“Could have been worse, though. They could have left us to burn.” He motioned toward the HMMWV.
“They dragged us clear?” The idea that hijackers would go to the trouble to stop and pull their pursuers to safety seemed utterly impossible.
“Must have. I didn’t do it, and you sure as hell didn’t.”
“That doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”
Diego shrugged. “What can I say? We live in strange times.” He slowly got to his feet and came over to Dix. Extending a hand, he said, “Let’s salvage what we can and get back to the others.”
As Dix reached for his hand, his eyes settled on the fresh black ink scrawled across his cast.
“You gotta be friggin’ kidding me.”
“What is it?”
Dix turned back to face the highway.
“You’re right, amigo. We are living in strange times.” He unconsciously let his fingertips rub over the words that had been penned on his cast.
One day we’re going to laugh about all this… Mason Raines
By the time Dix and Diego came to, Mason, Beebie, and Bowie were seven miles down the road, sitting in the parking lot of an abandoned Love’s truck stop. The store had been looted, as had the attached Dairy Queen, but even with nightfall less than an hour away, there was no immediate sense of danger.
“Well,” Mason said, raising the latch on the trailer’s door, “let’s see what all the fuss was about.”
When he pulled open the door, they saw that the trailer contained stacks of wooden crates. Mason climbed in and walked down a narrow channel between the boxes. Unable to find markings, he gave one of the crates a shove to test its weight.
Heavy.
He glanced over at Bebbie. “See if there’s a toolbox in the cab, will you?”
Beebie disappeared for a minute, and when he returned, he was holding a tire iron.
“This is all I could find.” He handed it up, saying, “I’m betting on stolen paintings, Rembrandt’s, Van Gogh’s, maybe a Picasso or two.”
“More likely jugs of heating oil or some other basic necessity.” Mason shoved the flat edge of the tire iron under the lid of the closest crate and pried it off. When he saw what was inside, he stood quietly admiring the contents.
“Well?” said Beebie. “What is it?”
“Let’s just say that neither of us was right.” Mason reached down and lifted out one of six large shotguns, each with an attached circular drum. A wooden box filled with loose shotgun shells lay underneath the weapons.
“What is that beautiful creature?”
“AA-12 automatic assault shotgun.”
Beebie smiled and held out his hands.
“Gimme gimme.”
Mason passed it down and moved on to the next crate. Inside, he discovered something even more unusual.
The CornerShot.
Developed in the early 2000s by the Israeli Defense Force, the CornerShot folded at one end to act as a periscope rifle. Equipped with a camera, color LCD screen, and flashlight, the operator could fire around corners, day or night, without ever being exposed. The particular models enclosed in the crate were mated to standard Beretta 92F pistols.
Mason lifted out a CornerShot and checked to see if it would power up. It did. Someone had gone to the trouble to make sure the batteries were charged, likely to make it possible for the recipient to know that they weren’t receiving damaged goods. The weapons were to be part of a high-value trade.
He set the CornerShot down and checked a third crate. Inside, were two MK15 Mod 0 sniper rifles. MK15s were heavy, long-range beasts that fired a .50 caliber BMG round. Once again, a large box of ammunition rested beneath them.
A quick check of a fourth crate revealed a rack of MP7a1 submachine guns fitted with suppressors and optics. Made famous by SEAL Team Six, MP7s were compact, close-range weapons chambered in 4.6 mm and equipped with 40-round magazines.
“It’s state-of-the-art military armament.”
“Yes, and I like it very much,” Beebie said, rubbing the AA-12.
“I’m sure Laroche would share your appreciation.”
“I see why he sent you after the truck. A few dozen men armed with these babies could take care of anyone hoping to move in on his turf.”
“Or those just trying to resist his brutal practices.” Mason’s thoughts went to Sheriff McCabe and his merry band of rebels. Handing the weapons over to Laroche would be the same as signing their death certificates.
He climbed down, and Bowie moved closer, looking up at him as if hoping his master might have found a few dog biscuits in the truck.
