Survival Rules Series (Book 2): Rules of Conflict

by Hunt, Jack

“But now we’ve established who is at fault. The question is, are you going to be a martyr for your friend or tell me where he lives and get to see another day?”

  Terry looked away. Gabriel could see him weighing it up. With the tip of his knife he tapped the gold wedding band around Terry’s finger. “Ah, now isn’t that sweet. Marriage. The holy union of two hearts becoming one. A lost tradition, don’t you think? So many in the world today just settle for living together. But where is the commitment in that?” He grinned. “How did you meet her?” Terry didn’t respond, so Gabriel leaned in and took a hold of his ring finger. “Let me guess. You married your high school sweetheart straight of out college? You’ve only ever had sex with her, missionary position of course, she doesn’t like anything too kinky, but that’s okay with you because you feel fortunate that she would pick a guy like you.” He raised a finger. “And let me take a stab at this by taking this one step further. You have a son, a daughter, maybe three kids? Am I getting warmer?”

  Terry no longer looked scared, he looked pissed. That was exactly the reaction Gabriel wanted out of him. He wanted to rile him up, and have him tap into that well of human emotion. For out of that came the choice that would decide whether his family lived or died. He didn’t need to threaten them as Terry was on the same wavelength.

  “Please. They haven’t done any harm.”

  “No, I’m sure they haven’t,” he said leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. “Bless their hearts, right? I bet they were real choked up when they visited you here at the hospital, huh? What did that feel like? To see them overjoyed that you had made it out? What a hero! Vanquishing those bad men out in the woods. Were they overjoyed, Terry, or frightened?” He waited for a response. When he didn’t get it, he probed deeper. “But better question. What did it feel like bleeding out in those woods? Were you scared? Were you ready to meet your maker? I bet you were. Let me guess, a fine, upstanding man like yourself probably attends church, am I right? You do your bit, warm the pew once a week, maybe even volunteer to collect the tithe. It makes Mrs. Murdoch real proud, don’t you think, Torres?” he asked not looking at him.

  “Oh for sure,” Torres replied. “Real proud.”

  Gabriel nodded. “However, deep down inside of you, there is this gnawing doubt. What if… I am wrong? What if everything that was taught to me in Sunday school was a lie?” He paused for effect. “Did you chew that over in those minutes after being shot?”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” Terry said through gritted teeth with a look of defiance.

  “Maybe.” He got up and went across the room to the chair and picked up his wallet. “And maybe I do,” he said removing his ID and tossing it on the bed in front of him. He pulled out the photo of his family and turned it around. “Ah, what a Hallmark moment. Let me guess, you gather around the Christmas tree every year and put the angel on top, then sip on eggnog, sing carols and dream of ways of killing innocent people.” His voice deepened before he tore up the photo in front of him and let the fragments drift to the floor.

  “Innocent people don’t kill rangers,” Terry spat.

  “Ah, but they do, my friend.” He spread out his hands as if he was a preacher and lifted his eyes to heaven. “We are all innocent, Terry. As we are all sinners saved by grace.”

  “You are out of your mind.”

  Gabriel glanced at Torres and smiled. “Um. Out of jail, yes. Out of my mind? That’s debatable. But let’s leave the psychological mumbo jumbo to the experts, shall we? It’s time to get down to business. Tell me where Corey is.”

  “I don’t know. He dropped me off here.”

  “Where does he live?”

  Terry swallowed hard.

  “Come on, Terry. Do you really think his life is worth more than yours? Do you want your kids to bury you?”

  “He was just doing his job.”

  Gabriel walked over. He’d had enough of his bullshit. As he got closer, Terry gripped his covers tight.

  Gabriel lifted the knife and was about to inflict some serious pain when Torres tapped him. “We got company. Security.”

  Gabriel slipped the knife into his waistband and covered it. He pointed at Terry. “One word and both of you die. You understand?”

  Terry nodded, and Gabriel took a seat. Torres put his Glock behind his back and faced the door. Things were about to get ugly.

  There was a knock and the door cracked open. The security guard was a beefy fella with a shaved head, and an all-American, clean-cut image. He looked as if he was knit into his shirt, and his boots were shined to perfection. There were two pens in his top pocket, and a handgun on his hip.

  “Just checking in. Things good with you?”

  “Fine, Rob,” Terry said, nodding.

  The security guard eyed them both, his eyes squinting. “Friends of yours?”

  Terry cleared his throat. “Yeah. Old army buddies.”

  Rob screwed up his face and gave a nod before closing the door. They heard what sounded like him getting on the radio but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Gabriel hadn’t taken his eyes off Terry the whole time. “Army buddies? I didn’t see a veteran’s card in your wallet.” He paused, studying Terry’s face. His hands and lips were trembling even more than before. “You just cost him his life.”

  Terry yelled, “Run!” just as Torres flung open the door and fired a single round into the neck of the guard. His body slumped to the ground but he wasn’t dead. Torres went out and finished him off while Gabriel brought the knife up to Terry’s throat. He knew he had minutes before the other security guard would show up, and by that time he radioed for backup on his two-way.

