Getting no answer to his whines and scratches, Hershey lay down in his bed, his head aching miserably. He wished he hadn’t drunk all the water from the porcelain bowl. He sure would like a drink now.
Kasoniak
Kasoniak stood behind his desk and read the handwritten scouting report, his brow furrowed in a slight wrinkle. He added another red pin to the large map, this one just south of Old Louisville, and frowned at the pins. There were six red pins now, standing out in a comparable ocean of white pins … forty-three white pins. Kasoniak sighed. Forty-nine of his people dead…several of them civilians. One, a child. They needed to find a better way to deal with these “Feeders,” as Mike and Kari called them. There simply weren’t enough flame throwers to adequately equip the scout patrols, much less the troops assigned to protect the civilians. The soldiers he’d assigned to manufacturing the napalm finally got it right, but four good men died in the process. That put their direct casualties up to fifty-three people. That was almost six percent of the current surviving population, and that was too goddamned high a loss rate.
Kasoniak frowned at the window, gazing at the same forest, the same pond, and the same deer grazing at the same place, divided into four even sections by the old wooden window frame. His brain had long ago stopped being fooled by the painting, but still his eyes rested on it when he felt contemplative. He was appreciative they’d managed to get inside the Mint in February, and he valued the security the thick walls provided … but he would have given a year’s pay for a real window and real sunlight. Working inside the Mint was like being entombed alive.
There was a sharp rap at the door. “Come,” Kasoniak called, not turning away from the map. The problem was there was no discernible pattern to where the Feeders showed up. They could, literally, show up anywhere; one of the six they killed had been inside the Mint compound. The forty-year-old soldier who was ordered to put down the fifteen-year-old girl entrapped by the damned thing broke that day. He was still on desk duty and would probably never be reliable in the field again.
Kasoniak pushed his thoughts away and turned, preparing to deal with whatever new complication arrived. He returned his aide’s salute and mildly advised the man to stand at ease. The soldier complied, but his body did not relax. His eyes were tense in a way that made Kasoniak steel himself for more bad news.
“What is it, Sergeant Riggs?”
“Sir, I’m sorry to inform you your daughter is AWOL,” Riggs said, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke. He continued, explaining quickly but professionally. “She didn’t show to PT this morning, and Sergeant Andreskevitch told me she missed training yesterday afternoon. I went to her tent, since she’s assigned out in the quadrant where that flu outbreak started, but she wasn’t there.” Riggs held out several sheets of paper. “Seems she went with Corporal Sanderlin, sir.”
Kasoniak’s eyes shuttered at the word “daughter” and went cold at “AWOL.” He nodded but didn’t reach for the paperwork. “Thank you, Sergeant,” he said, his mind already returning to the scouting report.
The sergeant hesitated, and then saluted. Kasoniak read the expression on his face. “My daughter gets no special treatment, Sergeant,” he said, his voice characteristically mild. “Tell Andy to write her up for an Article 86.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied, stepping out the door and closing it softly as the colonel returned to the map behind his desk. He shook his head, smiling in bemusement as he left. No wonder they called Kasoniak “Fucking Hard Ass” when he wasn’t there to hear it. No way could Riggs have been so composed if it was his daughter.
Scientist-Farmer
Scientist-Farmer watched the Spotter as the atrocity occurred. Twice, he gave the command for the Spotter to open fire, and twice he countermanded himself. Interference was absolutely forbidden, and there would be no acceptable justification to present to the Council. Still … it was his human who was being tortured, and every instinct he possessed, both as Scientist and as Farmer, cried to him to stop the barbarism and to bring comfort to Human-Male and his mate.
Then things got much, much worse.
March 15.
Mike
Mike raised a fisted hand, and he and Kari slowed their bikes to a crawl. The barricade in the middle of the Ashland-West Virginia Bridge was deliberately set, not just a random jumble of wrecked vehicles. They stopped about ten feet from the roadblock, their engines idling while they considered the situation. Mike studied the barricade carefully. A school bus was overturned on the left side of the highway, and two minivans and a jeep blocked the right side. There would room between the blockage for the motorcycles, but not with the sidecar. The embankment on the West Virginia side of the bridge was too far away to allow any kind of workaround. On either side of the bridge, the waters of the Big Sandy River flowed smoothly.
