was fortunate to be with them. However, time and age were catching up to the frail woman and she feared for the worst. The past two days she had passed blood in her urine, and cramps, far different than what she remembered of menstrual pain, were increasing. Infection, she thought, maybe kidney or bladder, but I can’t stop. I can’t slow them down.
She’d said nothing of her situation but sensed it wouldn’t be long before fever would render her immobile, or at a minimum, pain would paint an all-too-telling tale across her face. For a moment she considered breaking from the group while they slept, but that would surely cause an unnecessary commotion and delay. Annie closed her eyes and gave into the muscle-aching exhaustion that enveloped her, and she slept. It was welcome relief from the burning in her lower abdomen, which she knew would return with a vengeance, once awake and hungry.
Chapter 13
Petite, like her parents, pint-sized Holly prepared for the exercise; her feet a shoulders-width apart, hands clenched, and blue eyes staring at the impending attacker. Her 90 pounds should have been covered in leotards and ballet shoes, rather than green khakis and combat boots, but she was dressed appropriately for the day and time. To those observing, the scene appeared more comical than threatening: a large marshmallow of a man mounted on a rusty, old, mechanical steed preparing to mow down a dwarfed, blonde princess, who stood defiantly in his path.
Niel awkwardly kick-started the motorcycle and revved the engine. A smile, that only he could appreciate, crossed his face as he closed the visor and prepared to charge. Over the years the football field had been converted to an array of obstacle courses, jousting pits, and firing barricades. Everything was in play this morning and the rules were simple; knock Niel from the bike before he touched you.
The engine’s whine sent a shiver up Holly’s back, instantly engorging vessels and flushing her face. The young girl, the smallest of the group, reflexively crouched and glanced side-to-side, anticipating and planning. Niel sized her up; aware she’d be tougher prey than some of the larger, less coordinated boys, and he adjusted his strategy accordingly. He rolled the Yamaha slowly forward, his right hand throttling more fuel to the engine, while preparing to brake should the need arise. His lissome adversary suddenly pivoted right, and then dodged left; running at full speed toward the gunnery range…Mickelson gunned the motor to overtake her.
Dude, Piper and Luis shouted to their fleeing mate, offering encouragement that was quickly drowned out by the motorcycle’s squealing clatter. Niel rapidly closed the gap, the bike’s knobby, front tire bouncing dangerously close to Holly’s churning legs. She looked back, knowing he was close and dove to the ground, just as he reached to finish the game. Rolling away, she bounded to her feet and took off in the opposite direction, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Reaching a sandpit, she retrieved an eight-foot-length of bamboo, which was used for high jumping, and turned to face her foe.
The attacker blasted the motorcycle forward, pulling it back into a wheelie and presenting the underside of the bike as a target, rather than himself. Holly let loose with the hollowed ‘spear’, before scrambling for safety. The wooden shaft careened against the bike’s skid plate and rebounded away, coming to rest behind a thigh-high, shooting wall, some distance away. Niel dropped the bike onto both wheels and searched for his quarry, but she was gone. He rode a slow, meandering loop through the obstacles; consciously aware of Holly’s size and her ability to hide.
He zigzagged back and forth amongst the equipment and debris but found no sign of the teen. Frustrated and near fully cooked inside the layers of padding, Niel cranked back on the throttle and did a fast-paced circuit around the field. It was then; wedged between two dilapidated bales of straw, he spotted someone breaking free and screaming wildly as he approached. Holly hustled across the infield, skirting obstructions and running madly, with Niel whooping close behind. At a shortened wall, Holly took flight, vaulting like a gazelle over the structure and disappearing from view.
Niel sped on, passing the wall to resume the pursuit, but the chase was over before he had a chance to re-engage. As her assailant passed, Holly slammed the recovered bamboo shaft down hard over both his wrists, freeing his hands from the handlebars. The front end wobbled, violently shaking Niel from side-to-side as Holly followed the inevitable crash, prodding relentlessly with the wooden rod until motorbike and man rolled to a disastrous stop in the dirt. Cheers went up from the sidelines, as the motorcycles rear wheel continued to hum and spin. Holly rushed to Niel’s side and silenced the engine.
