Defiance: A House Divided (The Defending Home Series Book 2)

by William H. Weber

  He glanced up at Keith, who looked just as surprised. “There’s a small crowd gathered. Seems Edwardo’s gone around and collected a bunch of the townspeople.”

  “Who gave you this note?”

  “One of his enforcers,” Keith said. “Big arms. Scar across his neck. Bandage on his right wrist.”

  “El Ventrílocuo,” Randy muttered. “He say what this was about?”

  “Contrary to his name, this guy doesn’t say much.”

  “All right then,” Randy said, his heart hammering in his chest as he wondered if he was about to witness another execution, perhaps this time his own. “I guess we do what the man says. How bad can it be, right?”

  A look of deep concern flashed over Keith’s face. For a moment he looked like he wanted to say something, likely something bad about Edwardo, but thought better of it. Had they already come to the point where even law enforcement had to bite their tongue for fear of being killed? Last Randy checked, they were the ones calling the shots, spreading fear through the population, taking whatever they pleased. Now the tables had turned and with them, so too had the contents of his stomach.

  Minutes later, Randy and his ten deputies stood on the steps of the Sheriff’s office. He’d arranged his men into two equal lines. Facing them was Edwardo Ortega and the remnants of his cartel enforcers—at least twenty of them, many bandaged and looking like they’d been through the washing machine spin cycle on high. Behind them were over a hundred Encendido citizens, many with deep looks of concern. Those dour expressions were countered by the grin on Edwardo’s face. Whatever was about to happen right now, the drug lieutenant felt it was a reason to celebrate. Randy fought down that churning feeling in the pit of his belly, forcing a smile at the man who had killed his boss and was clearly up to no good.

  Edwardo came forward, flanked by the cherubic El Grande and a rather sour-looking El Ventrílocuo. The rest of his men stayed where they were, carrying high-caliber automatic weapons. With their sun-baked skin covered in tattoos, they made a terrifying sight.

  The cartel lieutenant held out his hand to Randy, who hesitated.

  “Don’t worry,” Edwardo said. “I won’t bite.”

  His men broke into rowdy laughter.

  The two men shook.

  Edwardo turned back to the crowd. “The people of Encendido have experienced untold suffering and tragedy over the past few months. It seems that God blinked and the world changed.” Edwardo made the sign of the cross. “I’ve brought you all here to assure you that we care about your troubles. We were called in by the late Mayor Reid to provide security and safety for your town and we intend to fulfill that pledge. But security requires unity and above all loyalty.” Edwardo turned back and raised one of Randy’s hands in the air. “Sheriff Gaines, do you and your men swear to keep the people of Encendido safe?”

  Randy felt the muscles in his neck stiffen. He watched his arm propped above his head. “We do.”

  “And do you swear to follow my leadership and all of my commands in the pursuit of restoring order and peace in Encendido?”

  Seconds went by and Randy still hadn’t responded. Some of the other deputies were looking around, perhaps unclear about what was happening.

  Edwardo repeated the question and this time the tone of his voice left no doubt there was only one acceptable answer.

  The tension among those in the crowd below was nearly palpable. Randy had sensed the shift in power the minute the cartel had walked through the front door of Reid’s mansion. But never in his wildest dreams had he expected to be standing on the front steps of the sheriff’s office, swearing an oath of allegiance to a criminal organization.

  Randy swallowed hard, his throat as dry as a desert bone. “We do,” he replied, his voice cracking.

  “Louder,” Edwardo ordered.

  “We do.” He complied, shouting the words as if he wanted nothing more than to fling them as far away as he could.

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Edwardo said, his dead brown eyes twinkling in the summer heat.

  He shifted and began shaking hands with each of the deputies. The cartel whooped and hollered while the crowd looked on, stunned, some of them confused, wondering what they’d just witnessed.

