Tanner glanced back at Clancy.
“Careful. You’re about to cross a line you can’t easily come back from.”
Clancy glared at him but said nothing.
Peterson said, “I’ll go let Duke know what the situation is. Can you take them over to the brig by yourself?”
“Sure, I can. If either of them get out of line, I’ll shoot them both. Simple as that.”
“You ever shot anyone?” asked Tanner.
Clancy didn’t answer.
“I’m thinking not. Because it’s never ‘simple as that.’”
“Just move,” he said, pushing him through the small gap in the boxcars.
As they passed through the entrance, the guard reached out and grabbed Clancy’s arm.
In a low voice, he said, “Have you seen Big Mike? It’s not like him to be late from patrol.”
Clancy shook his head. Tanner and Samantha looked at one another but said nothing.
As they entered the compound, they found the courtyard lined with small stations set up to administer food, water, first aid, and other services and supplies. About two dozen people milled about, dirty and disheveled, like prisoners of war waiting on rations. Basic needs might be being met, but from the vacant looks on their faces, life at the Citadel was anything but joyous.
Tanner and Samantha were directed to the opposite side of the courtyard and shoved into a boxcar. Furnishings consisted of two twin-sized bunks and a five-gallon bucket with a couple of wooden slats to act as a toilet seat. Several small slots had been cut through the sheet metal walls to allow for airflow. Even so, it was hot and muggy inside, and the air stank like human waste.
As soon as the door slammed shut, Samantha rose up on her tiptoes and peeked out through one of the holes.
“Do you think Big Mike was the man in the cornfield?”
“It’s a good bet.”
“They’re not going to be happy when they find him.”
“Nope.” Tanner leaned against the door and gave it a little shove. It didn’t budge. He turned back to Samantha. “You got anything in your pack that might get us out of here?”
She set her backpack on the floor and began rifling through it.
“A little food, a couple of water bottles—”
“Let’s drink those. No telling what kind of care we’re going to get in here.”
She tossed him a bottle and set the other one on the floor beside her feet. Then she continued rummaging through her pack, pulling out handfuls of clothes and a few picture frames that she had taken from the Oval Office.
“The only other thing I have is this.” She held up the small canister of pepper spray.
“Where’d you get that?”
“From the pawnshop. Think it’ll get us out of here?”
“It might.”
She turned it toward her face and sniffed the nozzle.
“Ooh,” he said, cringing. “I wouldn’t do that.”
She pulled it away from her nose.
“Is it dangerous?”
“It’ll make your face feel like it’s been dipped in a deep fat fryer.”
“That sounds awful.” She studied the writing on the back of the canister. “What’s in it? Pepper juice?”
“Not exactly. They start by grinding up really hot peppers, but then a solvent is used to extract something called capsaicin, which in Latin surely means ‘fire from Hell.’ Once the solvent’s evaporated away, it leaves behind a waxy resin known as oleoresin capsicum, or OC. That’s the stuff that actually gets made into pepper spray.”
“What are you, some kind of pepper spray guru?”
He laughed. “Anyone who has ever had a few brushes with the law knows something about pepper spray.”
“Have you been sprayed?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“It doesn’t feel like a facial, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She looked at the little black canister with a new level of respect.
“You got anything else in your pack?” he asked. “A propane torch or a hacksaw perhaps?”
She shook her head. “No, sorry.”
“All right then, go hide the pepper spray in one of the bunks.”
“Why?”
“Because they’ll eventually get smart enough to search us, but I doubt they’ll think to search their own jail cell.”
“You’re pretty clever about prison stuff,” she said, hurrying over and stuffing the canister under one of the blankets. “But then again, I guess you should be.”
Tanner walked over and flopped down on the other bunk.
“Might as well get comfortable.” He tipped the water bottle up and took a long swig.
“I must say I’m surprised you’re taking this so well.”
“One thing I’ve found from my years behind bars is that you save your strength until the time is right.”