Mike frowned, pulling to a complete stop and setting his feet on the pavement. He pulled a map from the documents pouch and unfolded it as Kari pulled up next to him.
“We can backtrack, here,” he showed her, pointing, “and try to cross at Catlettsburg.”
“No guaranteeing that won’t be blocked, too, though,” Kari observed. “It looks like someone in wild, wonderful West Virginia doesn’t want company.”
Mike nodded with a frown, looking at the obstruction thoughtfully. “Haven’t seen or heard anyone behind there,” he said. “It’s not possible for them to man this thing 24/7, so I can probably take the sidecar off if I have to, and then walk it through after the bikes.”
Kari nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
Mike shook his head. “Yeah, but this Mad Max kind of shit is freaky, Kari. If they do have someone with eyes on this blockade, they’ll probably be on us before I can finish with the sidecar.”
Kari frowned as she considered the situation. “Well … not really much choice in the matter. What about we take your bike back a few miles and secure it somewhere – as secure as we can get it – then ride my bike across and see if there’s any safe way through this?”
Mike shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t like it, but I don’t know what else we can do,” he said. “Before we backtrack, though, let’s go through for a quick look to see what we’re up against. I don’t want to get too far from the sidecar, but I want to have the lay of the land for a mile or so up the road.”
Kari nodded. “You ride bitch,” she ordered. “It’s my bike, so I drive.”
Mike laughed at her and obligingly dismounted his motorcycle, pocketing the key carefully. He looked at the sidecar and frowned, deciding they would travel just to the first bend in the road. Their supplies were too valuable to risk being out of sight.
He climbed behind her, thrusting his hips against her ass suggestively.
“Pervert,” she scolded with a grin, as she slowly eased the bike through the narrow gap in the middle of the road.
“Every chance I –” Mike started. He tensed. “Abort! Abort!” he snapped, just as Kari passed the school bus. He saw movement behind the jeep and –
The attackers came from both sides, two on the right from behind the jeep and three on the left from behind the school bus. Kari screamed as she was pulled violently from the bike. Mike fired off two shots before the gun was knocked from his hand and an elbow found its way into his face. The bike toppled, Mike and his attackers falling on top of it in a graceless heap.
The screaming continued, high and agonized, and it was only when Mike’s left arm was pulled up behind his back and a burly forearm wrapped around his throat that he realized it wasn’t Kari screaming. One of the five men lay writhing on the ground, screaming in pain and anger, his thigh gushing blood in rhythmic spurts. Kari was desperately punching another man, who was trying to grab her arms. She struck out, scratching him in the face, and he cursed violently. A moment later, he backhanded her, hard, and she went down long enough for him to pull a zip tie from his pocket and secure her wrists. Mike’s arms were jerked down and similarly secured.
The man on
the ground was bleeding out, Mike realized with a sickness in his gut. He had been in skirmishes before, and he was credited with several kills, but this was the first time he was close enough to watch the person die. And unless something was done in seconds, the man would die.
The burly man who had subdued Mike did do something. He stepped up and, with terrifying indifference, shot the screaming man between the eyes. The sudden silence after the ringing of the shot was almost as bad as the screaming had been.
“Jesus, Mayhew,” the man holding Kari said quietly.
“Roll him over the side,” Mayhew responded, his voice cold. “Tommy and Jimbo, take the bikes. Crank, get these two in the back of the jeep.”
Mike met Kari’s eyes as Mayhew’s instructions were carried out, the only sound the grunting of the men as they rolled the body off the bridge. Mike listened for the splash, but didn’t hear it. The man named Crank got into the jeep and backed it up several feet, and then got out and stood next to Kari again. He waited patiently while either Tommy or Jimbo reached into Mike’s pocket and dug out the key to the bike, an insolent leer on his face. If they got out of this alive, he would kill that man, Mike promised himself, watching him swagger over to his bike. Crank shoved Kari toward the jeep. With her hands tied behind her she couldn’t climb into the back seat. With a quick movement that drew a vicious curse from Kari, he simply picked her up and placed her on the seat himself.