“Sorry, boy,” he said, stroking his head. “Nothing in there for you.”
The dog settled for petting and a few licks of Mason’s hand.
“We could lighten the load a little before giving them to him,” said Beebie, “or better yet, pull the firing pins. Laroche might not notice until after we’re gone.”
“Too risky. If he picks up on a double cross, Brooke’s dead for sure.”
Beebie set the AA-12 on the floor of the trailer and leaned back against the crumpled bumper with his arms crossed.
“Well then, I guess you have a decision to make.”
Mason hopped up to sit along the edge of the trailer with his feet hanging down.
“I can’t give him the weapons. Too many good people would die.”
“Then Brooke’s screwed. You saw that place. There’s no way the two of us are getting her out of there.”
Mason glanced over his shoulder at the crates.
“Not alone, no. But what if we recruited a few heavily-armed men to help?”
Beebie rested his hand on the AA-12.
“Even with these bad boys, there’s no guarantee we could get it done.”
“There are never any guarantees in this line of work. You know that.”
“True, but what kind of men would want to go on something that looks an awful lot like a suicide mission?”
“Same as always,” Mason said, staring off at the setting sun. “Men who know that it’ll change the world.”
Chapter 18
Issa was running so hard that the only thing she could hear was the pounding of her heart. The headquarters building lay directly ahead, and she had abandoned any semblance of stealth in favor of raw speed. Two men stood guard outside, smoking cigarettes and talking. She recognized them as Carter and Jacobson, both retired English professors who spent the bulk of their waking hours trading insults like an out-of-work comedy duo.
Issa was nearly upon them before they noticed her, and both men scrambled to pull their weapons off their shoulders.
“They’re coming!” she said, skidding to a stop.
Carter squinted to get a better look at her face.
“Issa, is that you?”
She inched closer, bending slightly at the waist to catch her breath.
“General Gaius, he’s attempting a coup.” She glanced over her shoulder but saw no sign of Gaius or his fellow mutineers. “They’ll be here soon.”
Jacobson, whose face had suffered so terribly from the pox that he looked like a burn victim, stared down the dark empty road.
“You sure? I don’t see anyone.”
She lunged forward to press him against the wall.
“I’m telling you that Mother’s in danger! We need to get her out of here. Now!”
“Fine,” he said, trying to wriggle free. “I was just asking. Geesh.” He glanced over at Carter. “Can you believe her?”
“That one’s on you,” he said with a snicker. “This is Issa we’re dealing with.”
“Leave it to you to be a lickspittle.”
Carter chuckled. “Lickspittle, that’s a good one.”
Jacobson smiled, obviously appreciating the praise.
“It was, wasn’t it?”
“We don’t have time for this,” growled Issa.
“Go on, take her in,” said Carter. “I’ve got this.”
“Me
? Why not you?”
“Because I’m standing guard.”
“What do you think I’m doing, ninnyhammer?”
“Trying and failing to best me with insults, as usual.”
“Seriously, you should take her. Mother likes you better.”
“Does not.”
“Does so.”
“If one of you doesn’t unlock that door this very instant,” warned Issa, “I swear to god, I’m going to gut you both.”
“Fine,” Carter said with a huff. “No need to spoil our fun.” He rested his rifle against the wall next to Jacobson. “In case Gaius shows up.”
“And what would you have me do with that?”
“Based on our very limited skills, I was thinking you could hand it over along with your own weapon.”
Jacobson grinned. “That may be the smartest thing you’ve said all night.”
“Seriously, don’t do anything more stupid than usual.” What was meant to sound like an insult came out suspiciously like a heartfelt warning.
Jacobson slid a fresh pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
“I swear, you’re such a mollycoddle.”
Carter nodded his appreciation for the clever word use as he slipped a key from his pocket to unlock the door. As soon as he pulled it open, Issa rushed inside. The building’s hallways were lit with low-level emergency lighting, making it feel a bit like being aboard an abandoned spaceship. She raced ahead with Carter trudging after her.