  Gabriel wagged his finger in front of his face. “Bad choice, Terry. Bad choice. Now where is Corey?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Really?”

  “I would rather die than—”

  “So be it,” Gabriel said, cutting him off. He must have thought he was joking. Everyone wanted to be a hero but few were ready to pay the price. He plunged the blade through the front of his throat, twisted and tore it out in brutal fashion. Blood sprayed wildly as he turned and walked out leaving Terry to choke to death on his own blood.

  4

  It was like hell. Panic gripped Whitefish residents as furious flames, twelve feet high, devoured home after home. What may have only begun as ten homes extended far beyond that as the wind-driven fire moved through the town burning everything in its path. The bright orange haze arching over the town reminded Corey of news images from Paradise, California. While it wasn’t on the same level, it had people frantic. It was like watching a cluster of chickens dashing to and fro with their heads lopped off. In a power outage, no one really knew how to respond.

  A large crowd had gathered watching helplessly as the fire marshal rallied together firefighters and volunteers to assist. Corey knew they didn’t stand a chance in hell of putting it out as fire hydrants relied on water pressure from pumping stations and those were inoperable, and carrying buckets of water from the lake would have been an epic waste of time.

  Still, he’d heard that was part of the plan.

  They must have figured that would work as there was talk of forming a line where they would pass buckets from hand to hand like they did in the 1800s. It was total madness. However, the goal wasn’t to extinguish the fire but buy occupants of homes enough time to salvage some of their belongings and possibly prevent flames from spreading to other buildings and the landscape.

  Corey overheard talk of fire extinguishers needing to be collected from the fire station, homes and businesses. “Get as many as you can find,” a firefighter yelled. The general consensus was they were going to throw everything they had at it, and hope to God they could contain it before the town became ash.

  The town if viewed from above almost resembled a cross with the downtown at the core and homes built around that. Whitefish Lake was located in the northwest region, certainly too far away for a bucket brigade, but Whitefis
h River originating from the outlet of the lake flowed right through the town itself. That was where he assumed they were heading. Corey walked into the middle of Second Street which cut through the downtown and scanned the horizon. The only saving grace was that the fire wasn’t concentrated in one area but spread out, and while many of the surrounding trees had caught on fire, allowing it to move across streets, most of it was contained to the western and northern regions. Outside city hall, he heard someone shout that an entire apartment block had been taken out. It made sense that if one went up, the rest would follow. The question was how had it started? And how many residents would be lying among the ruins and ash by morning?

  Corey spotted the fire marshal, Steve Cameron, speaking with a group of his firefighters. He squeezed through the crowd trying to reach him and find out how he could be of use but before he got there, the chief hopped onto a red ’71 Ford pickup truck along with a large group hanging off the sides and took off heading west for the river. “Where’s the truck?” he asked his father.

  “I didn’t bring it. I came by horseback.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “You think I’m letting them get their hands on it?”

  He shook his head and looked around at the community as it rallied together to save anyone caught in the smoke and debris that was now blowing through the streets. Here they were extending a hand without a thought for their own lives and his father was worried about the cops commandeering his vehicle.

  Earlier that evening Corey had arrived on a mountain bike from his home. He dashed over to it and lifted his shirt over the lower half of his face to stop himself from coughing and took off pedaling like mad past his father. He didn’t slow or look back to see if he was following.

  He couldn’t stand by in good faith and do nothing.

  Slaloming around people and stalled cars and bouncing off curbs, he finally made it to the bridge that went over the river. There was already a line of people beginning to pass buckets of water between them. Some weren’t even buckets, just large pans from residents’ homes. He skidded to a halt and left his bike against a wall and jogged down to join the line.

  “Keep it moving, people,” volunteers yelled.

  Even though only a few hundred had gathered for the city hall meeting, many more residents came out into the streets offering to help. This was the town he envisioned when he was younger, not the one his father had. He’d said people would turn on each other, that it would be every man for himself, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.

  At least that was the impression he got.

  What he couldn’t see was what was taking place throughout the resort town.

  It soon became apparent that this wasn’t the only way they would fight the fires. Like any smart-thinking fire marshal, Cameron, who had fought fires in previous power outages, had an idea to use a couple of generators to temporarily get water pressure working. It wouldn’t last for long but it might give them enough power to deal with some of the major areas that jeopardized homes.

  As Corey volunteered to help collect the generators from the high school, where they were keeping them until they distributed them out, Tyler, Nate, Erika and Bailey emerged through the smoke wafting down the street.

  He thumbed over his shoulder. “Hey, I’m about to head over to the high school, you want to help?”

  Tyler had a serious look on his face, he grabbed him by the arm. “Corey, we need to talk.”

  “It will have to wait. Can’t you see we’re busy?” he said passing off a bucket of water to someone before breaking away and heading towards an idling truck where the fire marshal had a map of the city laid out on the hood and was giving directions to what pumps they would use once they got it going. There were others loaded into the back waiting for him. As he walked away, Tyler just spat it out.

  “Terry is dead.”

  Corey stopped in his tracks and looked back.

  “What?”

