Feeling sleepy, Ricardo snapped upright in his seat. It could have been blood loss or shock, and he couldn't succumb to it. He intentionally shifted his leg and a wave of pain wracked his body, feeling like a hammer to the head. While he felt even sicker than he had a moment ago the pain would keep him from drifting off. The phone sitting loosely in his hand rang.
"Ricardo," he mumbled. Speaking took more effort than it had a moment ago.
"I got you, buddy," Banks said. "I got a hold of my friend. He's in McLean and he's scrambling his bird. His copilot is a former combat medic and an EMT. They're taking off right now."
"Where do we meet them?"
"After you pass Route 645 you should look for Braddock Park on the left. Pull onto one of the baseball diamonds and leave your lights running. They'll find you."
"In case I lose consciousness, or worse, the girl who's with me is named Valeria. See that she's treated well."
"Don't worry about it. Just get to the park and you'll be in good hands. We got this."
"Thanks," Ricardo slurred. He took a deep breath and mustered his energy to speak clearly. "Valeria, after Route 645, Braddock Park on left. Pull onto one of the baseball diamonds and leave the lights running. They'll find us. When the chopper lands, make sure you get all our gear out of the back. They'll handle the rest."
"Got it," she replied, accelerating a little faster.
He could tell she was worried about him, could sense her urgency. He had to admit that he was worried about himself too. He wasn't an expert on anatomy but knew there were a number of things the knife could have hit. Spleen, stomach, pancreas, or even his intestines. With this turn of events, he felt bad about dragging Valeria from the campus. She'd been safe there, hidden from the world. Now she was exposed and had her most important belongings with her.
If he died, what would happen to her? Once they were aboard the chopper, he wouldn't be so concerned. Banks would do the right thing. He would see that Valeria was taken care of. Ricardo wasn't ready to die. He still had lives to avenge and men to kill. He had to remember that and let the hate fuel him.
"Route 645!" Valeria announced, speeding through an intersection.
Ricardo tried to raise his head to look but it was heavier than normal, the effort required to move it immense. A few minutes later she announced she saw the sign for Braddock Park and he didn't even look, trusting that she knew what to do.
"A gate!" She slammed her palms against the steering wheel in rage. "I can't get past that gate."
"Go around," Ricardo whispered.
"There's a fence."
"Ram it."
She backed away from the gate, twisted the wheel, and punched the throttle. The Hummer bounced over a concrete curb and flattened the chain-link fence. Ricardo heard it scraping against the undercarriage as they drove over it.
"Which field? Does it matter?"
"No," he whispered, the effort required to say even that single word almost more than he could muster.
She picked one, accelerated again, and barreled through another fence. Now in the outfield of a baseball diamond, she whipped the wheel to the right and hit the brakes. The Hummer slid to a stop and she clicked on the headlamps, illuminating the dirt field, the pitcher's mound, and the bases.
Valeria lifted the nightvision out of the way and looked at him. "Should I turn the vehicle off?"
He tried to shake his head, though the gesture was barely perceptible. "No. Leave it running in case they don't show."
"What do I do then?" she asked in a panic. "What if you pass out?"
He fished his GPS from around his neck and powered it up. When it had acquired satellites and oriented itself to their location, he showed her the red star, the waypoint marking the location of his containers. "There's a key in my pocket that will let you inside these two shipping containers. One is storage, the other is set up for living quarters. There's enough food for a year."
She didn't look convinced.
"Hang it around your neck," he whispered, extending the GPS to her.
As she was looping the lanyard over her neck, she leaned forward to study the sky. "I hear something." When Ricardo didn't respond, she turned to see that he'd lost consciousness.
In a panic, she threw open her door and hurried around to his side. Dust rose into the air as the chopper dropped onto the diamond. She reached across Ricardo's body and held onto the pressure dressing. "Don't die. Don't die."
It was a message she'd repeat long after they were both in the air.
14
Banks Compound
West Virginia
The chopper flight was Valeria's first flight of any kind and she was off to a hell of a start. It was disorienting not being able to see the ground as the pilot lifted and banked. Her stomach rolled and she felt like she was on some kind of spaceship, the craft moving with an unexpected speed and agility. Strapped into a seat, she chewed her nails, watching the medic fight to stabilize Ricardo. After assessing his wounds, the medic pumped him full of fluids, plugged his holes, and splinted his fracture. Short of monitoring his vitals that was all he could do until they handed him off to a doctor.
By the time they landed in West Virginia, Banks had secured the services of a local veterinarian who had done emergency medical treatment for him before. That veterinarian was waiting at the landing zone with Banks when the chopper touched down. With the help of several of Banks' men, they hauled Ricardo's stretcher to a truck. The veterinarian had a hasty conference with the combat medic and scribbled down notes on everything that had been done or administered during the flight.
Valeria sat there still buckled into her seat, uncertain of what to do. She didn't know any of these people or even where she was. The pilot turned in his seat and gestured at her to get moving. It wasn't done in a rude manner, but he had no intention of killing the engines and sticking around. The less time they were on the ground, the better it would be for everyone. This was her stop and she needed to get off.
