Serve & Protect

by L. J. Breedlove

  And that’s why they were out here. To test themselves. To prove something to themselves.

  Angie shivered. They were dangerous, she thought. Dangerous because they were unbalanced. Mac, Anderson and Bryson’s team were dangerous men. They’d all seen combat, she thought. They were capable, trained, disciplined. But these others were dangerous because they weren’t trained or disciplined. They were slowly coming apart, and they might do anything. She had read once that most cops would rather face a trained gunman than an amateur with a gun, because you never knew what an amateur might do. And that’s what this Sensei was doing. He was giving guns to amateurs who were now over-confident, and becoming more and more unbalanced. She wondered if that was deliberate? Was there a method to this? To create a rabble of white men with grievances and guns? She’d have to bring that up with Mac.

  She looked around at these men again. A bunch of men with grievances, guns and something to prove. They scared her. But if they thought they could prove themselves by besting Mac?

  They were dumber than doorposts, the lot of them.

  Chapter 19

  Most of the men stayed up late, sitting by the campfire, telling stories, talking guns. Mac sat with them and listened. No one challenged him or questioned him again. The smart ones were wary of him, he thought. The dumb ones were resentful. Hopefully that would hold them at bay for the few days they were together. He’d hate to have to beat the shit out of one of them to prove something.

  Wouldn’t be the first time he’d done that. Once he would have been eager to do it. Might even have sought it out. He thought about the man who had questioned him. He could have used that, he realized. Could have turned it into a physical thing. Taken him down. He’d done it two years ago in El Paso chasing Howard Parker’s past.

  And if he’d done it here, no one would challenge him again. He had done it verbally instead. He wondered why. Had he changed?

  He looked inward. No, the rage was still there, unfortunately. Still waiting. He could feel it. But these men? He shook his head. He didn’t need to prove anything to them. They were pathetic.

  Now if that had been Norton? He grinned. He would have welcomed the challenge. And it would have ended up in a physical fight. He wondered again why Norton wasn’t here. He was pretty sure Norton felt the need to resolve a challenge just like he did. So why wasn’t he here?

  Angie sat down next to Mac. He smiled at her.

  “Got a question for you,” she said softly, not looking at him, but at the other men around the fire.

  He looked around. No one was watching them directly, but a lot of them were paying more attention to them than it appeared.

  “Walk over to the beverages,” he said. “I’ll follow you in a minute.”

  She nodded. Got up and stretched. Her camera was still around her neck. He wondered if she used it as a shield? Or a reminder to these guys that she was here as a professional, not a “girl”? Was it deliberate or instinctive? She was a savvy woman. Smart, but he knew a lot of smart women. Savvy, he concluded.

  He walked over to the beverages, rummaged around in the cooler until he found a Mountain Dew. A bit late for it; he drank it for the caffeine hit, and the sugar, both higher than a regular Coke. He opened it and took a sip.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  She told him what she’d been thinking about. “So, do you think Sensei knows what he’s creating? A horde of men with guns, undisciplined and unpredictable amateurs, with grievances? Life isn’t as grand and exciting as they think it should be, and they’re being handed a list of people to blame: people of color, feminazis, liberals, a Black president, immigrants. And they resent them all. Or does he really think he’s creating a militia of white men who can retake control if a crisis hits?”

  See? He thought. Savvy. He considered the question, because it was a good one. She was right: that’s exactly what was being created. A question remained: was the horde with grievances Sensei’s goal? Or was he intending to create a white militia and failing? If Mac had Internet service out here, he’d ask him.

  “It’s doomed to fail if he thinks he can create a paramilitary force out of frustrated desk jockeys,” he said quietly. “They’re told they’re entitled to everything on a platter, and he’s promising them that this is the way to get it. Women, respect, power. When SHTF.”

  Mac was silent, thinking about the men he’d met here tonight. Even the asshole wanting to know what it was like to kill. “Promised to be the star in the Walking Dead, only to find out they were an extra who would be eaten in episode 2,” he murmured, thinking out loud.

