“Yes, sir?” the hostage holder replied.
“Ask him how many civilians were killed in the attack.”
Young spoke in Russian to the hostage and he waited for a reply. The Russian thought for a minute, but never replied. Major Horowitz turned back toward the Russian and took the cigar and matches back out of his chest pocket. Major Horowitz walked up to the Russian, looking closely at his cigar, and weighed his options. “I was hoping to save this cigar, you Russian turd. But for you, I think I’ll light it.”
Young, the hostage holder, translated the major’s words. A look of nervousness and sweat beads painted the Russian’s face. Major Horowitz placed the tasty cigar in his mouth and removed a match from its box. He gently rubbed it across the phosphorus surface. Lighting the cigar, the major took in a mouthful of the Russian Cream cigar smoke, blowing it out into the night. The smoke reached Tommie’s position, where he smelled the sweet flavor. Tommie lay still and continued to watch. The major lifted his cigar to the Russian man’s face, threatening to burn him. The hostage tried to pull from his captor, but the others came to assist in restraining the prisoner.
“You gonna talk?” the major asked the man.
Young pulled his prisoner in tight and whispered in his ear, “You’d better start talking, pinko. The major’s not a patient man,” in Russian.
The major’s cigar was burning well by this point. He studied the cherry and turned it toward the Russian’s face. When the cigar was close enough to feel its heat, he started crying out in his own language. The translator couldn’t keep up with him. He tried translating, but it was too much too fast. Major Horowitz grew tired of the chaos, placed the cigar back in his mouth, and pulled his 9 mm from the holster. He pointed it at the forehead of the crying Russian. The act immediately silenced the crybaby.
“I’m only going to ask one more time,” the major said. “How many civilians were killed in the attack?”
They needed no translation this time. He answered in English. “Many. No survivors left.”
Major Horowitz looked out over the militia who were in his entourage. “Stay here,” he ordered.
There was dissent amongst the militia, which grew louder as Major Horowitz walked back to his Humvee. The front part of the convoy proceeded into the FEMA grounds. Two troop carrier trucks stayed back with the disgruntled and armed militia.
The bodies of several Marines were scattered across the property of the FEMA facility. Cold 7.62 mm and 5.56 mm casings littered the ground as far as the eye could see. Major Bardo “Barth” Horowitz was an unhappy man. He was a hard-core Marine. He’d spent the first eight years of his career building recruits into Marines at MCRD Paris Island, and now, the major was burying them. The Marine unit that was detailed to secure the federal facility had been slaughtered. The 7.62 mm casings were evidence that the atrocity had been conducted by Russians. But where were the Russian casualties? The Russians refused to leave any of their fallen comrades behind. They always cleaned up after their own and left the Americans for the crows. What of the civilians? Horowitz’s men found their bodies near the back of the property, where they were executed on their knees. Each of them shot in the back of the head and lying randomly where they fell.
“Young?” Major Horowitz called out.
“Yes sir?” he responded, leaving the prisoner in the care of two other lower-ranking Marines so that he could approach his commander with haste.
“Set up a perimeter as best you can manage. I know it’s dark, but we’re not going to leave these men lying dead like this. Collect their dog tags and call the group in so we can honor our own. I’m sure somebody will draw in to the light like a moth to the flame. Once we’re done, have them back in formation. We’re going to beat the pavement before more pinkos arrive.”
“Aye, sir.”
Back at the civilian section of the convoy, Tommie was feeling more and more confident that he was in good company. He heard the militia talking about their families and how they hoped the major would find their wives and children safely protected inside the FEMA facility. It was the long wait that worried them the most. Tommie, emboldened by the fact that they were Americans, stood up from his position. When he did, the sound was heard by those standing on the road that led to the FEMA entrance. Everybody took cover, and some began to shout in Tommie’s direction as they pointed their weapons toward him.
“Get on the ground,” they shouted over and over again.