After navigating a series of corridors, they arrived at the door to Mother’s chambers. An armed guard stood out front. Unlike Jacobson and Carter, Issa knew Maddox to be a hardened soldier, not to mention a bit of an a-hole.
Upon seeing them, Maddox immediately brought his M-16 to his shoulder.
“Stop right there!”
“Maddox, it’s me, Carter.”
His face tightened. “Why the hell did you abandon your post?”
“Issa came to warn Mother,” he explained, inching closer.
Maddox lowered his cheek onto the stock of the rifle and took aim.
“I said stop!”
Carter flung his hands into the air.
“I’m stopped! I’m stopped!”
Hoping to lower the tension, Issa spoke in a calm voice.
“Listen to us, Maddox. General Gaius has gathered a force, and they’re on their way here now. We need to get Mother to safety.”
Maddox’s eyes cut back to Carter.
“Did you see them?”
“Who?”
“Gaius and this supposed army. Did you see them?”
“Well, no, not yet, but Issa says they’re coming.”
Maddox swung the M16 over to point at Issa.
“Take her rifle.”
Carter looked from Maddox to Issa and then back again.
“I, uh—”
Issa felt her patience wearing thin.
“What the hell are you doing? You know I’m not here to hurt Mother.”
“What I know is that you’re trying to enter her chambers with a rifle when you know it’s strictly forbidden. Now, hand it to Carter before I put a bullet in that pretty little chest of yours.”
“Fine,” she said, passing the Merkel over to Carter. “Just wake Mother. Let her know what’s happening.”
“On your knees.”
“Wake Mother, and I’ll do whatever you want. Please, there’s no time for this.”
He jerked the M-16 toward her, shouting, “On your knees, goddammit!”
Carter stepped forward and put his hands out.
“Come on, this is ridic—”
Maddox shifted his aim and shot Carter in the chest, the report of the rifle echoing throughout the building.
Issa caught him as he fell to the floor, his eyes wide with shock. He mouthed her name but no sound came out.
“What have you done!” she snarled.
Maddox swung the rifle back toward her.
“I’ll do the same to you if you don’t—”
Issa lunged forward, shoving the muzzle up and away as the weapon fired a second time.
“You bastard!”
They shoved back and forth for a few seconds, with no one gaining ground. Finally, Maddox managed to trip her, but as she fell, Issa hooked one of her legs around his and pulled him down on top of her. They landed in a tangled mass, arms and legs intertwined like competitors in a game of Twister.
Maddox remained absolutely committed to getting his rifle free, firing twice more as they struggled for control. Content to let the weapon remain out of play, Issa slipped a hand down between his legs and cupped one of his testicles. He instinctively tried to pull away, but she drove her body against his, squeezing the testicle with all her might.
Abandoning the rifle, Maddox reached down and tried to pry her fingers away from his groin.
No good. They were in such close proximity that he couldn’t find the necessary leverage.
“Stop it!” he shouted.
“Screw you.” She felt the testicle elongate as it threatened to burst.
“Please, no!”
Issa felt a sharp pop between her fingers as the testicle ruptured, blood quickly filling the man’s scrotum. Maddox’s eyes rolled back, and he let out a deep throaty cry.
“Please,” he breathed, “let me go.”
Instead of releasing him, Issa twisted the testicle in a tight circle as if trying to open a particularly stubborn bottle of soda. When the pain became too much, Maddox passed out, his body doing the only thing it could to escape.
Issa scrambled to her feet and snatched up the fallen M-16. Bringing it to her shoulder, she took aim at Maddox’s head. Her finger went to the trigger, but no matter how hard she tried, she found herself unable to pull it.
Damn it. Some things were simply too dark a shade of gray.
Even if she couldn’t kill him, he had to pay for what he had done. Slipping one of her knives from its sheath, she bent over and lopped off his trigger finger.
Maddox moaned but didn’t wake.
