Tertiary Effects Series | Book 3 | Bite of Frost

by Allen, William

  “What are you letting out about who hit the highwaymen, anyway? Are we looking at getting any blowback on this?” I asked, suddenly nervous about our role in the whole affair. We were supposed to be keeping our heads down and maintaining a low profile, damn it.

  “Our report is going to show it was the work of a rival gang, and that when my boys showed up, the perpetrators escaped while the Sheriff’s Department secured the scene. Nobody in the department knows of your involvement other than as a target that got away, if that’s your worry.”

  “Well, Frank and Buddy seemed to have an idea,” I complained, but there was no heat in my words. They might have their own theories, but that was to be expected, and Sheriff Bastrop reinforced my conclusion.

  “They might have suspicions, and that should be the extent of it,” he said, trying to sound convincing. “Look, all bullshit aside, recovering those three truckloads of supplies was a huge deal. You know, one was making a delivery to our grocery store, and one of the others was headed to drop off food at the refugee center, so you probably prevented another riot or two just doing what you did. We’ll keep this just between us, okay?”

  “Man, do I feel like chopped liver here,” Mike interjected, trying to sound like a petulant child. “Bryan and Pat go off like the cool kids and save the town, while I sat at the hospital and helped count surgical packs while my wife complained about how much her feet hurt.”

  “How the heck do you think I felt, getting run off just before the shooting started?” Sheriff Bastrop complained, more as a way to show his solidarity with Mike than in any real disappointment. “That’s what I’m supposed to be doing, damn it. Protect and serve, it says so right on the door of my cruiser.”

  “Sheriff, you are doing that. You and Buddy and the Judge are what’s holding this county together.” I spoke convincingly. Despite how he might be trying to play it off, I know being sent away like we’d done had to hurt the sheriff’s ego. Mike must have sensed what I was trying to do, as he chimed in as well.

  “Sheriff, trust me, Bryan and I saw some things in Dallas, well, let’s just say, things might look rosy on tv, but reality is a whole different animal. I don’t ever want to see anything like that happen here. If Pat and Bryan didn’t want you on that raid, it was because you are too important doing exactly what you are doing right now.”

  “And sheriff, if things ever get too hot here, or you are worried about your family at the Emergency Services site, send them out to our place,” I said seriously. He gave me a searching look, and I felt compelled to continue. “Frank told us about some assmonkeys up in Kilgore targeting police officers. It’s only a matter of time before someone starts that mess here. Or decides to go after your families. We don’t have an impregnable fortress by any stretch, but the goal is to limit access and we have a few tricks up our sleeves.” I stopped, feeling the emotion well up inside as I finished my little speech. “I’ve already lost a child, and I couldn’t live with myself if anything were to happen to yours, if it was in my power to stop it.”

  “Plus, we’ve got Pat on our side,” Mike chipped in.

  “Plus, we’ve got Pat,” I echoed my brother’s words.

  “Thank you,” Sheriff Bastrop said softly. “Thank you both. I just may need to take you up on that offer before this is all over.”

  “Well, before we get further off topic,” I said after a short pause, I reached into the bag sitting at my feet and withdrew a manila envelope. Weighing the packet in my hand briefly, I set it on the sheriff’s desk.

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, after finding those bodies yesterday, I found out Ethan and Wil knew a couple of them. The drivers, I mean. So we kind of took up a collection for their families. You guys have a Victim Compensation Fund, don’t you?”

  “We do, actually. What do you have?”

  “A little over $24,000 in there,” Mike volunteered, stealing my moment. I gave him a glare. The sheriff was looking at us like we were crazy.

  “Would you believe us if I said we had a bake sale?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.

  “Not even a little bit. Is this from those raiders? The highwaymen?”

  I sighed and gave a small shrug. Like I thought there was any way he wouldn’t figure it out.

  “We couldn’t find any indication where the money came from, and like I said, Wil and Ethan knew a couple of the victims. Least we can do to help their families.”