“Move it!” Mayhew snapped, pushing Mike toward the jeep. Kari looked at Mike desperately, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly, moving over to the back of the jeep and climbing in with difficulty. Last thing he needed was for Kari to go all Rambo on him with her hands tied behind her back. She’d do it, too.
Mayhew climbed into the passenger seat of the jeep as their bikes roared past them into West Virginia. He turned in his seat, the Ruger pointed between Kari and Mike. He wasn’t underestimating them, unfortunately. Crank got in behind the wheel and started the vehicle, following the two motorcycles. Mike glared at Mayhew, who studied him back implacably.
“Where are you taking us?” Kari asked. Her tone would have been belligerent, if she’d managed to keep the slight breathlessness from her voice.
Mayhew didn’t lower his gun or take his eyes off Mike. “To a little cabin in the woods, sweet butt,” he said smoothly, “where all your dreams can come true.”
Kari rolled her eyes and turned her face away, saying nothing else.
After less than ten minutes of crawling down the interstate, they turned off onto a dirt road that did indeed lead back to a hunting cabin in the woods. Tommy and Jimbo had already arrived and were gleefully pawing through the sidecar.
“Whooeeee, boss, we hit paydirt on this one!” Jimbo exclaimed happily. He held up the ammo box and a bar of C4.
“Goddammit, watch it with that shit!” Mayhew snapped. “You’ll blow your dick off, asshole.”
Jimbo quickly put the C4 back into the rucksack and dropped it into the sidecar. Mike's face remained expressionless. These men were his enemy; if they believed they could blow their dicks off with uncapped C4, who was he to tell them differently?
Kari, on the other hand, was a smart mouth. “That would be no great loss to womankind,” she quipped sharply. Jimbo looked up, fury in his eyes, but Mayhew laughed heartily.
“From the mouths of hot, tight-assed babes,” Mayhew chuckled with a mean leer. Kari looked away again, both she and Mike wishing she’d kept quiet.
“Chain him,” Mayhew ordered. Mike was pulled roughly from the jeep and dragged over to a fallen tree which had a tow chain wrapped under it, with enough slack to easily wrap around a person’s wrists. Tommy kicked Mike’s legs out from under him, grinning when the soldier fell face-first. He jerked him up so his back was to the tree and quickly, carelessly draped the tow chain around his wrists, securing it with a Master lock.
Mike kept his face as calm as he could. The Redneck Crew just made their third mistake. Not only did they piss Mike off (mistake number one), but they left him a bit of wiggle room on the zip tie (number two) and now the tow chain was less than a sloppy formality. Three strikes, they’re out, Mike thought. He just needed to wait for the right opportunity – probably night time, when these overconfident amateurs went to bed and failed to set a watch.
Mayhew walked over to the open fire near the front of the cabin and added a cut log, not looking over his shoulder as he spoke. “Tits and ass, we can use,” he told his men, to their hoots of agreeable laughter, “but I got no use for soldier boy after we’uns have us a little chat.”
He leaned down and picked up the wooden handle of a poker from beside the fire pit. Mike could have predicted it, just as he could have predicted the end of the poker would be red-hot. Mayhew approached Mike with an air of malicious pleasure and squatted near him. Fourth mistake. He was within kicking distance.
Mike bunched his muscles, preparing to strike out, but he noticed Kari’s small headshake. She was telling him no. Mike reconsidered the situation. Four to two. The two of them were trained resistance fighters, and these assholes were rank amateurs, sure, but they had the full use of their hands, unlike the soldiers. Mike and Kari were at the disadvantage, currently. The better plan was still to wait until nightfall, no matter what he needed to endure between now and then.
“Now, boy, let’s you and me get to know each other,” Mayhew said. He grinned at Mike, but there was a disconcerting intelligence in his malicious eyes. He knew what Mike had been thinking…he would have expected the kick. Mentally, Mike thanked Kari, resolving to kiss her ass for it if they got out of here. When they got out of here.