  With bile crawling up his throat, Randy too was left to wonder whether future generations would study this moment, working out the exact second when Encendido had left the United States and become part of a dictatorship under the cartel’s iron rule.

  Chapter 12

  After the stunned crowd began to melt away, Edwardo circled back to Randy, an expression of triumph on his face. The sight was certainly a radical departure from the rage Edwardo had exhibited after his defeat at the hands of Dale and his followers.

  “I intend to succeed,” Edwardo told him, “precisely where you and the mayor failed.”

  Randy watched most of his deputies shuffle back into the sheriff’s office. “I don’t think I follow you.”

  “Food, water and shelter,” the cartel lieutenant told him. “Those are the basic ingredients of life. Whenever any one of those is absent, the population grows restless, even rebellious. Our first order of business is to increase food collection. We’ll search houses that haven’t been cleared, and place a goods tax on anyone growing their own produce. Use your imagination. We’ll use the television plant to store what we gather. It’s my job now to see to it that no one starves.”

  If Edwardo couldn’t gain the people’s loyalty with respect, he was equally capable of buying it with bribes.

  “It’s what you call the carrot and the stick,” he said, seeming to read Randy’s thoughts.

  “Finding canned food and taking a farmer’s crops is one thing,” the sheriff said. “But out here, finding water is a different beast entirely.”

  Ortega patted Randy’s chest playfully, the way a father might do to a child. “The water, you leave that to me.”

  “What about Dale Hardy?” Randy asked and the shift in Edwardo’s expression was immediate. “We’ve got inside information now. I don’t see why we wouldn’t―”

  “We need to be careful,” Edwardo said, “to make sure we don’t ruin the advantage we now possess.”

  “The note Dale sent us,” Randy said. “It sounds like he’s ready to negotiate.”

  “By the time I’m done with that man,” Edwardo assured him, “he’ll be begging us to take his water. Now have your men provide security for the food collection teams I’ve assembled.”

  Edwardo patted him on the back, like the two of them were great friends. Ortega had been right, securing the people’s love and admiration was important. Just as important was burying anything that might cast you in a bad light. Randy would do as Edwardo ordered, but there was something he needed to do first.

  •••

  The Encendido health clinic was dark when Randy arrived. He pushed open the double doors and discovered a waiting room which had been turned into a full-blown convalescent ward. Over and above the regular townspeople, cartel members were being attended to by a small handful of nurses who moved from patient to patient. He’d never seen the clinic this full.

  A nurse named Natalie Krueger hurried past him. Blonde and over six foot tall, she had been dubbed ‘the Amazon’ on account of the way she towered over most other women, and even some men.

  “I’m looking for Betty,” he said when he finally caught up to her. What he didn’t tell her was the reason why finding her was so important. The aging head nurse knew what Randy had done to Sheriff Joe Wilcox and a handful of others in a power grab Randy and Hugh Reid had orchestrated. If order was ever restored, Randy would be the only one to take the fall.

  “She’s not here, Sheriff,” Natalie said, preoccupied. “As you can see I’m low on nurses and high on patients.” She sounded annoyed. Randy figured most of her distaste came from caring for the drug lord’s underlings, especially after they’d been wounded attacking fellow Encendido citizens.

  “Any idea where she
is?”

  Natalie stopped what she was doing and looked at him. She had about two inches on Randy, which meant she was literally looking down on him, something his ego was having trouble with. “Betty left the clinic two days ago and I haven’t seen her since.”

  That was around the time Randy had considered making Betty disappear, the way the others had disappeared. But somehow, the thought of Encendido losing a valuable member of the medical profession had stayed his hand. Thinking back, he saw he’d made the wrong decision.

  Randy was about to leave when Natalie said something else, almost in passing.

  “She left with two men. I assumed they were two of yours, come to escort her home. Nowadays one can never be too careful.”

  “Two men?”

  Natalie appeared worried, as though she’d said something wrong.

  “Had you seen them before?” he asked, wondering who they were.