“Are you okay?” she shrieked.
For a moment Niel lay still…silent.
Holly stood and waved at Scotty and the others who were charging toward her. “I’ve killed him! Scotty, I’ve killed your brother.”
Seconds later, the muffled sound of laughter filled the air as Niel rolled from underneath the bike to give Holly a smothering hug. “Well done, little lady,” he said, pulling the helmet off his head.
“Good heavens, I thought I’d killed you,” she said, tears now running down her delicate cheeks.
“It’ll take more than a stick to kill me, at least I hope,” Niel said, still laughing.
By now her teammates had joined the crash site and were congratulating Holly, while ribbing the much bigger Michelson.
“That was incredible,” Dude shouted, his exuberance spilling over to all who could see and hear him. “Please tell me I get to go next!”
Niel and Scotty quieted the small cluster of students and addressed them before moving on with the exercise. “So what did she do right and what could she have done better?” Scotty asked.
“She used her head,” Luis offered, extending his hand for a hard-smacked high-five from Holly.
“Agreed,” Scotty said. “What else?”
“Ah, she ah…she used her…um…” Dude sputtered.
“Yes,” Niel prodded, “you have something to offer?”
“Yeah, she ah, she used her surroundings to her advantage,” Dude suggested, hoping Holly had made note of his positive comment. From where he stood, the young girl’s profile was captured perfectly by the morning sun. A splash of freckles gave color to her otherwise pale complexion, highlighting her cheeks and contrasting a boyish mop of sun-bleached blonde hair. She was more than just cute, and for some time, being near her had tied Dude’s tongue and raced his heart.
“Excellent observation, Dude,” Niel agreed. “In a stand up fight; Holly versus a Harvester, the odds are clearly in the bad guy’s favor.”
“Thanks a lot,” Holly quipped.
“You know what I mean,” Niel continued, smiling. “She did everything she could to even up the odds. She used her size to her advantage. By hiding and eluding, she possibly saved herself having to fight at all, but when faced with a showdown she used an equalizer – the bamboo. Good thinking there, Holly.” The young girl nodded her appreciation.
“And finally, what else did she do right?” Scotty asked. There were no takers. “Come on, what did she do at the end?”
“Oh, oh, I know,” Piper said, prancing with her hand extended in the air. “She kept at it. She finished him off, so to speak.”
“Absolutely!” Scotty confirmed. “However, s
he did one thing wrong and I’m sure it was just because she’s such a tenderhearted little thing, but never, under any circumstance, do you check to see what damage you’ve done. Always keep a safe distance, whether you’re armed or not, and never put yourself in a situation where you’ll have to fight rather than flee from an outmatched opponent. You got that?” he asked.
The four youth nodded their understanding, drawing a smile from both Niel and Scotty. “Good, you live to fight another day. Niel, you up to another round?”
“Bring it on. Dude, you go next. I’m thinkin’ you’re in need of a thrashing this morning.”
“Not likely, Porky,” Dude retorted, taking up a fighter’s stance and punching Niel with a couple of quick, sharp jabs.
The day’s lessons continued under a dogged, burning sun: the teams rotating through each instructor until they had been schooled and worn out. None looked more haggard than Niel, who emerged sopping wet from beneath the layers of protective padding.
As they all gathered briefly in the center of the field for final remarks and questions, Rod and Clark jogged to join them. “We have visitors. Welcome our security leaders,” Cory called, applauding the newcomers.
“Enough of that, Cory. This is a very informal visit,” Rod said, nodding to The Normals but taking special note of Niel’s condition. “Niel, you been run through the wringer?”
“I’m afraid so, Sir”
“If my dad were here, he’d say, ‘you’ve been ridden hard, and put up wet’.” A series of puzzled looks passed between the kids, but they joined the adults in laughing anyway.