“I’m an American like you,” he shouted back, but that mattered little. The commands kept coming.
“Get on the ground!”
A group of Marines rushed Tommie as he was moving to the ground. They grabbed him aggressively and pulled him into the light. He had the expression of a fearful child waking from a nightmare. They threw him to the ground once again and began patting him down for weapons. One Marine was snooping around the area where Tommie had been hiding. His flashlight was out and he was shining it onto the dark ground, trying to find some evidence that would never be discovered. “All clear,” the Marine shouted from the darkness.
A second Marine now had Tommie secured to the ground in an armbar. His grunts filled the air as he gasped for oxygen. The Marine who was applying the joint lock had one knee in Tommie’s back, securing his left shoulder to the ground. Tommie’s arm was manipulated so that his wrist was also locked into a painful position, causing his arm to point ninety degrees upward from the ground. The pain was excruciating. Tommie thought his arm would surely pop from its socket soon. He didn’t even notice he was being patted down.
“He’s got nothing,” the third Marine who patted him down said.
“Who are you?” yet another Marine asked.
The militia were now standing around in a crowd that formed a half-circle watching the events unfold. Much of them were subjected to the same initiation. It wasn’t so much of a hazing as it was a necessary tactic that assured group security.
“My name’s Tommie. I’m a New Yorker.”
The group started snickering and laughing. He could hear their banters and snide remarks. Not too many people from these parts cared much for New Yorkers – especially the city-folk.
“What are you doing here, and why were you hiding in the bushes?” the first Marine asked.
Tommie opened his mouth to answer, but he was abruptly cut off by one of the militia. “Were you here when the FEMA camp was attacked?”
The first Marine turned to the civilian. “We don’t know if they were attacked, yet. We’ll do the Q and A here. You be quiet and pay attention,” he rebuked. The Marines had to take a hard-line approach to dealing with the armed civilians. Many of them were untrained and undisciplined. A strict order of hierarchy was maintained to guarantee the military maintained their control over the situation. They feared anarchy would spill over into what remained of the United States if they couldn’t soon bring back structure. For now, at least, it just wasn’t in the cards. It was for that reason they clung so tightly to the order they knew; and that was martial rule.
The civilian stepped back. Tommie answered his question despite the Marine’s rebuke. “I have nothing to do with this place. I literally just arrived, and I have no idea what happened here. I heard your convoy and I hid, trying to avoid another Russian encounter.”
“Another?”
“A couple of days back…” Tommie tried saying, but recollecting the memory of that day choked him up.
Here was the new reality that he wasn’t used to. A crowd of people were standing over him, watching him choke on his words. Instead of a comforting word of encouragement, they all stood in silence and waited for him to answer the question. It was in this moment Tommie was released from the armbar that restrained him.
He stood up and looked into the eyes of those standing around him. They were hardened men and women. Their eyes appeared soulless – but they weren’t soulless at all. They each had stories of their own. Experiences that would break a normal man. Heart-wrenching tales of sur
vival and of death. No, they weren’t soulless. They were calloused by the events of their lives. Strengthened to the point of being able to look at a broken man with expressionless faces, knowing full well he was going to be harder because of his trauma. They had all been there. They knew where he was emotionally. Sure, the story was different, but the spirit of a person breaks similarly. Those you love and care for are ripped from your life and you’re left questioning the reason why you survived. From that moment on, Tommie knew he would have to adjust himself. He felt like a sheep amongst wolves.
Tommie thought for a moment and collected himself. He wanted to go all the way to what happened in the beginning – just after the Pulse. But that was two years ago. These Marines wanted to know what had happened with him and his recent run-in with the Russians. He cleared his throat and continued his story. “A couple of days back, I was traveling with some people in a stolen Russian transport. We drove up on a checkpoint and ended up being caught. They executed everybody. Everybody but me.”
“Why didn’t they execute you?” the Marine asked.
