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

by William H. Weber

  To an outsider, it might have appeared as though Dale was being cheap, trying to fleece these folks, but the truth was, haggling had become part of the social etiquette, an opportunity to engage in a sort of verbal chess game. It was a form of entertainment really. In a world without reality television and superhero movies, was it any surprise? But more than that, it was an opportunity for people to exchange information. Dale heard from each of them how the cartel’s grip on the town was tightening, how they had begun a reign of terror where citizens were executed for the slightest infraction.

  The real irony was that it made the time Mayor Reid and Sheriff Randy were in charge seem so much tamer. Not that those two wouldn’t have eventually fallen down the same slippery slope that always seemed to lead from dictatorship to full-blown tyranny. It would only have taken a little longer.

  Dale handed each of them a list of the things he was looking for; ammunition (9mm, .30-06 and .223), gasoline, two-by-fours and plywood as well as the types of toiletries that always seemed to be in short supply around the house. And with that, he left Sandy, Brooke and Ann to continue chatting and see them off when they were done.

  Dale cut through the backyard, moving past the chicken coop and the vegetable garden, and headed toward the barn. There he found Zach, Colton and Dannyboy engaged in a heated, but hushed conversation. They stopped as soon as Dale entered the cool interior.

  “Looks like I’m interrupting something,” he said. There was a conspiratorial mist that hung in the air, and Dale didn’t like the feel of it.

  “We were only talking,” Colton replied, looking decidedly nervous.

  “Whispering was more like it,” Dale corrected him. “If there’s something on your mind, how about we get it out in the open?”

  “We’ve tried that,” Zach said, turning to face him. “And nothing changes. The situation is getting worse. And we can’t afford to sit on our hands any longer. There are groups forming around town already,” Zach went on, “committed to solving the problem.”

  “And I’m doing my part,” Dale countered, defensively. “What are you doing?”

  “The one thing you seem incapable of.”

  “Really, Zach? And what is that?”

  “Taking the fight to the enemy.”

  Dale shook his head. “You need a steady hand for that sorta thing or innocent people will get hurt. What worked at Florence Supermax won’t work in Encendido.”

  “My questionable ways didn’t seem to bother you when Ortega’s men were heading this way,” Zach spat. “No, you were more than happy to have my help then.”

  “You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “I took you in for Colton’s sake,” Dale replied, hating what Zach was making him say in front of everyone, especially the man’s own son. “I wasn’t going to let you get slaughtered on our front lawn when you’re all he’s talked about for years. I may be quick to protect my family, but I’m not nearly as heartless as you think I am.”

  “When the dust settles, what side of history do you want to be on? The one that stayed safe in your castle or the one that put its neck on the line?”

  Dale felt his blood pressure really begin to rise. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was the first and only one standing up to Sheriff Gaines and the mayor when they were busy snatching up everything they could get their hands on. I don’t remember anyone coming to offer me help. If that looks like sitting on my hands, then we have very different definitions.”

  “I aim to get things done,” Zach said, putting his arms around Colton and Dannyboy. “And I’m asking for your support.”

  “Get things done?” Dale repeated incredulously. “You still haven’t shaken the impulse problem that landed you in Florence in the first place. Seems every time you turn around you’re going off half-cocked, leaping in with both feet without giving a hoot where you’re gonna land or who gets hurt. You don’t get things done, Zach, you get people killed. Don’t believe me? Ask the nineteen bikers who followed you into that ambush when you wouldn’t listen to reason.”

  Zach’s face was a mask of anger. He looked like he wanted to fight and might have if Brooke hadn’t showed up.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, scared.

  Dale and Zach were locked in a staring contest, neither man daring to blink first.

  “Nothing,” Dale answered finally. “We were just talking.”

  “We heard you shouting from out front.”

  “Your dad and I were having a discussion, is all,” Zach explained. “We both feel very strongly. Just so happens our views don’t quite match up.”

  “Well, you need to come inside,” Brooke said. “A call’s come through for you on the shortwave.”

  Dale looked at her, noting the distressed look on his daughter’s face. “Who is it?”

  She hesitated a moment before answering. “Shane.”

  Chapter 27

  Sandy

  Sandy was taking a break from the trench out front, tilting back a cup of cool water, when she saw Dale hurry past her and disappear into the house. She called after him but he didn’t turn or respond. Brooke soon followed.

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  Brooke skidded to a stop just as Ann was coming out to tend to the garden. The two women nearly collided. Brooke hurried back to where Sandy was standing near the pumphouse. “It’s Shane,” she whispered, not wanting Ann to hear. “He’s on the shortwave downstairs. Asked to talk to Dale.”

  “Oh, boy,” Sandy said, her brow furrowing. “What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.”

  A noise by the driveway and a bark from Duke immediately drew their attention. Instinctively, Sandy’s and Brooke’s hands went for the pistols on their belts, both women looking like a Charlie’s Angels poster. A white car sat idling by the road while Duke paced back and forth, yapping away.

  A man in a deputy’s uniform got out and waved Sandy over.

  “Who the heck is that?” Brooke asked, her weapon drooping.