She nodded. “And then we fight.”
Tanner closed his eyes, and a small smile touched his lips.
“Yes, darlin’, and then we fight.”
An hour later, the metal door swung open with a loud clang. Clancy stepped in holding a telescoping metal baton. Two men stood behind him with AR15s.
He pointed the baton at Tanner.
“Duke wants to have a word with you.”
Tanner swung his legs off the bunk and stood up.
“All right, but let’s make it quick,” he said with a yawn. “I have places to be.”
The guards ushered him out, and Clancy moved to take up the rear. As he swung the door shut, he looked in at Samantha and sneered. She quickly looked away. Clancy was looking for a reason to hurt someone, and she needed to be careful not to give him one. As soon as the door closed, she hurried to the wall and peered out through one of the small slots.
Tanner kept one hand in front of his eyes, shielding them from the bright sun. The press of Clancy’s baton against his back kept him moving steadily toward a boxcar on the opposite side of the compound. The door was already open, and when he stepped inside, he saw that the room had been set up as a command center. Amateur and two-way radio equipment lay spread across a heavy oak table, behind which sat an old gray Army desk covered with topographical maps. Electricity was provided by a long electrical cord that trailed out through a doorway at one end of the boxcar.
As soon as they entered, a stout, middle-aged man sitting behind the desk looked up from a logbook. He was dressed in the same camouflage fatigues as the guards and had a large Bowie knife hanging at his side. A deep scar ran diagonally from his eyebrow all the way down through his upper lip. The scar had long since healed, but the eye had been permanently damaged and was now obscured by a sick milky-looking substance.
He pointed to a wooden chair centered in front of the table.
“Sit,” he commanded.
Tanner lowered himself into the chair, glancing back over his shoulder. Clancy moved to stand behind him, slapping the baton menacingly against his palm. The other two men remained outside, looking in through the open door.
“I’m Duke, and I lead this outfit. What’s your name?”
“Tanner Raines.”
Duke squinted as he studied Tanner.
“Clancy says you’re a bit of an asshole.”
“I’m sure he’s an expert on assholes on account of seeing one in the mirror every morning.” Tanner glanced back at Clancy and flashed a smile.
“He also said you and your kid were poking around the cornfield.”
“That’s bullshit. We’re just passing through.”
“That’s it, huh? Just passing through?”
“That’s right.”
“All right. One last question…”
“Shoot.”
“Did you kill Big Mike?”
Tanner considered his options. None were particularly good. Lying would lead to a beating or worse. Clancy was looking for any reason to thwack him on the back of the head. Then again, admitting to ki
lling one of the group’s members wasn’t likely to win him a parade either.
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
Duke glared at him. “Kill a lot of people, do you?”
Tanner said nothing.
“The big man in the field,” he said. “Beaten to a pulp. You remember now?”
“He attacked my daughter.”
“So, you admit to killing him?”
“I admit to defending a twelve-year-old girl the way any father would.”
The man’s nostrils flared as he struggled to control his temper.
“Did you kill him? Yes or no?”
Tanner thought about the bloody mess he had left behind.
“If those are my only two choices, I’d have to go with yes.”
Duke licked at the cleft in his lip.
“Murder is a very serious crime here at the Citadel.”
“What about trying to rape a child? Where’s that fall in your list of rules?”
Duke ignored the question, saying only, “There will need to be a trial.”
Tanner didn’t like the sound of that. Trials had never gone his way in the past, and he had no reason to believe that his luck was about to change.
“With who sitting as the judge? You?”
Duke met his stare. “That’s right.”
Tanner slowly got to his feet, and he heard Clancy ready the baton behind him.
“Let me ask you a question.”
Duke squinted, and the milky eye bulged.
“What?”
“In my experience, a man who tries to force himself on a child has a long history of such offenses. Was that the case with Big Mike?”
Duke said nothing.
Tanner glanced back at Clancy as if seeking his input. In reality, he was judging the distance between them.