“I don’t know. Something happened. I remember they were beating me. I woke up in the backseat of a Humvee with Marines. Sommers and Deano.” Tommie looked at the Marines and waited for an expression. He was looking for some telltale sign that maybe they knew them. Nothing. Tommie continued. “We were driving to this place, actually, when we were suddenly attacked by tangos. I woke up on the side of the road, busted up, and could barely move. I walked the rest of the way. Here I am.”
“You just happened to survive two encounters with Russian Federation troops?” the Marine asked, questioning Tommie’s integrity.
Tommie, now emboldened by the check on his honor, said, “Look, I have family in Tennessee I’m trying to get to. I didn’t ask to be found by you, and I’m not the one asking questions here. If you’re implying I’m some kind of spy, I’d rather you send me on my way. The last thing I want is to live what’s left of my life looking over my shoulder, wondering who’s going to be the one to finish me.”
“What’s your name?” the Marine asked, respecting his boldness.
“Tommie Ross. My sister is married to a former Marine – Darrick Mitchell. Do you know him?”
The Marine didn’t have time to answer. The convoy that had pulled through into the perimeter of the fence was now returning. Major Horowitz’s vehicle was in the front.
The Marine who was speaking to Tommie answered his question. “I don’t know your brother-in-law, but he might.” The Marine motioned his head toward the leader of the convoy that was now returning. The lead vehicle came to a stop, but the rest continued pulling out. Major Horowitz stepped out of his vehicle. Tommie recognized him from when he was hiding in the bushes.
“Who is that?” Tommie asked.
“That’s Commander Bardo Horowitz. His friends call him Barth, but you’d better not,” the Marine bantered.
Major Horowitz walked up to the civilian convoy and met them.
“Fall in,” Horowitz commanded as the convoy behind him continued to drive out of the facility’s perimeter fence. They were maneuvering into perimeter security positions as they had been commanded.
The few Marines who stayed back to maintain order with the militia formed a small squad-sized formation. It was only a single column of Marines, but it satisfied the task. The militia also formed themselves into columns and rows. Tommie was left there standing, not knowing what to do. The look on his face gave him away as a newbie.
“And who are you?” Major Horowitz asked.
“My name’s Tommie Ross, sir.”
“I’m going to ask you a rhetorical question, Tommie Ross.”
Tommie was terrified. This man is as serious as a heart attack.
“Are you a patriot or a socialist?”
Tommie didn’t hesitate. “I’m a patriot, sir.”
“Then find yourself a position over there amongst those civilian nasties,” he said, using his head to motion him on. Horowitz’s hands were at waist level with his fingertips touching. His commanding voice didn’t match his nonthreatening posture. Tommie walked over to the platoon-sized group of militiamen and women and joined the last column. There was room for a couple more to even it out. It made him feel like he was a small piece of the puzzle – like he somehow belonged.
“Don’t worry,” a man to his right leaned in to whisper. “He always talks like that, but he’s cool as ice.” Tommie accepted the words from the stranger then turned his attention to the commander.
“Just beyond the perimeter of the fence are the bodies of sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, grandparents and friends. We’re about to send this place to hell, but before we do, you’re allowed one hour to enter and identify anybody you may know. I understand that some of you sent loved ones here when you were conscripted. Go now. See if your loved ones are here. If they are, say your goodbyes then fall back in. There’s still work to be done. Fall out!”
Ten
A DEAL’S A DEAL
A shipping container had multifunctional capabilities within the confines of the old train yard. A generator gently hummed in the background. The medical room wasn’t even close to hygienic, but Tonya wasn’t concerned about the conditions the meds were administered in. She was lying on several wooden crates that were pushed together, with an old slab of composite board to make the surface flat. An intravenous line ran from a hook on the wall to her right arm. Carissa and Andy were by her side. Andy sat at the foot of the makeshift bed, and Carissa was on her knees at the head, stroking Tonya’s hair.
“Don’t worry about a thing. Those boys can handle themselves,” Carissa said, trying to reassure a protesting Tonya.
