Pulse ; No Power

by Skylar Finn

  “We’re almost there,” I said to Benny as I glimpsed the first sight of the ranch house in the distance. “This horse is amazingly calm, by the way.” I said this more to distract him from the situation at hand than anything else.

  “One of Wentworth’s,” he said morosely. “Old Gal. So used to gunfire, she doesn’t even flinch.”

  We ascended the drive. The screen door slammed and Ethan ran out, followed in short order by Peterman. They must have been keeping watch, waiting for us to return. Peterman rushed over to Benny’s horse and helped him get EJ onto the ground. Supporting his weight between them, they got him into the house.

  I pulled Old Gal’s reins, and she stopped immediately and stood placidly while I dismounted. Ethan clutched me by the shoulders and studied me, as if assuring himself I was in one piece. He glanced quickly at Benny and EJ, assessed that he didn’t know either of them, and turned back to me.

  “Where’s Tom?” he asked urgently.

  “He’s fine,” I said quickly. “He’s leading another horse back with him. One of Dexter’s. They attacked the compound and the road. At least two of them are dead and another one injured, assuming he makes it back to the farmhouse.”

  “They attacked twice?” Shock was etched onto Ethan’s face; shock, tinged with regret. I assumed it was from agreeing to Tom and me going alone and unarmed. I thought that our being unarmed had rendered us an afterthought, two vulnerable unarmed bystanders not worth bothering about or being threatened by in both conflicts. But now didn’t seem like the time to bring that up.

  “They’re completely out of control,” I said grimly. “At this point, it seems like they’re staging these attacks simply for the sake of attacking. There’s no strategy involved. I think they take some kind of malicious pleasure in it.”

  “At least there are fewer of them now,” said Ethan, putting his arm around me and steering me toward the house. “If Buddy and Clarice are still injured, that brings their number down to ten.”

  “Minus the doctor who doesn’t fight and the guy who fell in the stake pit,” I reminded him. “So maybe only eight.”

  “What happened out there?” Ethan asked as we went into the living room. I could hear Peterman issuing instructions to Benny from the back bedroom as he worked on EJ. I had a flashback of Ethan getting shot and pushed it down. The adrenaline and fear from the two attacks was fading, and I felt drained and exhausted.

  “Wentworth wasn’t too receptive to helping us, at first,” I said, sinking into the one chair that hadn’t been shot to splinters. “He became more amenable to the idea at the prospect of a working vehicle, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Ethan, sitting on the hearth and stoking the logs. A shower of sparks glittered in the fireplace, and the fire burned more brightly for a moment before settling again. “Unsurprising.”

  “Dexter’s people attacked them while we were there, and Wentworth became even more interested in getting rid of them as a result. He sent us back with his two best men to help us. Although I guess that number is down to one, now.”

  I paused, listening. I couldn’t bring myself to go back and see if Peterman needed help. I knew I would only get in the way at a critical juncture and truthfully, I couldn’t bear to witness one more violent visual.

  “I don’t know.” Ethan mulled this over. “I don’t mean to sound heartless, but maybe that’s not necessarily a bad thing. As long as Peterman can save him, saving the lives of one of Wentworth’s men could give us some leverage: an added bargaining chip. From what you’ve told me, this is a man who likes to bargain. If he values trade the way most of us value the sanctity of human life, he might be willing to do more in exchange for getting his guy back in one piece. More ammo, more fighters.”

  My head was reeling. The prospect of re-entering into negotiation with Wentworth, going back to the compound, and potentially being attacked again was more than I could process. Ethan read this clearly on my face.

  “I’ll go,” he said. “If he pulls through. Peterman and I will take him.”

  The only thought worse than reliving the last few hours a second time was the thought of Ethan going without me. The thought of never seeing him again.

  “Please don’t go without me,” I said, just before my eyes fell shut and I slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  It was hard to say how long I slept. It was still dark when I woke up. I jolted from my sleep, my nerves immediately on edge as I looked wildly around the room. It took me a moment to come to my senses and piece everything together: we were still in the same old nightmare which wasn’t a nightmare but reality. I’d gotten caught in the middle of three attacks but I was still in one piece, more or less. Most horribly of all, Grace was still gone.