“Tommy and Jim, get his coat off,” Mayhew ordered, turning the hot poker before his own eyes with an expression almost lustful.
Crank put his hand out, pulling Kari back roughly as the two men obeyed their leader. Mike bit back a snort of laughter as Jimbo tried to go all macho and rip the USRF jacket off, as if it were cheap hunting camo. The man cursed, moving around to unzip the jacket and roughly pushing it away from Mike’s shoulders. He then yanked the neck of the white t-shirt and ripped that open viciously, as if that would eradicate his earlier impotence.
Mayhew nodded, looking at Mike calmly. “Okay, boy, here’s how it’s gonna go. The first time I burn you – I call that branding you with my mark, because you ain’t nothin’ but my bitch now, boy – the first time, that’s just a little love nibble, okay? Lets everyone around these parts know you belong to Big Pete Mayhew. The second time, I’m going to use this poker and take out your right eye. The third time, I’m going to take out your tongue. Am I making myself clear to you, boy?”
Mike’s blood ran like ice. Mayhew seemed completely composed, as if he were discussing a bill at a local feed store. He barely recognized his own voice. “Do what you gotta do,” he said, his eyes staring beyond Mayhew’s left ear. He was done talking. Whatever was going to happen would happen whether he talked or didn’t; Mayhew was in it for pleasure.
Mayhew chuckled meanly. “Yeah, that’s what I like to hear.”
“Don’t!” Kari called out, her own voice hoarse. “Mayhew, don’t do this!”
Mike couldn’t divert his attention to Kari, but he heard some type of scuffle, and suddenly she was silent.
“What uniform you wearing, boy?” Mayhew asked, looking at the camo BDUs. “That ain’t a U.S. uniform – you one of them terrorists that caused all this shit?”
Mike kept silent, carefully watching the spot in the trees behind Mayhew. He blinked; for a moment, it seemed as though he saw a small, black orb floating in the air. Something about it tickled his mind with familiarity, but he didn’t have the time or resources for a distraction right now. Whatever it was, was gone. Mayhew was not.
“I won’t ask again!” Mayhew growled. “What kind of shit uniform you wearing, ass-wipe?”
The pain was so much more intense than he could have ever imagined. The cords in Mike’s neck strained unsuccessfully to keep the scream behind his
clenched teeth. The poker rested on the side of his neck for only a few seconds, but eternal hells were born and died as Mike screamed and his flesh blistered and burned. Even after Mayhew finally drew the damned thing away, pain raced through every nerve ending in his body, slamming around like a pinball going for full tilt. Fuck, he hated getting burned!
Mike slumped, his breathing coming in harsh, jagged sobs. He remembered the four days of SERE training and almost laughed. He’d never thought he would actually need that information; the Feeders weren’t big on catch and release.
“Which eye did I say?” Mayhew asked his men.
“Right, boss,” Tommy said eagerly.
“That’s right,” Mayhew agreed, turning back to Mike. “Now, this poker still has plenty of heat in it, but after I take your eye, I’m gonna have to re-heat it all over again. What kind of shit uniform you wearing, kid?”
“Mayhew, stop!” Kari screamed. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, just please, leave him alone!”
Mayhew stopped, looking from Mike to Kari as if considering her words. He stood up and handed the poker off to Tommy, who seemed disappointed. “Set that to warmin’, Tommy,” Mayhew instructed. He walked over to where Crank held Kari in a headlock, despite the zip ties on her wrists. Crank was sporting a nice bruise on his eye, Mike noted dully. It would be a hell of a shiner in a few days. He tried desperately to pay attention to Kari’s words while his breathing slowed, but his mind still reeled from the pain that wasn’t easing. He would give anything to lie down in the patch of snow a few feet to his left.
“So?” Mayhew asked.
“It’s an American uniform,” Kari replied levelly. “It’s the uniform of the U.S. Resistance Front, which is the only military force we have left. The five branches of the military are completely gone, and the RF is all that stands between you and those Feeders.”
Iron Mike Page 17
