He’d opened the box and the cat was dead. It was real now. No pretending, no hope.
The birds took another pass. They laughed, quick bursts of cackling and lifted on flapping wings over the water to join a colony banking toward the coastline.
Kandy was the first to speak. She was matter-of-fact, devoid of emotion. “I remember my first dead body.”
Mike cocked his head. “What?”
He turned from the gore. His eyes flitted from Mike to Brice and settled on Kandy. She stared at the slumped body. It was the sergeant. But she wasn’t looking at him. There was a blank look on her face that told him she wasn’t altogether on the bridge. She was somewhere else, some time in her past.
“A prostitute,” Kandy said. “She was dead a while. Body was rigid. My photographer and I got there before the medical examiner. I don’t even think Homicide had shown up yet. The first couple of officers were on the scene, setting up a perimeter. They pushed us back before we set up a tripod, but I saw her. Took a couple of shots with my phone and taped a short video segment where I positioned myself in front of the body so you couldn’t see it in the picture.”
Kandy touched her cheek. She blinked twice. “We were on some other story. City Council, I think. A story about I-4 and its expansion. I got a text and then a phone call. The assignment desk wanted us to move to breaking news, so we rerouted and headed toward the address they gave us. I’d been to plenty of crime scenes—I wasn’t a rookie or anything. But I’d never seen a whole body before. A hand or a foot sneaking out from underneath a sheet, sometimes the top of a head.”
She touched her head and left her hand there. Tears pooled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Kandy didn’t wipe them away. She blinked again in rapid succession. “Seeing a whole body is different. You connect somehow when you see a person’s face, their clothes, the color of their fingernails or the way they tie their shoes. It’s like you’ve somehow seen into their life. You imagine what they were they thinking as they died. I mean, chances were they didn’t know they would die when they put on their clothes for the last time, or ran a comb through their hair. It’s a thing, seeing a whole body. It sticks with you.”
The foursome was silent for almost a minute. Kandy thumbed away the tears. She sniffed and swallowed. Then she apologized.
“Sorry, guys. I don’t know what happened there. It just hit me. Not sure why.”
Mike smiled. “It’s fine. We all have our moments. Nothing about any of this is normal. I’m sure we’re all going to see or experience things that trigger memories of what life was like before the Scourge.”
“Thank you.” Kandy puffed her cheeks and exhaled, exorcising the unanticipated emotion.
“How’d she die?” asked Brice. “If you don’t mind.”
Mike frowned. “Dude. C’mon.”
Kandy waved her hands. “It’s fine.” She looked at the sergeant and then at Brice. “Strangled. A belt, I think. Not sure. I just remember how stiff her body was. Her fingers were curled into claws. Her leg was twisted weird. It was unnerving. You never forget it.”
Barry was at the bodies now, checking them. There was no point. All of them had to know that. But it was something to do. It was confirmation.
Barry looked up from Sal’s corpse. “They’re dead. One shot each. I think. One got it between the eyes, the other in the throat. That’s why there’s so much blood.”
The pronouncement didn’t elicit so much as a murmur. Barry stood from his crouch next to Sal. He motioned at both bodies with a swipe of his hand. “We shouldn’t have come back. There was nothing we could do. We only—”
Mike held up a hand, his attention on Sal. Something was off. He moved toward the body.
“What?” asked Barry. “What did I say?”
Mike shook his head. “Nothing. Hang on.”
Kandy must have noticed the same thing. She put her hands to her mouth and muttered an expletive.
Barry looked around, confused. “What? What did I say?”
Brice caught on as Mike reached Sal’s body. “The notebook. It’s gone.”
Mike searched Sal’s pockets. He got onto his knees, avoiding the blood and scoured the ground. No sign of the spiral notebook. Mike cursed.
Barry turned white as the realization hit him. Their names and his address were in the book. It was a book now in the hands of Trick and his two henchmen. If they killed two armed soldiers for doing their jobs, what would they do to his family?
“What do we do?” he asked. “Mike? What do we do?”