  “It’s Keith,” Sandy said. “And he looks like he’s got something to say.” He was also clearly frightened of Duke. Given what the dog had done to his man parts, that wasn’t a big surprise.

  “Wait here,” Sandy said and headed down the driveway toward Keith, the pistol still gripped tightly in her hand. When she got to within twenty feet she said, “You sure got guts showing up here.”

  He smiled weakly. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t come to start anything.”

  The two of them had always been on relatively good terms in spite of him being one of Randy’s lackeys.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked.

  “What’s wrong with this?” Duke was still barking in the distance.

  Keith glanced up at the blaring sun. “How about we sit in the car at least? No funny business, I swear. I’ll even let you hold the keys. There’s something important we need to discuss and there isn’t any time to waste.”

  She took his car keys, slid them into her pocket and both of them sat in the car, the doors ajar. Beads of sweat rolled down Keith’s face. The armpits and neckline of his shirt were soaked.

  “You need a towel,” she told him.

  He reached his hand past her toward the glove compartment. She leveled the pistol. He motioned with his eyes. “Can I?” There was something in there he wanted to get.

  “No tricks,” she said. “This isn’t a squirt gun I’m holding.”

  “I’ve seen you on the range,” Keith said, opening the small door and pulling out a white hand towel. He ran it over his face and neck then let it plop in his lap. “You could plug a nickel at thirty feet.”

  “So you came here to woo me with flattery, is that it?” From the corner of her eye, Sandy saw that Brooke was still watching them. “Did Randy send you?”

  Keith shook his head. “Randy’s got much bigger fish to fry at the moment. He thinks I’m trying to track down
Betty Wilcox.”

  “What a surprise that is,” Sandy said. “You might not know the truth, but when Dale charged into the station looking for me, it was because I’d figured out Randy and Hugh Reid had some serious blood on their hands.”

  “They killed Joe and his wife and at least two others including Mayor Curtis Long. Yes, I know.”

  Hearing Keith’s admission was shocking.

  “But back then I didn’t,” he went on. “As far as I was concerned, the sheriff and the mayor were doing the best they could with the crappy hand fate had dealt them. That was before the cartel showed up. Before Nobel’s people reached out and showed me the error of my ways.”

  Sandy was speechless.

  “And I know why Randy wants to see the head nurse up on that scaffold, swinging from a noose. She’s got proof that he’s a murderer. He figures if he can survive the cartel, he’ll have a chance at regaining his dominance over Encendido. Living through the cartel’s occupation is his short-term goal. Killing Betty is part of the long-term one. But I know exactly where Betty is. She’s with Nobel and her people, safe, at least for the time being.”

  Sandy was still stuck on something Keith had said moments earlier. “They’ve built a scaffold?” she said, the horror spilling into her voice.

  He nodded. “And used it. Eight killed today. Who knows how many tomorrow. The charges are ginned up of course, but most have to do with one form of resistance or another. Edwardo needs to be locked up in an institution or somewhere on death row. Instead he’s ruling over three thousand survivors from the greatest plague man has ever known.”

  “So why have you come to me?”

  “Nobel’s people are planning a major assault,” he told her. “They wanna clear the cartel out of town once and for all.”

  “Then why don’t they?”

  “They aren’t strong enough, not by themselves. It’s not just a question of getting volunteers. Vickie needs people who know what they’re doing. Folks who can handle a weapon and know how to move through a battlefield.”

  “Sounds like you need the 101st,” Sandy said. “Wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you you’re out of luck.”

  “When you spoke to Nobel,” he said, brushing aside the dark-humored jab, “she told you that a man named Calvin Pike had grown his own resistance movement.”

  “She did. Said they were getting out of control.”

  Keith picked up the towel and dried his forehead. “She was right. Tactically, they’re proficient, but Calvin hasn’t a clue what he’s doing. His operations have already killed a handful of townspeople, who just so happen to be the one group we can’t afford to alienate. Without their cooperation and support the fight will be lost before it begins.”

  “I heard about the water trucks,” Sandy said. “But I didn’t realize that was him.”

  “Nobel needs Calvin’s help if we want any chance at taking on the cartel.”

  “I’m assuming she’s spoken to him.”

  Keith gave her a look. “The guy thinks he’s Davy Crockett or something. He’s tall, but most of that is propped up by ego more than anything.”

  “You want me to talk to him?” she asked. “Is that what you’re asking?”

  Keith’s eyes darted away. “Calvin’s a chauvinist and you’re a strong woman. If you went, he would only waste time trying to prove his dominance over you.”

  “Sounds like a real catch for some lucky lady out there,” Sandy said, feeling bile rise up in her throat.

  “We were hoping you could convince Dale to go.”

  “Dale?”

  “He’s well known and well respected by the townsfolk,” Keith said.

  “Dale might find what you say hard to swallow.”

  “He’s humble, but it’s the truth. If he was able to reach out and help to broker a peace treaty, then the attack plan might actually have a shot at succeeding.”

  Sandy glanced out the window as she considered everything Keith had told her. “I’ll think about it,” she said at last, stepping out and tossing Keith his keys.