  Tyler walked over eyeing the people around. “We were on our way here to help when we crossed paths with Kurtis Foster. He was looking for you. He’d just come from the hospital. There was some shooting down there, and a message left behind for you.”

  Corey shook his head trying to grasp what he was saying. He’d spoken to Terry only earlier that morning. He’d been in good spirits and was looking forward to returning to his family.

  “He’s dead?” He asked for confirmation just in case he’d heard him wrong. There was so much noise around him, people yelling, buckets clattering on the ground as residents returned and stacked them to be filled.

  “I saw dad on the way here, he’s already on his way to the hospital.”

  Corey closed his eyes and tried to silence the horror around him. What the hell happened? He nodded, and gripped Tyler by the shoulder before turning and yelling to the chief that he wouldn’t be coming but would check back later. It didn’t seem to matter, nothing did except putting out flames.

  But he had his own fire to extinguish, and no idea who had started it.

  Corey went to collect his mountain bike but it was gone. Someone had stolen or chosen to use it. “Damn it.” They took off on foot for North Valley Hospital located in the south end. It was only seven minutes by car, but even if they ran, at least half an hour from where they were.

  “Hold on a second,” Tyler said gesturing to Whitefish Community Center across the street. They weaved around people and darted around the back. Tyler trudged through high grass and bent down lifting up a camouflaged duffel bag. He didn’t need to ask what was inside, he heard the contents rattle. Corey grabbed it out of his hand and flung it down before unzipping it. Inside were several AR-15’s, magazines and handguns.

  “Where did you get this from?”

  “Lou’s,” Tyler said tearing the bag out of his hand. “Like I said, I can take care of myself.”

  “And you think walking through town with that in hand is wise?”

  “You need to wake up, brother. Look around you. It’s beginning.”

  “Don’t even go there.”

  “Hey, I’m the first to call bullshit on dad’s preaching but this…” he said pointing to the fires. “This is just the beginning. The cops might have managed to keep looting at bay in this town for the last five days but you can be damn sure it won’t last. These are concealed, it’s for our protection.” Tyler pulled the strap over his shoulder and pointed. “Lead the way.”

  Corey stared at him for a second and then took off.

  He’d gone back and forth in his mind so many times since the blackout that he wasn’t sure what to believe. On one hand he knew the reality that an EMP brought. The country was not coming back from this any time soon, however, he’d seen the good in townsfolk, witnessed them extending a hand to help. He wanted to believe for the sake of his unborn child that Whitefish could be an exception, a light on a hill, an example to towns around. He wanted to believe in the good of people as he’d grown up listening to the alternative.

  As they hurried south, his mind couldn’t comprehend that Terry was gone.

  The hospital was safe, they had security, and at least two armed officers in the vicinity on radios. It wasn’t ideal but it should have been enough to make people think twice about starting trouble. Generators were the only reason someone might try to force their will upon others but if that was so, why kill Terry? That was answered when they arrived, less than thirty minutes later.

  Out of breath, sweating from running non-stop, he burst through the open doors and made his way down the long corridor to Terry’s room. Before he reached it, he saw what looked like blood smears in the middle of the hallway as if someone had been dragged out and into the nearest room. He glanced sideways but the door was closed. Up ahead, crouched by Terry’s room was his father, holding something in his hand. He looked up as they approached.

  His father held up a hand and walked forward.

  “You don’t want to go in there, kid.”

  “Get out o
f the way, Dad.”

  “Corey,” he said, but he pushed past him and entered. Corey looked and took a couple of steps back in shock. He’d witnessed a lot of shit in his time in the military but this was sick. He didn’t have a weak stomach, and he liked to think that his time in Iraq had hardened him, and it had, but not to this. Not to a friend’s murder.

  There was so much blood. The sheets were soaked, the walls and furniture had a fine mist, and some of the blood had pooled on the floor, dripping off his hand.

  He diverted his eyes and then saw the photo of his family, torn up on the floor. He crouched down and picked up some of the pieces, then looked back at Terry.

  “Corey,” Tyler said. He was standing in the doorway pointing to a message scrawled on the wall in blood. The words were simple, and straight to the point.

  Their blood is on your hands.

  “Where is security?” he asked charging out of the room. His father grabbed his arm. “Son. Corey.” But he wasn’t listening to him. He had to know what had happened. Surely someone heard or saw something. Quickly he made his way to the front entrance where Michael Sullivan was manning a desk. His face was white and he was staring at the ground having a cigarette.

  “What happened?” Corey asked.

  “I…”

  “How did this happen?” He bellowed at him as if he was his employer or the police.

  “I didn’t see it. I heard a gunshot, followed by another and by the time I made it down to the corner of the building whoever had done it was gone. Rob was dead, and Terry…” He looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry, man, I’m really sorry.”

  “Is that radio working?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you call the cops?”

  “I did but they were too far away.”

  “But they were assigned to patrol the area nearby.”

  “They said something about the fires.”

  Then it hit him. He took a few steps back. The fires had been a distraction. Everyone had to roll up their sleeves and help. Whoever had done this knew what they were doing. Corey turned and went back to the room where Tyler was talking with Nate and Erika. They spotted him and his father approached.