  Tom had returned while I slept and was currently asleep on the bullet hole-lacerated couch. I was afraid Ethan had left without waking me. I heard quiet murmurs from the back bedroom, so I went down the hall and eased the door open.

  Peterman was covered in blood. I shuddered. EJ was asleep, or unconscious, in bed. He looked pale and drawn, but otherwise alive. Benny was pacing around the room. Ethan sat in the chair in the corner, gazing at the floor, his hands clasped in front of him like a priest. But I knew he was closely observing Benny, who was behaving in what could best be described as a borderline erratic fashion.

  “I’m gonna kill all those guys,” he ranted. “I don’t want to wait for tomorrow. I want to go tonight. Lay waste to them and make them sorry they were ever born.”

  “Benny,” Peterman said quietly as he checked EJ’s vitals. Benny stopped, breathing hard. He was looking at Peterman, but I knew he was imagining the faces of his enemies in his mind as they looked on the road earlier and picturing his revenge. I’d done it myself.

  “If you try to attack them tonight, you’ll die,” Peterman said calmly. “I can’t help you. Not if I want to save your friend, which necessitates me being here. Ethan and Charlie have their daughter to think about. You’d be outnumbered. That won’t help EJ or you.”

  “What do you think Wentworth would say?” asked Ethan from the corner.

  Benny thought about this. I could practically see the wheels spinning in his brain.

  “Wentworth is gonna be furious,” he said. “I only ever saw it once. Usually he doesn’t like to show his emotions. He says it’s like showing your hand in poker. But it was ugly. And it’s gonna be even uglier when he finds out about this.” He paused a moment, thinking, before continuing ruminatively, “I bet he’ll want to send way more guns and way more guys. He’ll want to know about this right away, actually.”

  Ethan remained expressionless, but I felt sure he was pleased. This was exactly what he’d hoped for.

  “Do you want to go back right away?” I asked. “Or wait until EJ is stable enough to move? We can drive him there if you think that would be advisable. Or even possible.” I turned to Peterman.

  “His condition is somewhat fragile,” said Peterman reluctantly. “If it were necessary, it might be possible, if we constructed a makeshift stretcher of some kind. It’s possible he might be in more danger here than there, given our scheduled visitation from Dexter’s men tomorrow. But if we can refrain from moving him, it would be preferable.”

  “He’d want to be back at the compound,” said Benny. “But he’d also want to live.” He turned to Ethan and me. “Can you bring me back to Wentworth’s while the doc takes care of EJ? I gotta tell him what happened.”

  “Of course,” said Ethan. He looked at me, a question in his eyes. I wasn’t thrilled about the trip, but we were currently in a rock-or-hard-place situation, where every choice seemed terrible regardless of what it was.

  “We can leave right now,” I said.

  We were silent on the ride back to Wentworth’s. Ethan, I knew, was plotting everything we did several moves in advance, accounting for variables and various contingencies. Benny was clearly preoccupied by thoughts of revenge. I watched through the window warily, my eyes fix
ed to the road for any sign of impending attack.

  The trip was much shorter on four wheels as opposed to four legs, and I was relieved to see the tiki torches glowing up ahead. Wentworth’s men were expecting us this time, and one of them met us at the top of the drive. We parked and got out.

  “Back already?” asked the ripped guy in the driveway. He wore a muscle tank in spite of the cool air.

  “Not for any good reason,” said Benny darkly. “Wentworth awake?”

  “Does he ever sleep?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” said Benny, leading us inside. We trailed him down the hallway to Wentworth’s office. I repressed the sudden and overwhelming feeling of deja vu: the memory of crawling through the dark to conceal myself under his desk while I waited to be shot in cold blood.

  Benny knocked softly on the door. There was a moment of silence. Ethan and I waited tensely behind him. Finally, an ominous: “Come in,” answered from behind the heavy wooden door. Benny entered the room.