Clancy only offered a toothy smile.
Tanner placed a hand on the back of his chair, real casual like, just an old man resting his tired bones.
“What kind of trial could I really expect from men who let a child molester live in their ranks?”
Duke puffed his chest out.
“Under Citadel law—”
He never got to finish his sentence. Tanner swung the chair one-handed as he spun to his left. A heavy wooden leg caught the edge of the door, slamming it shut in the faces of the two men standing guard. He continued through with the swing, catching Clancy on the shoulder to send him stumbling across the room. Before anyone could react, Tanner wedged the chair under the door’s latch. He didn’t expect it to hold for long, but he didn’t think he would need that long either.
When he turned around, Duke was already coming toward him with a hand on his knife. Tanner rushed forward, barreling the smaller man into the desk. Duke fell back, sprawling across the radios. Before he could sit up, Tanner hammered down with his right fist. The blow caught Duke squarely in the face, breaking his nose over to one side. He pushed back against Tanner, but it was not a shoving match he could hope to win.
As Tanner prepared to drop a second fist, he felt a sharp thunk against the back of his neck. With one hand still pressing Duke over the desk, he reached around with the other and caught Clancy by the throat. The man cocked the baton to hit him again but quickly changed his mind when Tanner crumpled his airway. Clancy dropped the weapon and fought against Tanner’s hand, desperately trying to break the grip.
“Just as I thought,” growled Tanner. “Mollies, every last one of you.”
Duke swung a radio up, catching him on the side of the head, but the blow did little more than irritate him. Tanner dropped an elbow down into the man’s gut. Duke groaned and began coughing as blood leaked out from his nose onto the table.
Despite Clancy’s having two hands against Tanner’s one, he was unable to free himself. He had resorted to slapping against Tanner’s arm, anything to try and bring back the breath of life. His eyes were becoming vacant, and Tanner figured he had maybe five more seconds before it was lights out.
As Clancy was collapsing to the floor, the door burst open. The two guards pushed against one another, fighting to get through the small doorway. Accepting that he had to release Duke, Tanner lunged toward them, catching the lead man with a tremendous right cross. The blow broke his jaw and sent him stumbling back out into the courtyard. He teetered for a moment and then fell flat on his back, arms and legs splayed out in the dirt.
The second guard swung his rifle up, but Tanner was already on him, grabbing the muzzle and pushing it to the side as the gun bucked up and down. Bullets pinged as they punched through the boxcar’s metal walls. Tanner brought a knee up toward his groin, but the man managed to turn slightly, and the blow caught him on the inside of his thigh. It must have hurt like hell, but it wasn’t enough to cause him to release the weapon.
Tanner needed the gun if he was to have any hope of getting out alive. Giving up on his attack, he wrapped both hands around the barrel and jerked forward. Rather than letting the weapon go, the guard stumbled into the room. Tanner spun, swinging him into Duke, who was already coming up behind him with his knife in hand. They crashed into one another, and both men toppled over the oak table. The AR15 discharged, sending a bullet through Duke’s shoulder, and he howled in pain as he began wrestling for control of the rifle.
Another man, this one as big and meaty as Ivan Drago, appeared in the doorway at the far end of the boxcar. He stopped to assess the situation, and when he saw Tanner, his lips twisted into a snarl.
Accepting that racing blindly out into the courtyard wouldn’t end well, Tanner rushed toward Drago. The big man planted his feet and met Tanner’s charge. They collided like two bull moose, the entire boxcar shaking under the impact. Tanner fired a powerful uppercut, and at the same time, Drago leaned forward into a head-butt. Both men took terrible blows, Tanner’s nose crunching and Drago’s head rocking back as his teeth smashed together.
Tanner stepped closer and twisted in with his hips, hoping to flip Drago off his feet. Instead of driving forward the way Tanner had hoped, Drago stepped back, pulling him off balance. Before Tanner could right himself, Drago slipped a forearm across his neck. Tanner struggled against the choke as he watched Clancy, Duke, and the guard getting to their feet. The fight was not going well.