  She giggled, then sobered. “Isn’t that how they become part of the zombies?” she asked. “And when shit doesn’t hit the fan? When the breakdown in civil order doesn’t come?”

  He snorted. “If the breakdown doesn’t happen? Babe, they are the breakdown that will happen.”

  They looked at each for a moment.

  “I’m going to bed,” she said.

  Mac watched her walk away. He wasn’t sure he was going to get much sleep after that conversation.

  “I heard her,” said a voice behind him.

  Mac looked over his shoulder at Rand, standing just far enough away that Mac hadn’t picked up his presence. “Did you?” he said.

  “The whole Sensei thing has been bothering me a lot,” Rand conceded. “I’m happy to run wilderness weekends, even for weekend warriors who want to get out here where they can shoot a gun and not hit anything important. But they’re getting more and more fanatical about this Sensei. They quote him, argue different interpretations, are in awe of those who are invited to Sensei’s inner circle of followers. I just listen. I’m part of the camp, they don’t even notice me.”

  “Sounds like a charismatic religion,” Mac said.

  “No lie,” Rand said. “And the sheriff? He’s got both things going: that charismatic church that preaches guns and God. And the Sensei thing. When he’s here he quotes him too.”

  Mac studied the man for a moment. He carried himself like a fighter, Mac thought. Disciplined. Mac frowned. He wasn’t just a wilderness guide. Or he hadn’t always been.

  “What did you do before working for Bryson?” Mac asked.

  He shrugged. “This and that.”

  Mac rolled his eyes.

  Rand smiled briefly at his expression. “But Mac? A word of warning. Something’s coming to a head, if not this weekend? Soon. And your presence tells me it’s likely to be now.”

  “And if things do come to a head? What will you be doing?” Mac asked.

  “Trying to make it out alive,” he answered, and he faded back into the dark by the Wilderness Adventure vans.

  Mac chewed his bottom lip and wondered if Rand knew FBI agents named Stan Warren or Rebecca Nesbitt. He was law enforcement of some kind, he thought. Or had been. Didn’t meant much. Norton was law enforcement too.

  He took the rest of his Mountain Dew back to the fire to listen.

  It was past midnight when Anderson finally ordered them all to bed.

  “Breakfast is at O-dark-30,” he said. “Get some sleep.”

  Mac sat by the generator-powered light and made notes of the conversations, his observations, and questions he had, until someone shut off the generator. Then he went to bed, and lay there on his back, staring at the tent ceiling and listening to Angie breathe.

  Sleep was a long time coming.

  Mac woke up early. He lay there for a moment, wondering what woke him, and then he heard the sounds of Bryson’s crew setting up for breakfast. They were quiet, but the sounds weren’t part of Mac’s normal morning routine, and his subconscious took note of it. He glanced at his watch. It was 6 a.m. He got up quietly, so as not to wake Angie, and went outside. It was light out. He hit the porta-potty, and then found an open spot where he could do his warm-up exercises.

  His concentration on the exercises was so focused he wasn’t sure when Angie joined him. She was doing a sun salutation set of yoga poses. Then
she moved into a tai chi routine. He grinned, and moved alongside to follow her moves. He didn’t know her skill level well enough to face her, but that would be fun to do sometime.

  Twenty minutes later, she stopped and grinned at him. He smiled back. There was something about doing those moves with another person. It was as if it created a sense of harmony, he thought. He bowed slightly at her. She returned the gesture.

  It was then he realized they’d gained an audience. Craig nodded at them, and then said, “All right, the rest of you? Fall in. We’ll do more traditional calisthenics.”

  “Good,” said the heckler from the previous evening. “Not that sissy stuff.”

  Anderson snorted. “That sissy stuff created one of the finest armies China has ever known. I’d have Mac demonstrate its warrior forms with me, but I’m not interested in being black and blue for the rest of this trip. So, we’ll do the easy stuff.”