  Wentworth looked up as we filed in behind Benny. His face was an inscrutable mask and if he was surprised to see us again so soon, he didn’t show it. His gaze lingered on Ethan for a moment longer than Benny and me, but he didn’t say anything. Ethan remained silent as well, his gaze on the floor. It was, incidentally, the same way he’d once told me to act around a stray dog until I knew how aggressive it was.

  “Back so soon?” said Wentworth mildly.

  “I got bad news, boss,” said Benny.

  Wentworth sighed. “Oh, Benny,” he said mock-sadly. “You know how much I hate bad news.”

  “I know, boss,” said Benny. “But we got attacked. By Dexter’s men. Again.”

  I saw the briefest of looks flash across Wentworth’s face. It was so fast I almost missed it, but it was a look of pure, unadulterated rage.

  “And when was this?” he asked tonelessly.

  “A few hours ago,” said Benny.

  Wentworth’s eyes flicked over us again, counting our numbers. “Where is EJ?”

  “They shot him, boss,” said Benny.

  Now I could see the fury simmering below the surface of Wentworth’s otherwise expressionless gaze. I was almost afraid, till I reminded myself it wasn’t directed at me.

  “I thought he was a goner,” continued Benny. “It was real bad, blood all over the place like you wouldn’t believe. But their doc? He saved him. He’s rested up there now. They say he’ll be okay, probably.”

  “Probably,” repeated Wentworth. This seemed to bring him little reassurance. “And the other one? From the grocery store?”

  “He’s fine,” said Benny. “Brought all the horses back. Stabled them in their barn.”

  I could see Wentworth approved of this. “I’m glad to hear Old Gal is safe,” he mused. “Unlike our friend EJ.” He spun around in the swivel chair, facing away from us. “This changes things,” came his voice from the other side of the chair.

  “In what way?” I asked as politely as I could.

  Wentworth swung back around to face us, his face an ominous thundercloud. When he spoke, his voice was perfectly calm. “Before, I was prepared to offer you basic assistance to your own fight. I perceived them as pesky flies buzzing about, throwing themselves against my proverbial flypaper. But now, I see this is a hornet’s nest. And it needs to be smoked out.” He closed his eyes, thinking, then reopened them.

  “Benny, get to the arsenal and get the current inventory from Marco,” he ordered. “I want to know our full artillery down to the last bullet. Once you have it, alert everyone that we’re having a meeting, mandatory. At this meeting, we will be discussing our counter strike against the threat known as Dexter.”

  22

  Benny saluted and left the room. Wentworth turned towards us.

  “I could tell by the lovely sound of your engine coming up the driveway that you’ve already made good on your promise to me,” he said. “Not only that, but you’ve brought my remaining man back in one piece, and the other has been admirably saved by none other than your doctor. I have, therefore, promoted you in my esteem from strangers with assets in need of assistance to allies with similar goals to mine: goals which involve annihilating Dexter and his people from the face of this earth.”

  “With all due respect,” I said quietly, “our goal is to get Grace back.” Ethan, probably bearing in mind what Tom said earlier about Wentworth’s feelings towards strange men, remained silent.

  “Of course, of course,” said Wentworth. “Your daughter. We can and we will provide our assistance with that matter in addition to our shared goal. But I assume that you both would also prefer that we never have to deal with this threat again: that as of tomorrow, Dexter’s reign of terror will come to an end.”

  “We’re on board with that,” said Ethan, the first words he’d uttered since we arrived. “One hundred percent. But I want my daughter out of that house before a single shot is fired. There will be no collateral damage where my daughter is concerned.”

  Wentworth assessed him. Ethan gazed at him steadily, unrelenting. Wentworth seemed to approve of his steadfastness. I could imagine many a man faltering under Wentworth’s steely gaze.

  “We will, of course, ensure that not a single hair on her head is harmed,” said Wentworth. “In exchange for our full firepower and the utter and complete eradication of not only Dexter but every single one of his followers, I’d like permission for some of us to encamp at your domicile and await the group he sends to collect his ransom from you. I’d like to eliminate as many of them as possible before we even set foot at that farmhouse.”