With no other options, she unbuckled herself and shuttled all their gear to the chopper door. Soon the medic was back, the truck with Ricardo speeding off into the darkness. The medic extended his hand and helped her to the ground. Despite the pilot's impatience, the medic and another man helped Valeria carry their belongings to another pickup truck. When they were done, the medic returned to the chopper without so much as a goodbye. The medic slid the door shut and seconds later the chopper rose in the night sky.
As the thumping of the rotor blades faded into the night, Valeria felt a rising awkwardness. She was standing there beside the truck with a man she didn't know and could barely even see. The only illumination came from the red glow of the taillights.
"I wanted to thank them but they left so quickly," she said.
"They've been thanked already." The man extended a hand toward her. "Valeria, my name is Earl and I run this place. Ricardo is an old friend. I just wanted to say that you're a very brave young lady. I don't know what all you went through tonight but I suspect that the two of you have one hell of a story to tell."
Valeria shook his hand. "It's a lot to take in."
"You're safe now. I promise you that. We're a long way from the city and you're among some of the bravest men and women I know."
She prayed his words were true because she didn't feel safe at the moment. She felt more unsettled than she'd been at any time since the beginning of the collapse. "Will he be okay?"
"I've got no idea. This ain't like normal times where you can just call an ambulance to take someone to the emergency room. We've dealt with medical issues here before but the best I can do is provide a couple of EMTs and a veterinarian. If you're the praying type I suggest you put in a good word with the boss. Ricardo is going to need all the help he can get."
"I'll do that."
"How about we haul your gear to the cabin you'll be staying in? You'll have a place all to yourself and it's not far from where Ricardo is being treated. It's not the Hilton but it's
clean, warm, and safe."
All of those things sounded magical to her so when Earl rose, she joined him in the cab of the truck. After unloading their gear at the tiny cabin with its plywood siding and metal roof, they walked a short distance to the training center building. Banks gave her a flashlight for moving around in the darkness. She realized she'd left hers in the Hummer when she put on the nightvision. She wondered what else she'd left behind in the rush to get Ricardo on the chopper.
"This is where we do the classes," Banks said. "We're not doing any now, of course, but in better times this whole facility is a tactical training center. This building has a few offices and some storage. It's also where we have the infirmary."
Though the building was dark from the outside, bright light hit Valeria in the face when Banks opened the door, forcing her to squint. "How do you have lights?"
"Solar power," he replied. "It doesn't run everything around this place but it knocks off some of the rough edges. Do you drink coffee?"
She nodded and he led her to a drip coffee maker. He put everything together, added water, and pushed the power button.
"It doesn't take long," he said.
True to his word, in a little over a minute she had a hot cup of coffee with a splash of French vanilla creamer. The smell alone brought a wave of nostalgia for the world they'd had before the terror attacks. It reminded her of the coffee shops where she loved to sit and read.
Banks pointed to one of the plastic tables surrounded by folding chairs. "Why don't you have a seat over there while I go see what I can find out from the doc?"
"You'll come back?" she asked.
He smiled. "I promise."
Banks disappeared down a hallway while Valeria sat at one of the empty tables, the warm cup of coffee held up to her face. It was still too hot to drink but she basked in the aroma while she studied the walls. There was a large poster that appeared to be an aerial photo of the facility. There was a sign telling visitors that all weapons brought into the building must be unloaded and have their magazines removed. There was another stating that no photographs or video were allowed on the facility without approval of the instructor. Valeria had no idea that places such as this even existed. It was like a military base, only it wasn't military.
It was several minutes before Banks returned. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down across from Valeria. He looked grim, which only fueled her panic.
"Is he okay?"
"He's alive. The knife wound is still bleeding and the doc thinks he's going to have to perform surgery. There could be a nicked organ or blood vessel. This is the kind of thing a hospital could diagnose with imaging equipment but obviously we don't have anything like that."
"Can your doctor do that? You said he was a veterinarian. Can he operate on a human?"
"He can," Banks replied. "He's patched up a lot of folks for us over the years. The basics of surgery are the same, whether you're a dog or a human. He'll sedate Ricardo and open him up. Hopefully, he can fix whatever he finds. They've got his blood pressure steady and he's comfortable. If the doc can deal with the injury, it'll just be a matter of keeping infection away."
"Do you have antibiotics?"
"We have everything we need for this," Banks said. "Almost."
Valeria raised an eyebrow at that. "What does that mean? Almost?"
"The doc says he can set Ricardo's leg. He can even put in a few pins if that's required. He doesn't have all of the advanced equipment for stabilizing the fracture though. It may take a little longer to heal and it might always be weaker than it was before. There's still a possibility it could get infected and he'd lose the leg, but I'm hoping we can prevent that."
Valeria stared at the clean surface of the table, a hand resting flat to each side of her cup. She looked like a person bracing herself against the weight of the world. "You know, I've been alone for months, living in an empty building without anyone. Then Ricardo shows up and it was the first time I'd talked to another human since the early weeks after the attacks. Then he comes back and offers me a job."
Banks sipped from his coffee. "He mentioned that. I'm assuming he told you a little of what he does?" He was watching her carefully, measuring her response.