  Mac grinned at him. “You notice I wasn’t willing to spar with Angie?” he said. “I don’t want bruises either.”

  Angie snorted. “Coffee,” she announced. “I’m after coffee. And no one had better get in my way, or there will be bruises.”

  He watched her walk away, and then he joined in with Anderson’s calisthenics. There were worse ways to start a morning.

  After 30 minutes, Anderson stopped. “We’re going out for a three-mile hike,” he said. “Nothing difficult, but I want you to learn to be observant. So, we’re taking the trek crew with us, and they’ll be pointing out things along the way. Pay attention!”

  He started off at a brisk enough pace. Mac brought up the rear. Angie was roaming the line, taking photos, talking to people. She’ll cover the distance twice at this rate, Mac thought with amusement.

  And then some guy reached out and patted her rear. Mac started forward. I’ll end him, he thought grimly. If it isn’t nipped in the bud now, it will escalate. And then Angie stuck out her foot and tripped the man. He faceplanted in the dew-wettened trail and came up angry. But Craig just looked at him and laughed.

  “You deserved it, man,” he said. “And be grateful she retaliated. Because her partner back there was gearing up for a much more brutal response. And I would have helped him.”

  He glanced back at Mac, saw the look on his face, and shrugged it off. But he was still angry, and it showed. The other men moved slightly away from him. And they moved on through the woods.

  The trek crew was actually quite interesting, Mac thought, as he listened to them talk about poisonous plants and how moss grew on trees. They pointed out animal trails and how those made going across country easier. And they picked orange salmonberries for people to eat. Angie chatted with them eagerly. It sounded like she knew a lot of this, but it didn’t stop her from asking questions.

  Mac watched her as much as he watched the trail or the men. The more he was around her the more he liked her. Liked her as a person, although he was planning to ask her out when they were done with this story. If that ever happened. He was beginning to think this was the story that would never end.

  The hike took them an hour. Mac would have made them double-time it with backpacks, if he was running things, but the men seemed proud of themselves for having completed the hike. Mac rolled his eyes.

  Craig saw it, and dropped in beside him as they walked toward the breakfast line. “I know,” he said quietly. “But we’re not really out here to create wilderness survival experts, just to give them a taste of it.”

  Mac looked at him for a moment. “What is Sensei’s goal though?” He was pretty sure Craig would at least know the man’s online persona, if not his real-world one.

  Craig shook his head. “What he says his goal is?” he asked. “Or what it really is? Because I’m not sure, and it worries me. I have no issues with men wanting to learn about guns. I think the program Malloy and I have bumbled together works. But then Sensei came along, and he’s adding this whole level of talk that makes me uncomfortable. Malloy likes it and agrees with him, but let’s face it, Malloy’s a racist fucker. So, him agreeing with Sensei? Makes me even more uncomfortable.”

  “So, you two had the program going before Sensei found you online?” Mac asked.

  He nodded, then reconsidered. “Maybe,” he said slowly as if he was reviewing the timeline. “But Malloy had his training program going for a while before I got involved. And it may just be I didn’t hear about this Sensei until we started doing these weekend trips. I guess you found Sensei online? He’s got 40,000 followers!”

  “I saw,” Mac said. He started to bring up mlk4whites, but they’d reached the food, and he focused on filling his plate. These guys were getting the deluxe treatment, he thought. And Craig was right. If it wasn’t for Sensei’s rhetoric that was spreading throughout these men, this would be just a good hobby. Get them some exercise, fresh air, learn a few things about guns. But he could hear the undercurrents in the way the men talked, and even how they treated Angie.

  He wondered if that asshole would have patted her butt a year ago? Maybe. There were assholes like that everywhere. Or maybe he was an asshole who had been emboldened to act because of the rhetoric he was hearing daily. Men — white men — as the rightful rulers of all they could see.