  “Don’t think about it too long,” Keith said as she closed the passenger door. “Our window of opportunity is closing fast. Edwardo’s about to call in reinforcements—the worst of the worst, apparently—and if he does that, it will tip the balance too far in his favor.”

  Keith’s words continued echoing in her ears as he started the car, made a U-turn and sped back toward town. A clock was ticking somewhere inside her mind and with each beat she felt her own noose cinching tighter and tighter.

  Chapter 28

  Dale

  Dale sat facing the shortwave radio, his muscles tense with a vortex of swirling emotion. Feelings that ranged from hatred for what his brother had done, to sadness that he would probably never see him again. He drew in a long breath and let it whistle out between his teeth. When he was done, Dale leaned into the mic and pressed the actuator. “Shane?”

  Static, followed by silence. Then a weak voice answered. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “I’m busy, Shane, so unless you’re gonna start with an apology and something approaching an explanation, then I suggest you stop wasting my time.”

  “You always were one tough nut,” Shane said. “Guess that’s why Dad liked you best.”

  “Funny you see it that way when you were the one they gave most of the attention to.”

  “I was a screw-up,” Shane said, a sense of sadness and yearning in his voice.

  “There you go again, talking in the past tense. You never stopped screwing up, no matter how much Ma and Pa struggled to pick up after you. Sure, the old man talked tough, but he never let you hit rock bottom, get the taste of what you deserved. Far as I see it, that’s where they went wrong. They loved you too much, Shane, to let you fail, and you repaid their love by expecting them to be there whenever things got tough.”

  “You’re right,” Shane said and Dale was stunned by the admission, but also suspicious. Was this part of the sweet boy act that had worked so well on his parents, the same one he was now trying on Dale? Mess up as bad as you wanted so long as you could cock your head back and bat your eyelashes like an innocent child who didn’t know any better.

  “I don’t care about being right, Shane. Much as you might find that hard to believe, all I ever wanted was for you to pull your head out of your backside and man up.”

  “I was so filled with resentment,” his brother said. “It got so I couldn’t see straight.”

  “Was that before or after Nicole started whispering in your ear?”

  “She had nothing to do with it,” Shane said, his voice tightening from the lie.

  “That’s not what she said when we interrogated her.”

  “Interrogated?” Shane said the words quietly, as though he were afraid to utter them.

  “Imagine my surprise when I found the two of you talking late one night.”

  “She asked me about the weather and it was such a strange thing to say. I worried then that she’d been caught, I just didn’t want to face the possibility. I know I messed up, but it’s not too late to make this right,” Shane protested. “I wanna come back.”

  “Of course you do,” Dale replied, trying hard to subdue his growing anger and disgust. The English language didn’t contain enough curse words to express what he wanted to say right now. “That sense of sadness you’re feeling—it’s nothing but self-pity and disappointment that your plan backfired so spectacularly. Did you really think I would risk everyone’s life?”

  “I should have known better. But I’ll make it up to you, Dale, I swear.”

  Dale felt his pulse quicken. “Listen, there’s something you need to know. Nicole is dead.”

  “What?”

  “I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say she was shot, trying to escape.”

  There was a long silence where Dale assumed his brother was either crying or trying to collect himself. Finally he spoke:

  “Tell everyone I’m
sorry, that I never meant for things to turn out this way.”

  “They’ll never forgive you, Shane.”

  “I know,” he replied. “What about you?”

  Dale wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I can’t say just yet. Forgiveness and acceptance are two vastly different beasts. Hanging your family out to dry for your own gain, well, that’s about as low as a person can get.”

  “I guess I finally hit that bottom you’ve always talked about.”

  Dale was alone in the darkened basement, nodding to himself. “I guess you have.”

  “You think there’s anywhere up from here?”

  Shane sounded hopeful and Dale remembered the little boy, caught by his mother stealing a cookie before dinner, her heart melting because he was just so darn cute. Then something else occurred to Dale, a chance for his brother to seek some form of redemption for what he’d done. “Are you alone?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not metaphorically alone. Is there anyone else in the room with you?”

  “No, there isn’t,” Shane replied. “Why?”

  “Because there may be a way you can start to set things right.”

  “Anything,” Shane said. “I’ll do all the outdoor work around the house for a month—no, for a year.”

  “Nah, nothing like that. You at the sheriff’s office?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll bet they’re keeping you alive because they think you’ll be able to get intel out of us, maybe even soften us up a little.”

  “I have no idea what they’re thinking,” Shane said. “To be honest, when the plan went bad I figured I was dead.”

  “You are,” Dale said, unable to ignore the sting he felt hearing his brother talk about his plan like he was talking about a trip that got cancelled. “But there may be a way you can bring yourself back to life.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “In the next twenty-four hours I’m gonna get you a weapon and you’re going to use that weapon to assassinate Edwardo Ortega.”

  “Oh, man,” was Shane’s only reply. “That sounds way too dangerous.”

  “You said anything. Well, there it is. You do that and the cartel will surely start to crack. Afterward it won’t take more than a small push for it to fall over and shatter into a million little pieces.”