Mike stood and took two short steps to Barry. “We go home.”
Barry rubbed his chin. He looked like he wanted to scream, punch something and vomit all at the same time. “You don’t think they’d do anything to my family, do you?”
Mike wasn’t sure how to answer the question. They both knew the answer. Those three men were no good. They’d sensed it on the bridge. And the murders of two National Guardsmen confirmed that fear.
If Trick and his men would kill two guards at a checkpoint on a bridge, what would they do to women and children in a home that had power, food, water and access to the ocean? They would do anything to Barry’s family.
Barry’s family wasn’t alone in that house unprotected. Miriam was there as was Phil.
She was tough. She could hold her own and had proven it aboard the Rising Star repeatedly. Smart and resourceful, Miriam might be able to hold off the three armed men for a period of time. She could protect the Millers. But for how long?
Mike looked Barry in the eyes, holding his gaze. “We are going to get to them before anything happens. Everything is going to be fine. But we need to go now.”
Mike was trying to reassure Barry, keep the man focused on their new mission. He couldn’t have Barry freaking out or losing control.
More than trying to convince Barry, however, Mike was trying to convince himself that everything would be okay. He hoped the more he said it aloud, the more he would believe it. The truth was, he wasn’t sure. Trick and his men had a sizable head start and Mike had no way of communicating the danger to Miriam, Betsy, or the children.
CHAPTER 20
MARCH 13, 2033
SCOURGE +163 DAYS
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
Rufus Buck took a tentative sip from the cup and burned the tip of his tongue. He cursed and drew the attention of the other two men in the room.
He glared at them. “What? It’s too hot.”
Manuse smiled. He held an identical steaming cup in his hand. He blew on it, pushing the steam in a cloud away from him. Then he lifted the cup in a toast. “Buck, lemme ask you a question.”
The three men were in what passed for a military mess hall. Most of the surfaces were stainless steel; the lights were bluish-white and cast a sterility over the space, which held a long cafeteria-style counter along one wall and round tables dotting the expanse of it. The chairs were more like floating stools attached to the undersides of the tables. With six of them to a table, the place could hold more than a hundred guests.
Opposite the cafeteria-style counter on the other side of the tables was a bank of stainless steel urns with black plastic spigots. They were labeled by the supposed contents: coffee, tea, hot water.
The appliances and sinks were behind the counter. The hum of refrigerators mixed with the low din of the electric lights overhead. It was a design intended to herd the hungry in and out. The light, the hard seats, the cold tables, the loud echoes and hums all drove people to eat and leave. No lingering.
Buck was sitting at one of the tables with Logan and Manuse. All three of them held cups of coffee. There was nothing to do but await instructions and answer questions. Had it been Logan asking, he might have ignored him out of spite. The man was unlikable. That was Buck’s first and lasting impression of the bald veteran. Manuse, on the other hand, was someone with whom he felt a connection, a mutual respect.
Buck toasted Manuse. “Go for it. Ask away.”
Manuse blew another waft of st
eam from the cup in his hand. “You’re a man who acts first and thinks about the consequences later.”
The cup was warm in Buck’s hand. He rubbed his thumb along the side of it and tried another sip. He burned his tongue again and winced. “Is that a question?”
Manuse placed his cup on the table. “It’s an observation, I guess. But it could be a question. Are you a man who acts first and thinks about the consequences later?”
Buck ran the tip of his burned tongue across the back of his teeth. The hum of the overhead lights and the rumbling mechanics of the refrigerator grew louder in his head. He studied Manuse for a second. He didn’t think the man was judging him so much as trying to understand him. The three of them, including Logan, were going to be working together. Even tangentially, one’s actions might impact the other two. The observation and question made sense. Buck rested his elbows on the table. The cold leaked through his shirt and chilled his skin. With a finger he tipped back the brim of his black hat.
“It depends.”
Manuse blew on his coffee again. The trail of steam was less dense than before. He took a sip from the cup and licked his lips. “On what?”