  A couple of the men sat down at his end of the table. He eyed them sourly. He had hoped Angie would join him.

  “So, what are you?” One of the men asked.

  “What am I? A reporter for the Seattle Examiner,” Mac said puzzled.

  “No, what are you? Black? Mexican?”

  Mac snorted. He started to use his usual line about not even his mother knew for sure, but he reconsidered. If they made some crack about his mother, he’d have to pound them into the ground for it, and his food would get cold. “I’m white,” he said. “As if it matters.”

  “It matters,” the man said. “I’m not sure I believe you, and it does matter.”

  Mac shook his head. “And you’re a racist fucker who needs his ass handed to him,” Mac said levelly. “Fortunately for you, this food is excellent, and I’m hungry. But if you’re going to talk like that? I suggest you find a different table, before you piss me off and I decide pounding on you is more interesting than breakfast.”

  “You think you could?” the man blustered.

  “Ah man, don’t be stupid,” Angie said, as she slid onto the bench next to him. “He’s a Marine. You? You’re out of breath from a three-mile stroll through the woods on a freaking path.”

  “So, are you fucking him as well as working with him?” the guy asked.

  Angie took a deep swallow of coffee. She ate some eggs, then a bite of toast. Mac watched her. He could punch the guy for it, but it looked like she had something in mind. So, he waited for it.

  And then she threw the contents of her plate in the man’s face.

  “What the hell?” the man shouted as he jumped up to brush himself off.

  Angie drank more of her coffee. She snagged a piece of toast off Mac’s plate. Mac started laughing. Because damn, the girl had no backup in her.

  Even asshole’s buddy was snickering now.

  “Hated to waste good food,” Angie said with a shrug. “But there’s plenty.” And she got up and headed back to the breakfast buffet. The man started to go after her, and Mac stood up. But Ken Bryson beat him to it.

  “I wouldn’t,” he said quietly. “It’s a long hike out of here if you have to do it on foot. And quite frankly? I don’t think you could.”

  “Are you threatening me?” he blustered.

  Ken tilted his head to one side as if he was considering the question. “Yes, I am,” he said. “Leave her alone. She’s doing her job. She’s pleasant, she doesn’t complain and she doesn’t pick fights. And quite frankly, she’s in better physical condition than the lot of you. I’d hire her in a moment. You? You’re a worthless piece of shit. If I left you behind out here? I’d be doing the world a favor.”

  The man swung at him. Ken just moved minimally so that his punch missed.
>
  Mac grimaced. “Jesus, man,” he said. “If you can’t throw a better punch than that, you shouldn’t pick fights.” He stood up walked around the table.

  “This is what a punch should look like,” Mac said, and he punched him in the gut. The man doubled over. “Did you see it? Let’s do it again.” He punched again, hitting his kidneys.

  “Enough,” Bryson said. “If you hit him again, he’ll puke, and we’ll have to smell it for the rest of the trip.”

  Mac snorted, and he went to refill his plate and find a different table to sit at. He wondered about the confrontation. The men seemed more on edge today than they had last night. More aggressive. He frowned.

  “You shouldn’t have hit him,” Angie said as she sat down next to him. “Now he has something to prove.”

  Mac grunted. “He can try,” he said. “Have you noticed a difference this morning? They seem more on the prod?”

  She looked around the camp at the men. Took a sip of coffee.

  “Yeah,” she conceded. “But I can’t see why. Can’t think of anything that changed. So maybe they’re just riding high on the excitement? Looking forward to things to come?”

  “Wonder if some of these guys are repeats?” Mac asked. “Did you hear Bryson, by the way? He’s ready to hire you. Want a weekend gig?”

  She laughed, then smiled wistfully. “If my photog shifts were more predictable, I might. I love it out here.”

  Rand sat down at their table. “He wasn’t joking,” he said. “You might talk to him. It’s a way to get out here to enjoy the wilderness and not pay a fortune like these jokers do.”