“We’ve got a treat for you this afternoon,” Clark promised, pulling a HIT grenade from a small pack he had fastened around his waist. Everyone’s eyes passed from the device back to Clark’s face. “This is a new little gadget Mr. Whitcomb has developed to help even the odds in our favor, should we run into somebody with more firepower than we currently house.”
“What’s it do?” Jeff asked, taking a step closer to Clark and his dad.
“Blows stuff up like nobody’s business,” Clark replied, smiling at Rod and Jeff.
“Godfrey is making these as we speak but we only have a few to demonstrate so you’ll need to watch closely,” Rod instructed. “Cory, Clayton, grab the fire extinguishers – from what Clark has said, we’ll need them.”
The two bolted away without a word, returning a minute later, ready to battle the ensuing blaze.
“Perfect. Okay, I’ll be making the toss but watch carefully and stay behind me,” Clark said, motioning for the crowd to shift their formation around to his rear. “That’ll do.” He then went through the mechanics of arming the grenade, giving emphasis to the safe distance the HIT had to be lobbed to avoid getting hit with shrapnel and thermite. “This stuff burns hotter than hell and you do not want to get it on you. It’s sticky and will burn through just about anything, including metal. So mind your distance and target.”
“Any questions before Clark lets her fly?” Rod asked. No one moved, let alone, spoke. “Okay, everyone behind those sandbags and we’ll give it a go.”
Clark stepped a few paces ahead of the gathering, twisted the metal cap a quarter of a turn, counted, “One thousand one”, and then pitched the grenade in a wide arc, over his head and into a sandpit. He quickly stepped behind the protective barrier and waited for the detonation. A second later, an earth-shaking explosion propelled thermite-covered shrapnel over a wide circumference, igniting everything it touched. Within minutes, the sand had been melted into a gelatinous mass of molten glass, while dirt sizzled and popped nearby.
“Holy hell!” Cory shouted, seeing the destructive power of one grenade. “Reminds me of that incendiary Farrell gave me years ago that saved our bacon. You remember that, Clayton?”
“Indeed I do, Cor. You want us to put that inferno out?” Clayton asked.
“Won’t do any good for a few more minutes,” Clark assured. “Stuff has to kind of burn itself out before the extinguishers will have any impact. Burns so hot and so fast that Godfrey says there’s no stopping it.”
“Good to know,” Cory replied.
Looking around, both Rod and Clark were greeted with 12 faces filled with shock and dread. The leaders often forgot that The Normals had never really seen battle or what one human will do to another. “Needless to say, these are not a toy. They will be used as a last defense. Clear?” Clark questioned. Open mouths and wide eyes pitched up and down in the affirmative but still none were able to speak.
“Okay boys, see if you can slow down that burn,” Rod said, speaking to C&C.
From atop the stadium, Kirk suddenly shouted to those on the field. “Rod, there’s a jeep moving this way…fast. Looks like sentries and your wife.”
“Now what’s happened?” Rod questioned, more to himself than those within earshot. The two security leaders dashed from the field, meeting the speeding vehicle at the entrance to the stadium. Allison quickly exited the jeep and ran into Rod’s arms.
“What is it? What’s happened?” he asked.
Allison pulled away, displaying red, swollen eyes and stained cheeks. “It’s Boyd, he’s had an accident – fell down a set of stairs inside Old Main.”
“Is he okay? Is Remy attending to him?” Rod said, emotion nearly choking his words.
“Rod…he’s gone…he’s dead.”
Chapter 14
From the lofty height of Old Main’s tower, the assassin watched the frenzied scene unfolding on the ground. The discovery of the body had taken longer than he imagined, giving him plenty of time to discreetly fade away. Heated shouts drew his attention to the expansive Quad, where Godfrey and Remy were sprinting across the grass. Too late, boys, he mouthed, knowing a miracle of resuscitation was well beyond their reach.