"He did, and he said I was the perfect kind of person for his organization. No family and no commitments."
"He'll take good care of you. He treats his people well. Since we're on the matter of business and he's not in any position to talk, there are probably some things I should tell you about our facility."
Valeria did her best to keep a straight face, yet had a hard time hiding her concern. She wasn't sure how many more revelations she could take right now.
Banks smiled. "It's nothing bad. We need to talk about security though. This facility is primarily a training facility during normal times. I retired from the intelligence business and the government pays us to conduct different types of training. Mostly weapons-related training but not always."
"Are you doing training now?"
"No," Banks replied. "We basically run the equivalent of a frontier outpost now. I have a friend, Kirk, who takes care of the maintenance around the place. I also have a few full-time instructors who live here on the property. Most of our business now comes from helping different parties get fuel, weapons, and supplies to where they need them. We have all types of folks coming in here by chopper. Military folks, intelligence types, private contractors, and some I'm not entirely sure about. We are very discreet about what goes on here, but it's probably best you don't get seen by any outsiders. We don't want anyone asking questions and we certainly don't want anyone learning that Ricardo is here. Do you understand?"
"Yes. Keep low. Fortunately, I'm good at that. It's kept me alive for the past months."
"You're free to move around and use the gym or hike, but we don't talk a lot about ourselves here. It's the nature of the work. A lot of times we'll know a chopper is coming in and we'll give you a heads-up to hang out in your cabin. If no one comes for you, just assume that you need to stay hidden if a chopper shows up unexpectedly."
"Got it."
"Now as far as Ricardo is concerned, we're probably not going to know anything until tomorrow. Why don't we head over to the kitchen and grab you a bite to eat, then you can head back to your cabin until morning."
"No problem," Valeria replied. "I am a little hungry now that you mention it."
While Banks walked her to the dining hall, Valeria began to feel a little more relaxed with the place and her situation. She hadn't realized how imprisoned she felt on the university campus until she'd escaped it. Now she felt like she could breathe again, like the world had opened up around her.
She didn't know what the future held for her but she was comfortable with that. What she also didn't know at that moment was that she'd still be at the compound in West Virginia nearly six more months later.
Part II
Present Day
15
Conor's Compound
Jewell Ridge, Virginia
It was late summer, six months after the depressing operation aboard the Shandong. Six months after Billy Browning rubbed Ricardo's death in Conor's face and told him he gave the orders now. While none of that set well with Conor, he chose to bide his time. Refusing Browning would have gotten him and Barb killed immediately and that helped no one. Conor didn't sit idly for those past six months. He carried the satellite phone with him at all times, just as Browning had warned him to do, but he also made preparations for a rapid bug-out from his compound if it came to that.
When the soil was right he even planted a garden. For some, it may have seemed a ridiculous thing to do while living under the threat of total annihilation. Conor had no idea when he might have to evacuate his compound because Browning suddenly decided to make good on his threatened missile strike. But Conor was a patient man and he didn't scare easily. He was also a man who enjoyed eating.
Fresh vegetables were a luxury these days, but then again,
so was any form of food. Everyone on the compound contributed to the effort—planting, weeding, and watering. The garden had once only been big enough to grow a few vegetables to supplement what Conor bought at the grocery store. With no more groceries available, he'd significantly expanded the size of the garden, digging up topsoil and erecting a fence around it to keep the goats at bay.
Shannon had offered to try her hand at canning some of it and they'd been collecting jars for months. While they were in high demand, so was ammunition, and Conor had plenty of that. Most folks were willing to let a few jars and lids go in exchange for ammunition.
The corn, in particular, had flourished and they were going to have plenty of it. Being able to preserve some for the bleak winter months would be amazing. On this hot afternoon, Shannon and Ragus were on the porch, shucking ears and plucking out the odd worm. Barb, always handy with sharp, stabby things, was in the kitchen cutting the corn off the cob.
It was Barb's week to stay at the compound. After a period of living away from home, staying with Johnny Jacks and his family, she'd been spending more time at the compound again. She and Wayne had been alternating weeks, taking turns staying with Johnny Jacks and helping out around his place. Wayne had settled into being part of their group, using his impressive carpentry and building skills to help out at both Johnny's farm and Conor's compound. He had projects underway at both places.
Proud and independent, Johnny insisted that he and his family didn't need the help, but Conor assured him it wasn't only about that. Having someone from his team staying in the remote Dismal River Valley helped Conor to keep an eye on the community. He didn't want anyone sneaking into the backyard while he was watching the front.
It had turned into a hot day, the sun blazing in the cloudless sky. Conor was anxious to finish filling his wheelbarrow with corn so he could move onto something else. He had other projects waiting in the cool recesses of his shop and he was looking forward to getting to them. Barb had pointed out that he wouldn't be sweating so profusely if he'd dress in cooler clothes. Everyone else at the compound was wearing shorts and t-shirts, while Conor wore dusty, sweat-stained cargo pants and a ratty green t-shirt that said "Kiss Me I'm Irish" on the front. As always, he wore a sidearm and his rifle was nearby, leaning against a rusty fuel tank.
Ultraviolent: Book Six in The Mad Mick Series Page 14
