by Ray Wench
Stepping through the trees, Myron reached the eight-foot high chain link fence. He used a branch to determine if it was electrified. Maybe the army had electricity. For that matter, maybe they were the ones responsible for the epidemic that killed everyone. He shivered, but continued walking along the fence.
Twenty more steps brought him behind a large two-story metal-roofed brick building. Another smaller one-story building stood twenty feet past the first. Both backed to the woods, ten feet inside the surrounding fence.
Myron continued past the two buildings until he could see the entire base. There were a lot of people, but none of them was close to the buildings. Uniformed bodies bustled around the jets and the larger buildings on the far side of the base. To the far left of the buildings, runways stretched off in the distance. Assorted size hangars were offset on either side of the runways. A large glass-enclosed tower rose from the terminal, A second set of runways, off to his left, ran north and south.
Myron took in the details, but he didn’t need to be an analyst to understand that if the woman was being held inside the base, a snowball had a better chance in hell than he did at a successful rescue.
Turning his attention to the jets, Myron stared in awe. These were actual fighter jets like he’d seen in movies. When he could break his eyes away from the jets, Myron made a mental map of the grounds. Behind the jets were two large buildings with a massive door in the center of each that Myron thought must be the hangars. Next to them were other smaller structures.
Farther down the fence to the left were two rectangular cement block buildings. They were twenty yards beyond the first two buildings he passed. Myron scampered past the space between the buildings and stopped behind the last building in line. It was also the smallest structure. The ground was all wide open beyond the buildings.
Myron continued in that direction until he could look back at the base. It offered him a view of the area in front of the near buildings. The sight made him drop to the ground. Covering his head, he held his breath. Any second, bullets might rip into him. His heart hammered in his chest like a drum leading the enemy to him. Several long moments he released his breath and risked a peek. Slick with sweat Myron had to wipe his eyes to see. The last building was a flat top brick building perhaps twenty by thirty. What made this building different though, wasn’t the design or the construction, it was the two armed guards standing in front of the door.
Thirty-Two
Myron moved behind the small building, keeping it between him and the guards. Why would there be guards? To keep someone out or to keep someone in. Perhaps this was where they kept their weapons and ammunition.
There were two small windows high in the rear wall which were darkened.
Myron studied the building and the fence, which was thirty feet from the rear wall. That was a lot of open ground to cover without being seen. It was too far to risk without knowing what was inside.
Myron set his pack on the ground. A sudden adrenaline-fueled fear raced through him. He had to do something. He fought back the rushing panic and focused his glasses on the base.
Before he could change his mind, he slipped his shoe inside a link, grabbed higher up, and pulled. He rose slowly. With each step, his body shook and the fence rattled. He grabbed tight and closed his eyes. With all his concentration Myron willed his body still. With a deep breath he opened his eyes and ascended again. When he was high enough to have an angle to see inside the building, he pulled the glasses from his mouth and pressed them to his eyes.
The building was much closer than the rest of the base had been. Myron looked into the window. A wall came into view. He turned his head sideways in both directions, but saw nothing. He tried to look down and again saw – wait. He tried to lift up higher, but had no angle. Something was there. It looked like hair.
Putting the binoculars back in his mouth, Myron scaled higher. His hand was at the top crossbar now. He worked an arm over the top, hung there, and searched through the glasses again. A head. No, two heads. He straightened his legs and rose above the top of the fence. Multiple heads. The people must be sitting on the floor.
He scanned left and stopped. His heart missed a beat and he almost lost his grip on the fence. There she was, her head leaning against the wall, her face looking upward, her eyes closed.
Myron studied her. She was beautiful. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. Then, as if she knew he was there, her green eyes opened and seemed to be looking right at him. He did lose his grip then and slipped painfully down the fence.
When Myron hit the ground, his ankle twinged. Fear of discovery pushed the pain aside, and he snapped up the pack as he scampered into the woods, making entirely too much noise as he went.
Myron exited the trees on the other side, into the backyard, and turned right. From there he sprinted away from the house and deeper into the woods. A few minutes later, he dropped his pack. From there he crawled back toward the fence. When he reached a position where he could look down the fence line, he used the glasses to see if anyone was looking for him.
By some miracle Myron hadn’t seemed to draw any attention. He crawled to his pack, rested his head on top, and stared up at the tree tops. Well, I found her. Now what the hell am I going to do?
Thirty-Three
Mark eased to a stop. He looked around, swinging his head in a fast arc from left to right. Cornfields that were being overrun by weeds lined both sides of the road.
“What’s the matter?” Lincoln asked.
Mark didn’t respond. Turning, he grabbed the back of Lincoln’s seat and studied the area behind them. He saw nothing, but the hairs on the back of his neck sprung to attention.
Lincoln had his gun in hand. “Mark, you’re making me nervous, man. What’s going on?”
Mark faced front and pointed. “You see the SUV in that field? I think that’s Juan’s.”