Much earlier he’d skulked away to retrieve the weekly dispatch and return undetected. The direction had been clear – ‘Terminate Bubley ASAP and Report’. The message had first given him pause, and then reluctance. Murder…for what purpose? He read the note over and over, feeling no sadness, no sense of guilt – in fact, emotion had very little to do with why he was there. A twisted sense of duty and lack of conscience finally helped him see the need, and the way. An accident…he’s an old man. Surely no one will suspect foul play.
Fifteen minutes ago he’d left the lone, security post to fulfill his assignment, moving unseen through the hallways to the marine’s quarters. A gentle knock had brought Boyd to the door.
“There’s been an accident at the field. Some of The Normals are hurt. Rod and Clark have asked for your assistance – on site,” the intruder lied.
“Yes, yes. Do you know what’s happened?” Boyd asked, moving to locate his cane before stepping from the room.
“No details, just an urgent call for your presence. What about Remy? Is he on the way?”
“Waiting for you, Sir.”
“Well then, we need to hurry,” the colonel replied.
“Absolutely,” the infiltrator acknowledged, helping to support Boyd’s elbow as they walked.
From the second floor, a long, granite stairwell pitched steeply down to a platform, before turning on itself and stretching to the main level. Bubley took the first step carefully, snatching the cane in his right hand at mid-shaft and using his left to grasp the rail.
“Be careful, Boyd. The staircase…can be deadly,” the mole whispered, a warped smile arcing across his face.
The phase didn’t immediately resonate but by the time it did…it was too late. The killer’s boot caught Boyd firmly between the shoulder blades and knocked him headlong down the stairwell. A single, loud grunt escaped Bubley’s lips, as repeated, jarring impacts forced air from his lungs. He cartwheeled, like a ragdoll, head-over-heels; the sickening thuds surely a sign of broken bones and twisted limbs. The assassin stood at the top of the stairs, mesmerized by the macabre display. Once his victim lay still, he maneuvered the steps two at a time, coming to rest next to the wounded warrior.
; Colonel Bubley could not speak or move; paralyzed, his eyes searched desperately for help. When his attacker joined him on the landing, he intuitively knew none would be coming. He searched the assailant’s face for an answer, something that would make sense of his final seconds. However, a blank expression greeted him, as the culprit knelt close, seized Boyd’s head firmly and looked into his eyes.
“Why?” Boyd eked out, their eyes locking for an instant.
A last request – surely he owed The Ward’s leader that much. Being careful not to stain his clothing with the crippled marine’s blood, he leaned in, very close, and breathed the answer, “For Juanita.”
Boyd’s brow arched, not grasping the full import of the answer, but understanding he was through. His head was suddenly and violently pulled forward and then thrust with a terminal velocity against the edge of a rocky step. Dense blackness overtook him, as fluid surged from a gaping head wound, coating the steps and running red beneath the fallen man. His killer stood over him for a moment, watching for death and listening for detection. A last, gurgling cough spat forth a plume of fine-misted blood, completing the veteran’s death mask – and he was gone.
Ascending the steps quickly, the shadowy figure weaved his way from whence he had come, confident the job had been completed just as he planned.
Chapter 15
Several miles from the farm Lady Williams called home, a district of country-styled homes housed a horde of militia Juanita relied on for security, as well as a collection of heartless cutthroats – Finn’s Harvesters. Over the years, hundreds of people: scavengers, heathens, and post-apocalyptic survivors had rallied to Juanita, looking for someone to feed their lusts and empty bellies. In the beginning, she had been good to them: providing work, food, and more importantly – liver. However, as of late, they were nothing more than cheap labor with nowhere to go and no other way to exist – the Harvesters saw to that.
Those healthy enough to work spent time in the fields, or as helping-hands to roving bands of marauders seeking gas, food and hapless victims. Recruits and fresh supplies were becoming a thing of the past, forcing the Harvesters to employ their unique brand of justice to feed the community.
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