Buck scratched his beard at his neck. The thick tendrils itched and needed plucking lest they become ingrown and infected. He felt two bumps with his fingers and made a mental note to take care of it the next time he found himself in front of a mirror.
“The circumstance,” he said. “I find there are inflection points in a man’s life, moments that fork one direction or another. In those instances, I’ll take my time. I’ll study each path and decide, with the information I have, how I should proceed.”
Buck drew a sip from his cup. The coffee burned, but it was tolerable. It had been so long since he’d had even a lousy cup of coffee that it was worth the pain. He took his coffee black and noted Manuse did the same. Only coffee in the cup, the way a man should drink it.
He gestured with the cup. “If it’s not a life-or-death decision, I don’t think about it. I react, use my gut. Sometimes it is a life-or-death decision. There’s not time to think, only act. But you know that. I get the sense you’re the same way. As I said at the start, it depends.”
Logan had not touched his coffee. It sat on the table in front of him, thick with artificial creamer and sugar. From where Buck sat, it didn’t even look like coffee. It was caramel colored. It fit.
“You’re a walking contradiction, soldier,” said Logan. “You say you like to think about serious decisions, then suggest you act on instinct. It can’t be both. You’re either impetuous or thoughtful. One or the other.”
Logan lifted his chin. It gave him the appearance of looking down his nose at Buck. It was a trick he’d seen plenty of small people use to give themselves the appearance of high ground. To Buck it gave the opposite impression. To him it was like a man who put cream and sugar in his coffee.
Buck took a longer pull from his cup. It was hot but no longer painful to drink. The acidic taste flooded his mouth and ran down his throat, warming his body. He waited, wondering if Manuse might offer his opinion. When he didn’t, Buck drained his cup, set it on the table and pointed a trigger finger at Logan.
“I’ve known men like you,” he said. “Men who see the world in black and white. Good and evil. Hot and cold. Thoughtful and impetuous.”
Logan smirked. “You’ve known a lot of great men, then?”
Buck laughed, catching himself by surprise. It was genuine. That Logan was so lacking self-awareness was funny.
“I didn’t say that,” said Buck. “It’s the opposite. The people who understand that shades of gray make up this world are the great ones. They can see the subtlety in things. They find good in bad deeds and the self-righteousness in selfless acts. Seeing in shades of gray takes someone with the confidence to know decisions aren’t easy to make and consequences aren’t easy to live with no matter the outcome. The only black and white in my book is that coffee needs caffeine and nothing else.”
Now it was Manuse who laughed. Logan’s face flushed. The top of his bald head matched the crimson of his cheeks. He clenched his jaws and scowled, glancing at the untouched coffee in front of him.
Manuse adjusted himself on the seat, straddling the small stool underneath him. He held up both hands, surrendering to the tension amongst them. “All right, I get your point, Buck. I also think we’re going to have to accept each other’s differences.” He pointed to himself. “Me? I’m like you. I see the shades of gray in things, although I’m not sure I’m as quick on the trigger as I’m guessing you are. It’s all good though.”
Logan stewed. It was almost as if more steam rose from his scalp than from his sweetened cup of coffee.
Manuse pointed at him next. “Logan, you’ve gotta relax. I saw the way you put a vise grip on Buck’s handshake when you met. That’s bush league. We’re all adults here. We all have our reasons for being here or the colonel wouldn’t have picked us. No need to have any contest going on about who’s bigger or stronger or smarter or whatever.”
The men were silent for a moment. Manuse finished his coffee and excused himself. He crossed the floor to the row of urns, flipped the spigot to refill his cup, walked back holding the steaming cup away from his body and set it carefully on the table. Then he slid back into his seat.
“Look,” he said, “we’re here right now to figure out some things. We’ve gotta decide here and now how this is going to work. They want us to take control of Texas. All of it. Three men and two hundred sixty-eight thousand square miles. That ain’t gonna be easy if we can’t get along.”
Buck saw this as an opportunity. “I’ll take West Texas. Set up shop in Amarillo or Lubbock.”
“I’ll take Houston, then,” said Logan. “I like the eastern part of the state. I can handle from Beaumont up to Tyler if need be.”