They had been driving more than an hour up and down roads Juan might have used to reach his home.
Up ahead, perhaps seventy yards, the rear end of an SUV protruded from the stalks on the right. The field began twenty feet from the road. Had Juan gone off the road by accident or had he been forced?
“Shit!” Lincoln said. “Maybe he just ran off the road. He could be inside, hurt.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Mark scanned the surrounding road and fields again. “I’m gonna go out there and check. You get in the driver’s seat. Keep watching the roadsides and behind you. Move up if I motion you.”
“Shouldn’t I go with you, you know, to back you up?”
“No, if this is a trap we’ll need a fast getaway. We can’t afford to give up our ride.”
“But if it is a trap you’re gonna need the extra firepower.”
“Lincoln, just trust me. This is the best way. If there’s someone out there, we don’t want to stand and exchange shots with them. We want to get out of here as fast as possible.” Mark opened the door and stepped out. With an eye on the SUV, he said, “Listen, if something happens and you see me go down, don’t you risk your life to come get me. You turn this thing around and get back to the farm.” He looked Lincoln in the eyes and held them with a hard stare.
Lincoln’s breathing was rapid and sweat ran down his face.
“This is important, Lincoln. You have to think of everyone else. Do not hesitate. Go back and get them ready. Call all the families together.”
“Man, you can’t—”
“Hey, can I count on you or not? Tell me you can do this.”
Mark’s tone was harsh, but it needed to be to get the man to understand the importance of seeing to everyone’s safety.
“Yeah, I can do it.” Lincoln shifted into the driver’s seat. “Just don’t get your ass shot.”
“That’s my intention.” Mark pushed the door closed and pulled his gun.
Mark advanced toward the crash site, his gaze constantly sweeping left to right and back.
A gust of wind blew, bending the stalks. Mark crouched and spun to the
right, gun aimed and ready. Nothing. Just the wind moving the stalks. He stood and tried to shake the tension from his body. He searched for the calm he’d had during the fight with the Horde, but it would not come.
He continued his approach. When he was even with the SUV, he studied the interior for movement. He stepped off the road and angled toward the driver’s side where the door stood open. It was Juan’s vehicle. The “proud parent of…” sticker adorned the rear bumper. The child in question had died during the first round of deaths. Miraculously, the only loss the family of five had endured. Well, perhaps until now.
Stop it! Believe he’s still alive until you know for certain.
He reached the door and looked inside. No body. That was a good sign. Maybe. Maybe the crash was something as simple as an accident.
Mark began to relax. Maybe Juan was trying to walk home. He could be dazed from the impact, which looked to be minimal, and having trouble finding his way. Then he noticed a spot in the passenger door, a small hole. The size a bullet might make. Damn!
He walked around the vehicle and found several other holes. Juan had been attacked. Mark went back to the open door and looked inside. No blood there, but small dots of red stood out on the green stalks trampled beneath the tires. Juan had been hurt.
He followed the blood, but the trail stopped after only a few feet. If Juan was dead, where was the body? Juan either escaped or had been taken captive alive. Mark sighed. Where do we go from here?
He was afraid he already knew the answer.
Thirty-Four
The door opened and two men in uniform tossed the small Hispanic man on the floor.
Bobby and Becca moved to help the beaten man. Bobby looked his body over to see if there was anything broken.
Becca whispered, “Don’t worry, you’re with friends now. We’ll help you. Where does it hurt?”
The man opened one eye and stared at her. His pupil looked dilated, but Becca wasn’t sure what that meant.
“I can’t see or feel any obvious breaks,” Bobby said. The cut above his own eye had scabbed over. The area around the socket was turning colors. He also had a swollen lip. “Let’s try to lift him and move him to the wall. Go easy though in case there’s something internal.”
They each grabbed the man under an arm. Bobby supported his head, which the injured man did not seem to be able to control, and slid him to the wall.
Becca glanced at the other two people in the room. They cowered there, a tall hairy man who sat with his arm around a skinny and equally unkempt woman. The woman had done nothing but cry since they all arrived. Becca wanted to slap her into silence. The wretched thing had been quiet for a while, but now started up again. The tension rose, and Becca was ready to spring.
A hand touched her arm. Bobby shook his head at her. She held his gaze for a moment and then relaxed. How could her brother remain so calm?
The Mexican man tried to speak. “Did you …?”
“What?” Bobby said. He leaned closer.
“Did you do it?”
“Do what?”
The man swallowed hard. Then he coughed. Before he could speak again the door opened.
The two soldiers entered first, followed by what Bobby thought were two officers. Behind them were two more guards. The first officer walked to the far end of the room. The building was just the one room, and seemed to be on a military base. The walls were bare and there was no furniture. The room appeared to be a holding cell.
The second officer stopped and took a long look at each of his prisoners.
“My name is General Edward West. I am in charge of this National Guard post.”
General West was a medium-sized man who had hard eyes and the look of a real officer. His voice was high-pitched and resonated with controlled anger.