  “We’d be happy to accommodate you,” said Ethan respectfully. I wondered what he was up to. I could tell from the minute we entered the office that he disliked Wentworth avidly, and if he was agreeing readily to his requests, it was only because he has something else up his sleeve.

  “Good,” said Wentworth satisfied. “The rest of my men will move on the farmhouse. You’re welcome to come with us, as I assume you would prefer, so you’ll have your daughter back the second we retrieve her.”

  “That would be our preference, yes,” I said.

  “I figured as much.” He thought for a moment. “You’re welcome to stay the night, then. Benny will relay the message of our new plan to your homestead. I’m putting him in charge of Phase One, which will take place tomorrow when Dexter arrives to collect the ransom for your daughter. Benny will ride back here at the start of the first counter strike to alert us, and we’ll head for the farmhouse for Phase Two.”

  “Sounds like a reasonable plan,” said Ethan.

  Wentworth watched him carefully, as if searching for any sign of pushback, then nodded. “Down the hallway, first room on the right is free,” he said. “It’s normally EJ’s, but he obviously won’t be needing it tonight. I think you’ll find it quite cozy. I considered making this an Airbnb, but all things considered, I’m awfully glad that I went with a militia compound instead.”

  As Ethan and I left the room, we could still hear him laughing all the way down the hallway.

  I was quiet as I stretched out on the bed, staring into the fire Benny had courteously lit for us upon discovering we were staying the night. After Benny left, Ethan conducted a thorough search of the room, checking the smoke detector, unscrewing the glass encasing the overhead light, dismantling and reassembling the lamp. He ran his hand beneath the furniture--bed, desk, chair--before collapsing next to me, apparently satisfied.

  “Would it even work?” I asked. “If he had the room bugged, I mean.”

  “It’s not that I’m concerned he has surveillance equipment in spite of the EMP,” he said. “He probably does. I’m sure a man like that knows how to construct at least a rudimentary Faraday cage. He’s probably got all kinds of things stashed away at this compound. But I’m more concerned whether he’s the type of man to bug one of his most trusted guys. If he was, he would almost certainly have devised some way to eavesdrop on a pair of relative unknowns to ensure we were
n’t planning to betray him.”

  “Are we?” I asked. “Planning to betray him? It’s not like you to agree so readily to someone else’s plan.”

  “It’s not,” he agreed. “And it’s not that I entirely do. You know that I don’t trust him, Charlie. And I think you know why.”

  “He doesn’t give a damn about Grace,” I said. “All he cares about is killing Dexter and his men. I don’t think it matters to him who gets caught in the crossfire--whether it’s Grace, or you and me, or all of us.”

  Ethan glanced up at the wall behind us, as if unconvinced that Wentworth wasn’t listening on the other side of it with a water glass pressed to his ear to amplify our voices. “I’d be utterly shocked if he did,” said Ethan. “Wentworth isn’t exactly a family man. I think he considers us little more than a minor aside. If they did happen to get Grace out safely, it would be more of an added bonus than the fulfillment of a primary goal.”

  “So we’ll just have to do it ourselves then,” I said. He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite interpret. “What?”

  “Sharon would have told me to trust Wentworth,” he said. “She would have insisted he had our best interest at heart: that we were on the same page, and to let him handle it.”

  “Sharon sounds like an idiot,” I said. “Frankly, she always has.”

  “She was just very...sheltered,” he said at last. Which, coming from him, was probably the worst insult he possibly could have offered. “I don’t think she ever would have made it out of the city, to be honest. I don’t think she would have found me and Grace at the shelter. Even if we had somehow made it out all together, I feel certain that she’d either have gotten us killed or she would be dead.” He was silent, considering this last thing. “Maybe she is,” he said finally.

  “Didn’t you say she lived on Lake Tahoe with her latest husband?” I asked. “In a smart house, with the best security imaginable? ‘Ironic, given how little concern she always demonstrated for security’?” I quoted Ethan verbatim before adding, “I’m sure she’s just fine.”