  “On my word, I’ll take care of it,” the sheriff promised, and strangely enough, I believed him. “Now, is there anything else?”

  I snapped my fingers as another question and one of our last chores came to mind.

  “Did you figure out who sold one of your base station units to those guys?”

  “Dang, you are perceptive,” Sheriff Bastrop replied. “You must have been hell on wheels in the courtroom. To answer your question, no, we didn’t. The serial number came back to a model that was reported damaged about a year ago, and then disposed of. The name on the report was a Deputy Haines.”

  “That freaking guy,” Mike muttered, then with more force, “Good luck interviewing him.”

  “That’s the dead end for now. Anything else?”

  “Yes, we need travel documents for a Mr. Charles Brewer. He’s going to stay with his aunt and uncle in Birmingham.”

  “That’s probably for the best,” the sheriff agreed. “Just him?”

  “I think we can call this a trial separation,” I replied diplomatically. “I looked at the website and I have all his information for the trip written down for you.”

  Now that we weren’t directly under another hurricane evacuation, the cross-county and cross-state travel bans had gone back into effect, but with a few provisos. Shelter space remained at a premium in the affected parts of the country, like ours, so anything that could be used to redistribute the refugees was encouraged as long as it didn’t interfere with the recovery or war efforts.

  The form was easily filled out, printed up and the Sheriff signed off what was essentially a transfer form for displaced citizens. If they had family outside the zone willing to accept them, the process was streamlined. I knew there was a thriving black market in fake travel permits, but the consensus was, why bother when you can get the real deal this easily?

  “Thank you, sheriff. Please get in touch with us if you need our assistance again,” I said after storing the travel permit in my bag.

  “Hell, I didn’t contact you the first time on this,” He grumbled, then he got a more serious look on his face as a memory struck him.

  “I just wanted to you to hear it from me first. The grand jury no-billed Albert Hostetler yesterday.”

  “DA didn’t waste any time,” I grumbled, but Sheriff Bastrop shrugged before continuing.

  “Sorry, but given the circumstances, I don’t know what else could have been done. Anyway, last night, Albert Hostetler overdosed on his wife’s sleeping pills. He didn’t make it.”

  This revelation threw me for a loop, and I sat quietly for a moment, digesting the news. Mike picked up the reins and asked I question that had been bugging me earlier.

  “Did you ever find out anything about that poor lady and those children?”

  Sheriff Bastrop hung his head as he gave a bullet point description of what he knew.

  “She worked in Dallas, cleaning hotel rooms. Lost her job, and she was headed for Martelle to stay with her brother. We got a lot of this from him. The three boys were all hers, and she called him on her way down to let him know her youngest, Guillermo, was sick with a high fever. She ran out of gas right there at the Hostetler place. Her brother was on the phone with her up until she went up to the door. They are from El Salvador and her English wasn’t very good. She was just trying to get some medicine for her little boy.”

  “That’s a damned shame,” Mike said, releasing a heavy sigh.

  Mike’s comment just about covered the topic for all of us, and we said our goodbyes and quietly exited the offic
e, and then the building.

  “You have anything else you need to do?” I asked Mike.

  He didn’t say anything, and instead just put the truck in gear and headed out of town. I watched the roads, so I quickly had a pretty good idea where he was going.

  The house on the way to Fred was deserted when we got there. It looked like somebody had broken in at some point but otherwise, there were no overt signs of violence. I didn’t see any bodies, or fresh blood stains on the floor. Mitch and his family had obviously moved out at some point after his wife’s release from the hospital.

  “I hope they found someplace safer,” I consoled Mike as we headed back to his truck for the long return drive home.

  “it’s the same as when I came by before,” Mike admitted. “I left them a note on the door, but it was gone this time. Somebody probably used it to start a fire.”

  Mike’s despondent tone set the mood as we drove back to our neighborhood. I didn’t begrudge Mike the fuel wasted on the trip, as I knew the fate of the family we’d helped before still weighed heavily on his conscience. I maintained vigilance on the drive, and I saw more than a few abandoned houses on our route. The various police and sheriff departments in the area were heavily patrolling the highways and county roads in their jurisdictions, but still the bad actors clearly outnumbered even the augmented elements of law enforcement in the field.