  “Never,” she replied. “But the lighting in here isn’t exactly top-notch. Speaking of that, I’ve submitted several requests to refuel the generator out back and haven’t heard a thing.”

  “You’re sure about the two men?” Randy asked again, ignoring everything else Natalie had said.

  “Positive.”

  The problem, as far as Randy saw it, was that Betty didn’t have any family left. So who would have come for her? Randy wasn’t liking this one bit. “Where’s Betty’s office?”

  Natalie sighed. “I’m really rather busy.”

  “This is important,” he said, maybe a little too forcefully. Some of the other nurses around him stopped what they were doing and stared. “Go back to work, will you?” Reluctantly, they returned to their patients. “I need access to Dr. Peterson’s office as well.”

  He could tell Natalie was thinking about how many laws Randy was in the process of breaking, a relic of the old days where the rule of law still meant something. But this new world had rules too. Eat or be eaten. And Randy had no interest in being someone else’s lunch.

  He spent the next several minutes searching both offices and coming up empty. If Dr. Peterson’s medical reports on the men and women Randy had taken care of weren’t here, it meant Betty must have taken them with her. He remembered finding Sandy and Betty speaking over the shortwave. Could his former deputy have something to do with this? Maybe, maybe not. But one thing was certain: the old nurse had the goods on Randy and he’d failed to come down hard when he had the chance. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He needed to find the identity of those two men and, more importantly, where they had taken her.

  Chapter 13

  Sandy

  Sandy started the pickup and was about to leave the property when Dale stopped her.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  She threw him a sharp look which made it clear she wasn’t required to answer that question.

  “I’m not being like that,” he said defensively. “You know after what happened, the cartel will be looking for any chance to get even.”

  Sandy lifted the pistol off the seat next to her. “I’ve got backup. But if you must know, we need fertilizer. Back when I was running patrols, I remember finding the Keller farm abandoned. I figured they might have what we need.”

  “That’s ten to fifteen miles away,” Dale objected.

  “Fifteen miles north of Encendido, which means it’ll be safer. Listen, Dale, I got along just fine before I came to live here. You seem to forget I was once a sheriff’s deputy.”

  A faint smile formed on his lips.

  Brooke came through the garage toward them. “Hey, where you going?”

  Sandy laughed. “Not you too.”

  “Lemme come.”

  “It’s fine with me,” Sandy said, looking at Dale, who didn’t look happy.

  “Dad, I’ve been cooped up for weeks,” his daughter protested. She tapped the holster on her hip and the pistol inside it. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Take this with you,” Dale said, disappearing into the house and returning with Walter’s AR-15 and a walkie-talkie.

  Brooke rolled her eyes.

  Sandy was just as exasperated. Some things never changed. Six months ago, Dale was after his daughter about wearing her seatbelt. Now he was making sure they had adequate firepower.

  “Be back in an hour,” Sandy assured him.

  “If you see Zach while you’re out there, tell him to get his butt back here.”

  Brooke shook her head. “I don’t think that would go over very well with Uncle Zach.”

  Dale seemed to consider that before tapping the hood and wishing them a safe trip.

  During the drive, the two women spoke. Brooke wanted to know about Sandy’s time as a deputy and whether she missed it. The question wasn’t easy to answer. Of course Sandy missed doing what she could to help maintain order in the community, but after the death of Sheriff Wilcox, all that had changed. Little by little, the role of the deputies had become helping to further Randy and Hugh’s personal agendas. The loyalty she felt to the force and the folks she’d worked with was strong, but in the face of blatant corruption, even that had its limits.

  The conversation soon turned to happier times, fond memories Brooke had about her mother. Julie had been a joker, something few people knew about the woman. Practical jokes were her specialty and she’d pulled them when Dale and Brooke least expected it. One time, in the tenth grade, Julie had packed her daughter a ‘special’ sandwich for lunch. Brooke seemed to be reliving the moment in disgust as she described biting into what she soon realized was a cow tongue sandwich. Not a word of a lie. A cow’s tongue, between two pieces of bread. A friend sitting next to her had nearly fainted. The others screamed.