“Consider that getting off easy, you son-of-a-bitch.”
Issa briefly considered abandoning the Merkel in favor of the M-16. The assault rifle was surely a far superior weapon for combat, but she didn’t have much experience with it, and now was not the time to learn something new. Besides, the Merkel had been a gift from Tanner, and leaving it behind would have felt like losing a family heirloom.
Not wanting to risk Maddox getting the M-16 when he awoke, Issa extracted the weapon’s bolt carrier group, stripped it, and flung the pieces down the hallway.
Picking up the Merkel, she knelt down next to Carter. He lay unconscious, but his breathing remained regular and even. The bullet hole was in the right half of his chest, positioned just below the nipple. She gently rolled him onto his right side and propped him against the wall with the hope that it might keep his good lung from filling with blood. It was all she could do given the circumstances. Whether he lived or died would depend on the actions of those who came next.
She turned and pounded a fist on the door to Mother’s room.
“Mother! It’s me, Issa. I’m coming in.”
She pushed the door open only to be immediately hurled sideways, the Merkel pulled from her grasp. One of Mother’s troglodyte bodyguards towered over her, eyes filled with rage. The troglodytes were victims of the virus who had been so grossly mutated that they no longer looked human. Their bodies had grown taller and thick with corded muscle. Foreheads and jawbones had swollen, eyes had retreated into deep hollows, and large pus-filled blisters had left their skin thick and leathery. Their brains had been affected too, resulting in their intellect and demeanor becoming those of an angry child.
The troglodyte clutched a five-foot length of pressure-treated lumber, dozens of rusty nails poking out one end.
“I kill you!” he growled, advancing toward her.
“Mother!” Issa shrieked, crab walking backwards.
Mother stood behind the
second of her troglodytes, eyes wide.
“Mother!” Issa shouted again. “Help me!”
The first troglodyte swung the nail board down, and Issa barely managed to roll out of its way before it smashed tile and ripped away a chunk of the subfloor.
“Stop this!” shouted Mother. “Get away from her!”
Despite her command, the troglodyte continued to advance, the intense hatred never leaving his eyes. As he marched closer, Issa rolled back over her shoulder and got to her feet. Given her condition, it wasn’t quite as graceful as she would have liked, but she managed to get upright nonetheless.
“Listen to her!” she shouted. “I’m only trying to help.”
“No! I no listen to women anymore!”
The troglodyte swung his nail board through the air, and Issa backpedaled to stay clear.
“She’s your matron,” she said, hoping to reason with the beast. “Would you really betray her?”
“I no betray! You betray!” He smashed the board against the floor to emphasize his point.
Issa’s brow tightened. “My God, Gaius got to you, didn’t he?”
“What’s happening, Issa?” called Mother.
Issa sidestepped away from the troglodyte as she drew her knives.
“They’ve betrayed you.”
“No, you’re wrong.” Mother tried to push her way past the troglodyte guarding her, and he shoved her back.
“You stay,” he commanded.
The troglodyte stalking Issa took another swing, but she managed to duck underneath his nail board and escape back into the center of the room. As she passed, she flicked one of her knives toward him, nicking him on the elbow. Blood trickled down his arm, but he didn’t even seem aware of the wound. Killing him with a blade would require getting close and personal, and that was far too risky for her baby.
“Think about what you’re doing,” Mother said to the troglodyte blocking her way. “I’ve always taken good care of you. You don’t want to—”
“No!” he barked. “You shut up! You bad woman now.” He raised his nail board into the air, and Mother shrank back in fear.
Issa eyed the Merkel lying in the opposite corner of the room. She was pretty sure that she could get to it without being pulverized, but in doing so, she would literally be pinning herself in a corner. Once there, it would quickly become a race to get the weapon in hand and on target before the troglodyte turned her into a human pin cushion. Not ideal, but the odds of putting the troglodyte down without the rifle seemed remote at best.
The Survivalist (Solemn Duty) Page 21