  The absence of our National Guard units was telling in Albany County as well as the surrounding areas trying to absorb the massive numbers of displaced citizens evacuated from the Coastal region. Traditionally, the Guard filled a key role in providing food, shelter, and security for the refugees in the wake of hurricane damage in the past. Even at the biggest displaced citizens concentrations, like at the local school gyms, the usual complement of Guardsmen were greatly reduced, and I understood that with only a squad deployed in New Albany, the department was forced to pick up the slack.

  Sergeant Ruffalo was right. The status quo was under assault, and the clock was ticking on the when the wheels completely fell off and anarchy took over. I prayed we were ready enough to survive the coming storm, and the bitter winter to come. I’d call the Fussells tomorrow, and get on Wil to finish the recruiting efforts with the Tylers. We would need to recruit able bodies, willing to stand with us in the days to come.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I awoke with a cry, rolling out of my cot and grasping at the ghosts that inhabited my nightmares. Even in the cold of the early morning, I felt my body coated in sweat. When I checked the clock on the wall, I saw the hour was just half past five in the morning. I tried to think about what I had to do this day, but all I could focus on at the moment was the demands of my bladder. I stood on shaky legs and made my way across the hall to the downstairs bathroom, stumbling through the door and navigating my way to the toilet. I was oblivious to the world as I relieved the built-up pressure until I was caught by surprised, mid-stream, and somehow managed to stay on target as I heard a voice emerge from the shower stall behind me.

  Since we’d built the house with four bedrooms downstairs and one upstairs, the design called for two bathrooms on the first floor and one on the second. This one, right across from my office, was only considered a half-bath, even though we’d managed to shoe-horn in the shower stall. The space was tight though, and Mike and I always joked about not having to pee in the shower because all we needed to do was open the door and we could hit the toilet while still standing under the water.

  “Uh, couldn’t wait, could you?”

  I knew that voice, and I felt my nerves settle even as my face turned scarlet.

  “Uh, sorry, Cece, I didn’t hear the shower,” I apologized, looked down to avoid the mirror over the sink. As I did, I caught a brief glance of a shadowy form in the shower stall, mostly hidden by the towel hanging over the plastic door that kept the shower contained.

  “Just timing, Bryan. I’d just finished and turned off the water when you busted in,” I heard fabric on plastic and figured she was pulling the towel free. I still kept my eyes down and discretely stuffed myself back in my sweatpants.

  “Sorry about that,” I repeated. “For an old man like me, it’s hell having a bladder the size of a thimble.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Cece replied, and I heard the click as the magnet on the door disengaged. “I don’t have anything you haven’t seen before.”

  That offhand comment, something you hear people toss off casually, evoked the memories of how we’d found Cece at the Landshire house, and I shuddered involuntarily. Cece must have caught my motion, as the next words were rather icy.

  “Oh, I didn’t know you felt that way about…”

  “Cece,” I all but growled, “Stop right there. Think about what you said.” I paused, then held up my hand as she started to speak. “That shiver wasn’t about you, it was about me. You know, I still regret that I didn’t go another hour with the blowtorch on that little asshole.”

  “Uh, yeah, I didn’t think about that,” Cece admitted, and I finally turned around as she finally stepped out of the shower, wrapped from chest to knees in one of the beach towels we now used as bath towels. Credit to Marta for buying them in bulk despite the higher price.

  “Again, I apologize for busting in on you,” I repeated. “And on a separate note, I didn’t mean to offend you with my reaction. I know you’re still hurting over what was done to you.”

  “I’m fine, Bryan. Marta gave me some lotion and the marks, well, you can’t see them anymore.”