  But eventually Brooke had gotten even. She wasn’t nearly as creative as her mother, and therefore decided that the old saran wrap over the toilet bowl was as good a gag as any. It was only after she’d heard her father cursing from the bathroom upstairs that she realized how her joke had backfired.

  Sandy and Brooke both broke into a chorus of laughter which continued in fits and starts for several minutes. Afterward, the muscles in Sandy’s stomach ached from the memory.

  They were having a fine time together. But what amazed Sandy most was that Brooke hadn’t said a word about Sandy’s past relationship with Dale, nor that those old feelings had started to rekindle. Perhaps it was because Brooke didn’t need to ask. Maybe she could already tell. Maybe she recognized the past was the past and the future was the only thing worth worrying about.

  Soon after, they reached the Keller farm and turned into the lane. Not long after the outbreak, Deputy Sandy had swung by to check up on the family, only to find that all four of them were dead—Frank Keller, his wife Diane and their young sons Derek and Paul. She’d donned a mask before going into the house that day, the floorboards creaking under her as she made the horrible discovery.

  She’d found the parents lying next to each other in their bedroom. Fifteen-year-old Derek was in the bathroom, slumped over the toilet. His younger brother, Paul, ten, maybe eleven, was downstairs on the couch, his legs curled under him. You didn’t need to be a CSI to know the youngest had been the last to die. The scene at the Keller house had stayed with her and probably would forever. But similar scenes had played out across the entire country, maybe even the entire world.

  Rather than leaving the truck out front where others might see it, Sandy parked it behind the barn. They stepped out, the hot Arizona sun baking the skin on their arms and the tops of their heads, before reaching the relative cool of the barn. In one corner were bags of fertilizer.

  “Let’s start by loading these into the truck,” Sandy said.

  Once they had finished, the two women searched for anything else of use.

  Brooke gasped.

  On instinct, Sandy drew her pistol. “What is it?” she asked, scanning the area without finding any threats.

  “I saw someone in the house,” Brooke said, her face ashen white, in spite of the searing he
at.

  Skeletal fingers clambered up Sandy’s spine. “Everyone in that house is dead,” she told Brooke. Inside, she saw one of the curtains move. As a sheriff’s deputy such a sight would have been reason to go investigate. Now, it was reason to get going.

  They hurried back to the truck and were climbing inside when a male voice called out to them. He sounded friendly.

  “Come on,” Sandy said, sticking the keys in the ignition.

  The voice called out again, this time asking for Brooke by name. Both of them froze, fearful and perplexed. Sandy started the truck. If this person behind the voice turned out to be a threat, at least they could make a break for it.

  When Sandy backed up and straightened out, two males in their twenties came into view. Both were wearing desert camo pants and beige shirts. They removed the bandanas which hid their identities. Sandy and Brooke sat idling in the car, wondering where this was going. They had called Brooke by name and Sandy caught the faint air of recognition on the girl’s face.

  They raised their hands to show they weren’t armed, although Sandy could see they were carrying pistols in leg holsters and rifles slung across their backs.

  “Looks like they wanna talk,” Sandy said, still wary.

  Brooke’s window was already down and she called out to them. “First put your weapons on the ground.”

  They looked at each other before complying.

  “Don’t you remember me?” the young man on the right asked. He had dirty blond hair and a tall, lean build. He looked like someone more at home on a surfboard than in the Arizona desert.

  “Caleb?” Brooke said, uncertain. “He was a friend from high school who moved to Utah right before the eleventh grade,” she told Sandy. Her gaze returned to her old acquaintance. “You still have your dimples.”

  He and his friend began to head over when Sandy ordered them to stay where they were.