Manuse raised a hand. “That leaves either Dallas or San Antonio for me.”
The door to the kitchen opened and slapped against the wall, the bang echoing through the open space. All three men faced the door. It was Major Bailey, Whittenburg’s subordinate who’d shown them to their rooms.
He took two steps into the mess hall and aimed a thumb over his shoulder. “Sorry about that. Need to get it fixed.”
Bailey crossed the floor and eased onto one of the empty stools at the table. He unbuttoned the top of his uniform and ran his finger along the inside of the collar, stretching it. “I hate these things. I’ve asked the colonel to let us dress down, but he’s not in favor of it. Not at HQ.”
The other three stared at Bailey. Buck was waiting for an explanation. When the major didn’t offer one, he hurried up the process.
“What are you doing here?” asked Buck. “We didn’t invite you.”
Bailey smiled. It was a toothy grin. The kind of grin that told the others he had information they didn’t yet know and he was about to share it. “I’m joining you three in Texas. Colonel’s orders. He thinks the territory is big enough for four men. I’m in it with you, equal partners.”
Suddenly Rufus Buck felt a kinship with Logan. The enemy of his enemy might as well be his friend. He exchanged glances with him and with Manuse. They shared an unspoken exchange that conceded they had no choice but to accept the major into the fold.
“All right then,” said Buck. “What else did the colonel tell you?”
Bailey eyed the coffee and raised a finger to pause the conversation. He slid off his stool and crossed to the urns. A minute later he was back with coffee. At least it was black, no cream or sugar.
He set the cup on the table. Steam lifted in a haze in front of his face. “He wants us to run the organization like a paramilitary organization.”
“That so?” said Buck.
Bailey nodded. “The actual military is pulling back. Border Patrol too. Right now, gangs, drug traffickers and ex-cons are starting to take control. The colonel wants us to bring these disparate groups into the fold and under our control.”
“How
do you suppose we do that?” asked Manuse.
Bailey shrugged. “Connections.”
Logan took a sip of his coffee facsimile. “What connections?”
A wink and a knowing smile highlighted Bailey’s expression. “Don’t play coy with me. I know all about the three of you. You each bring your particular skills to this operation. I’m the go-between. I’m the one who’ll make sure you three don’t go off the reservation.”
Manuse tilted his head to one side. “Elaborate.”
Bailey picked up his coffee cup and blew the steam from it. He brought it close to his lips but didn’t sip from it. Instead, he placed the cup on the stainless steel tabletop and leaned on one elbow, using a finger to point at each man as he divulged what he knew.
“Let’s start with you, Manuse. You served time in three different Texas prisons. You earned clout, became a man of means on the inside. Am I right? You’re friendly with the Gulf Coast black market.”
“Okay,” Manuse said, his expression as flat as his tone.
Bailey turned to Logan. “You hang out with some unsavory people. I say that in the nicest way possible, Logan, but you’re in tight with some of the gangs. One in particular that controls a lot of the trafficking routes.”
Logan said nothing.
Bailey moved to Buck. “Which brings me to you. You’ve been in the drug trade since before the war in Syria. Your involvement modulates between surface-level dealings to large shipments.”
Buck pulled down the brim of his hat and scratched his neck. He scowled, hoping his distaste for this was evident without saying so.
“All of you have areas of influence that intersect nicely. The people we need to convince to fall in line with our objectives are the very people with whom the three of you already have relationships.”
“Okay,” Manuse said, “but if these people already have control of things in Texas, why would they join us or allow us to control them? Doesn’t make sense.”
Bailey picked up the cup and took a tentative sip. He tested the temperature with a smack of his lips and then took a longer pull of the coffee. He gestured toward Manuse with the cup. “They need help getting their goods outside Texas without interference. We’ll provide the protection in exchange for their acquiescence. They’ll agree. If they don’t, we’ll make it difficult for them. Remember, we are what’s left of the United States armed forces.”
The Scourge (Book 2): Adrift Page 21