  Deputy Randy Haines had done more than rape Cecelia Robinson. He’d also whipped her with a riding crop, raising bloody weals in her flesh for his own amusement. I didn’t doubt the physical hurts might have faded by now, but the pain, embarrassment and fear likely still remained. Randy hadn’t just violated her body, he’d tried to degrade her soul as well.

  “I figured, but that’s not all the damage you took, was it? That still hurts, too, I’m thinking.”

  “How would you know something like that?”

  “I don’t. I have no frame of reference, except I’ve experienced my own share of emotional pain now and then.” I replied evenly, like I was trying to help Billy gentle a spooked horse. “In fact, I’ll let you in on a little secret. It’s been almost five years, and some nights it feels like it just happened.”

  “That’s why you sleep alone,” Cece almost snapped, but I knew she was just putting the pieces together. “It’s your nightmares. No, don’t get that look on your face,” she continued, now almost playfully now. “Nobody revealed your dark secret, but I’ve heard you in there when I’ve gotten up some nights.”

  “Yeah, my nightmares. But here’s the thing, Cece. They get better, over time. I was having them less and less, back before. I guess what I’m trying to tell you is, that pain inside that you’re working so hard to ignore, it will get better with time.”

  Cece, usually taut as a drawn wire, seemed to deflate as she leaned back against the plastic shower door. “I know it is stupid. I didn’t do anything wrong, and I know if I’d fought him more, he would have just killed me. You know what hurts the worst, though?”

  “Like I said, Cece, I couldn’t begin to imagine. If it makes it easier for you, though, you can tell me and I won’t judge. My word.”

  “And I know your word is good,” she murmured. “What hurts the worst is the memory of him dragging me into the sheriff’s house, and the way those deputies looked at me. And the way the sheriff looked at me. Like I was nothing to them. Just another stupid ni…”

  “Don’t say it,” I snapped, more harshly than I meant. “Don’t demean yourself, Cece. Randy Haines was an evil little man, and he died too easy in my opinion. The sheriff, he suffered just a bit more. They were monsters, Cece. All of them in that house. But what do we do to monsters, Cecelia Robinson?”

  “We kill them,” she said, her voice rising. “We fucking kill them.”

  “Damn straight we do.”

  I caught Cece�
��s eyes sweeping over me. “You’re a good man, Bryan. Not just for helping rescue me, but for what you’re doing here. And for taking on those new nightmares for killing those evil men.”

  I met Cecelia’s gaze, and I knew in that moment that I could tell her anything, any truth, and she would never judge me for it. It was a bond, a connection she felt for all of us who’d gone into that house and brought her out. I’d seen her look at Pat that way, and Mike, but their wives, wise women that they were, never said a cross word. Now I thought I understood.

  “Cece, I try to be a good man, but you should know something. I don’t feel bad for the men I’ve been forced to kill, and they don’t haunt my dreams. I have nightmares about those I can’t save, but I never feel any remorse for those bastards I’ve sent to hell. Just between us?”

  “You know it,” Cece vowed.

  “That’s why I killed everybody in the bunkhouse myself. I did it you keep the other guys from having their own nightmares.”

  “Do you think, someday, I might be good enough to go with you? With Pat, and Mike. And Sally?”

  “You’ll need to talk to Pat about that. And getting more training. But I swear, if you go with us, I’ll give you more than one bullet next time.”

  “Asshole,” she cursed and popped me in the chest with the back of her hand. I noted the healed scars that showed where the handcuffs had bit into her flesh, but I schooled my expression much better this time and gave her what I thought of as an impish grin.

  “Are we good?” I asked sincerely, and in response, Cece spread her arms and motioned me forward for a hug. The towel remained in place, and I felt more peace than I’d experience in quite some time in Cece’s embrace.

  Just as we stepped back, the outer door burst open and Maddy came hustling in, beach towel over one shoulder and fresh clothes clutched to her chest.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed, and she turned a pretty shade of red and Cece and I started laughing like two loons. When I could finally draw breath without the threat of my bladder betraying me a second time, I straightened up and made a hand wave with a goofy, overdone flourish that looked like something out of a Chinese martial arts period piece.