Understanding that all he had to do was hold Tanner for a few more seconds, Drago used his other hand to shore up his grip.
“Where you think you going?” he said with a thick Slavic accent.
Tanner felt blindly behind him, finally finding the prize between the man’s legs. Drago screamed as his right testicle compressed and then ruptured. He released the choke and shoved Tanner away, dancing up and down from the excruciating pain.
Tanner spun around and lunged at him headfirst. The blow hit Drago like a battering ram, filling his mouth with teeth and blood. He stumbled back, one hand cupping his groin, the other coming up to his mouth. Tanner slapped the heels of both palms over the man’s ears, and Drago moaned in pain. As Tanner cocked his fist back, preparing to finish the big man, something metal smacked against the base of his skull. If it had been a little harder, it might have fractured his cervical vertebrae and perhaps even damaged his spinal cord. As it was, it took his knees out from under him.
Before he could get to his feet, a second blow caught him on the ear. He teetered sideways, refusing to go down. The world was shrinking smaller and smaller as he blindly reached back for his attacker. But it was not to be. The last thing Tanner saw was the blur of the metal baton.
Samantha watched as the door on the boxcar across the courtyard suddenly slammed shut. The two guards standing outside erupted, kicking and bashing to get in. When they finally broke through, one of the men immediately stumbled back and collapsed onto the dirt. A few seconds later, a gunshot sounded, followed by a muffled shout. Moments after that, a man screamed like he had been set on fire.
Tanner had obviously decided that it was time to fight.
Samantha raced to the door and shook it h
ard, hoping that something might break free. It didn’t. The only way she was getting out was if someone opened the door. She hurried back over the slot and stared out. The fight was over. Clancy and a colossal giant whose face was covered in blood were dragging Tanner out by his arms. She strained to see if he had been shot or stabbed. It didn’t look like it. To her surprise, they didn’t bring Tanner back the cell. Instead, they turned and headed toward the exit to the compound.
She turned and studied the small cell. Tanner needed her help, and the only weapons she had were a can of pepper spray and two short lengths of wood. She quickly worked through what needed to be done. It all started with escaping from the cell. She pressed her lips together, resigning herself to the fact that she was about to do some very unpleasant things.
Samantha hurried over to the bunk, slipped on her pack, and retrieved the pepper spray. She had never fired pepper spray before and had no idea how to make it work. After a quick inspection, she found that the plastic cap had a small lever on top. Holding the nozzle a few inches from the bed, she gently pushed the lever with her finger. Nothing happened. It didn’t move at all. She slipped her finger under the lever and felt around. A second lever lay beneath the first. Studying the design a bit further, she saw that the top lever acted as a safety, and the second lever released the spray. She held it up to the mattress again and pressed the second lever for a split second. A short pfft sounded as a foggy vapor spit from the nozzle, leaving a small green stain on the mattress.
Okay, she thought, it works.
She grabbed one of the pieces of wood and carried it over to the door. It wasn’t quite the baseball bat Tanner had mentioned previously, but it was close enough. Then she pulled the scarf up over her mouth and nose, hoping that it would help to keep any blowback from getting on her face.
“Now we fight,” she whispered.
Extending the pepper spray in front of her, she began to shout.
“Help! Please! I’m in trouble!”
It only took a few seconds for the door to swing open. Peterson rushed in, his face filled with concern. He was carrying the same AR15 she had seen him with earlier.
“What’s going on in—”
Samantha pressed the lever, this time holding it down for three full seconds. A thick fog sprayed from the canister’s nozzle, covering the man’s entire face with a wet green liquid. Peterson’s eyes clicked shut, but he stood there for a moment, puzzled by what had just happened. Then the pain started. At first it was only a slight burning sensation, uncomfortable, but not forcing a response.
Battle Lines (The Survivalist Book 5) Page 19