“Carissa, you know there’s nothing that can be done.”
Carissa looked into Tonya’s eyes, realizing that her judgment was already leaving. Andy shouldn’t be hearing this.
“Andy, honey, can you stand outside the door and make sure we’re safe?” Carissa asked, giving him an assignment to help him feel like a contribution. The truth was, she didn’t want Andy hearing the talk she was about to have with Tonya.
“Sure,” Andy said, standing up to leave the small musty-smelling room. He was happy to go somewhere else, especially if it meant doing something important.
Carissa watched Andy until she was satisfied he was out of earshot. “Tonya, Darrick and Andy both need you to stay strong. If they think for a moment that there’s no reason to fight for you, then they’ll both turn into something else. More importantly, Andy needs you to help mend the broken relationship between him and Darrick. He saw Darrick kill his grandpa, for God’s sake! Nothing’s been the same since then. Something’s snapped in Andy, and only you can heal that.”
“Andy’s growing up, Carissa. That’s what’s changed in him. Before he was quiet because he wasn’t focused on anything but his own little world. Now his world is bigger and he’s paying attention. I’ve noticed the changes. Andy’s focused. Ever since his grandpa’s death, he’s been focused like a laser beam. He’s becoming a young man.”
Andy was a few yards away from the shipping container where his mom was being kept. He was quietly walking about when he heard the sounds of conversation. Curious, he crept closer to hear two of the men whom he saw his dad making a deal with earlier in the day. Feeling weakness in his knees, he stooped down to rest them and listen in on the talk.
“It’ll work. Relax. It’s a suicide mission. It’s a win-win for us.”
“I suppose, but what’s the plan with the sick one, Tonya? We can’t keep her hanging around, sucking up our precious medical resources.”
“If those two idiots make it back alive, we’ll send them on their way. I mean, why not? The supplies they bring in will more than make up for the morphine we’re feeding her. If they don’t make it back, we pull the plug on her and keep the healthy woman.”
“What about the weird kid?”
“We have no use for him, either. Kids are a liability. They’re no
isy, rambunctious, and undisciplined. We’ll have to take them out to the holler with the rest of ’em.”
Andy’s mouth was suddenly muzzled by a large hand from behind him. He wanted to yell, but the sound failed to escape his lips. It was Devin. He took a knee next to Andy and shushed him with a whisper in his ear. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, listening to the rest of the conversation as it unfolded. Anger grasped his heart when he heard their plan.
“We can’t let the others know. We’ll just say the mother and child left together. The other one, though, the cute healthy one, we can use her.”
Devin released Andy and grabbed him by the arm and quietly pulled him away to another location where he could speak to Andy without fear of letting the others know they were eavesdropping.
“Listen closely,” Devin said to Andy. “Don’t tell your mom and aunt what you heard here. Chances are pretty good they’ll overreact and cause a bigger problem than if they don’t know. I want to help get you guys out of here, but we have to play dumb for now. Can you do that for me? Can you keep a secret?”
Andy nodded in the affirmative.
“Go on now. Get back to your mom,” Devin said, pushing Andy lightly.
Tonya and Carissa were still deep in conversation when Andy quietly walked near the doorway of the makeshift medical unit.
“You can’t be serious?” Andy heard Carissa say to his mother. Each of the women was unaware that Andy was standing just outside the room.
“I’m dead serious, Carissa. Darrick won’t do it and neither will Marcus.”
“You can’t ask this of me, Tonya. It’s too much to take in. Too much to bear.”
“So you’ll just let me slowly die?”
“I–”
Andy appeared in the doorway, cutting Carissa’s response short.
“Hi, hon.”
Andy looked upon his mother’s teary eyes. Her face was gaunt and her cheekbones were pronounced. They had been for some time, but Andy was taking notice of his mother’s condition, and his eyes were being opened to the grim reality of it all. “I won’t let you die, Mom.”
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