“You have been brought here for two reasons. First, to be new recruits of the 180th division of the new American army. The second reason, however, is more important at the moment. Two of my men have been murdered. I want the killer. If that person is in this room, I will find you. That person will be executed.”
He pointed to the injured man. “I deplore using that kind of force against American citizens, but as you can see, these are not normal times. We are here to protect America from being overrun by enemies of this country. When these men, who are putting their lives on the line, are brutally murdered, I will go to endless lengths to find and punish the person responsible.
“Spare yourself and your fellow Americans the pain of interrogation and speak now. Which of you killed my men?” He started pacing toward the other officer. “Perhaps you thought it was in self-defense. Maybe you thought the soldiers were there to harm you, and you panicked. If any of this is true or you have some other explanation, tell me, I’ll listen. Sometimes mistakes are made. I understand that.”
West turned and waited. The skinny woman cried harder.
Becca sprang to her feet. Every man in the room except the general pointed a weapon at her.
“We didn’t kill any of your men. Although I’m sure some of them have some injuries from when they attacked us, for no reason. We did nothing to you or your men. As far as I’m concerned, the only guilty people here are you and your army, for kidnapping us.” She pointed at the injured man. “You claim to want to protect Americans and look what you’ve done. Tortured one of your people.”
The general let a humorless smile touch his lips. He motioned for the men to lower their weapons. “Well, as I said, these are unusual times. If you are innocent, as you claim, you have nothing to worry about. You will be inducted into the guard to help protect this great country.”
He walked closer, stopping a foot away from Becca. “Tell me, was that your knife my men brought to me? The survival knife in the sheath?”
“Yeah, and I want it back.”
“What’s her knife have to do with anything?” Bobby asked.
The General shifted his gaze to Bobby. “That’s an interesting question. You see, both of my men were killed with a large knife, like the one she has admitted carrying. The killer sneaked up behind my men, like the coward he or she, is and stuck them in the back. They were stabbed repeatedly as if the killer were in a frenzy.”
He looked at Becca.
“Tell me, why would those men have made you so angry?”
“I didn’t kill your men.” Becca poked him in the chest. “But I’ll give serious thought to killing you if you don’t release us.”
Before she could say anything else, the soldiers were upon her. Bobby sprang to his feet. He grabbed one man across the chest and kicked his legs out from under him. Ripping the rifle from the man’s hands as he fell, Bobby pointed it at the general.
The general didn’t move. The only sign of tension in the man was a twitch in his jaw line.
“I think you should give up the weapon or your sister will die first.”
Thirty-Five
Bobby narrowed his eyes. “Then you’ll be the second to die.”
“And you will be third. If you’re innocent as you claim, are you willing to sacrifice your lives? If you don’t put your weapon down, you will have no opportunity to prove your innocence.”
“I have no desire to be interrogated like you did this man. Nor do I have any interest in joining your band of merry men.”
The general smiled. “Put the gun down and cooperate, and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”
“We didn’t kill your men. We don’t hurt people who aren’t trying to hurt us. The first I saw of your men was when they began chasing us. That’s all there is to it.”
“Well, if that’s all there is, you have nothing to worry about.”
“That very statement makes me worry. Just let us go and you’ll never see us again.”
“That’s not going to happen. There are only three possible outcomes here. You and your sister will die. You will be tried, convicted, and executed as a murderer, or you will be cleared of the crimes and enlisted in our army. There’s on
ly one way you get to live.”
Bobby’s mind raced He couldn’t shoot his way out of there. They were innocent of the crime, but would he get a fair chance to prove it or just automatically be convicted? The only chance for escape would be surrender. With luck, they might get a chance to escape and run for freedom. They couldn’t do that if they were dead.
“Just shoot him, Bobby.”
Startled, Bobby tightened his finger on the trigger. Becca’s voice surprisingly helped make up his mind. He lowered the weapon. The soldier he had taken it from stripped it from his hands. As he was pushed against the wall Bobby noticed the shocked, open-mouthed look on his sister’s face. Then a look that hurt more crossed her eyes. It was one of disgust.
Becca was shoved against the wall next to him. “I told you to shoot him.” This was killer Becca, not the sane one. There would be no rationalizing with her.
Bobby’s hands were secured behind his back and he was yanked roughly away.
The general put his lips next to Becca’s ear. “We’ll start with him. If he’s cleared of the charges, you’ll be next. I’d take you now, but I want you to anticipate what my interrogation techniques will be for you.”
The general left the room. The guard pressing Becca to the wall bounced her head against it and then backed off. Becca spun on the man. Both he and his partner had their rifles aimed at her.
The man who had pinned her to the wall winked at her. “We’ll be back.”
They exited and locked the door.
Even hearing the lock engage, Becca still threw herself at the door, banging and kicking until her fury dissolved. She said in a quiet voice, “I told you to shoot him, Bobby. You should’ve listened.” She leaned her head against the door and fought back the tears.
