Secession II: The Flood

by Joe Nobody

  “Oh shit,” whispered one of the accused. “This can’t be good.”

  “Lord have mercy, the Moose is loose,” prophesied another.

  Zach did as instructed, spreading his hands wide as was the drill. The massive bolt opened, revealing two jailers in the hall.

  After stepping through the threshold, the ranger inhaled sharply at the sight before him. One of the guards he’d already met; the other was new. Zach was absolutely positive about his recollection, as the man was unforgettably enormous.

  At least 6’ 7” tall, Zach estimated the guy topped 400 pounds. Two rolls of chin billowed under the man’s misshapen jowls, the entire mountain of flesh topped with a snow white, shaved head.

  Despite standing idle, Moose was breathing hard, a glistening of perspiration twinkling in the hallway’s fluorescent lighting.

  Zach’s inspection was cut short, the other guard tugging on the prisoner’s arm and demanding, “This way, please.”

  The trio continued to the room where Zach had originally been questioned by the chief. Without any comment, the smaller guard secured the ranger’s hands to the metal table, running the handcuff’s steel chain through the heavy welded loop and then clamping them painfully tight against the Texan’s wrists.

  The manipulation of the substantial lock echoed through the brick walls, and then Zach and Moose were alone. The ranger stared up at the ceiling-mounted cameras and immediately knew he was in trouble. The tiny, red lights were dark.

  Moose shuffled around to face the ranger, taking a moment to size up his prey. With furrowed brows, the hefty guard announced, “I understand you’ve been causing trouble.”

  Zach couldn’t help himself and snorted at the man’s voice. Rather than a deep, bellowing snarl of a monster, Moose’s vocal cords produced a tone that was just a few octaves higher than Sam’s… and much more ladylike.

  “What’s so funny, little man?” the mouse-like lisp inquired.

  “I’m sorry,” Zach said sincerely. “I just thought of something amusing. That’s all.”

  “You think my voice is funny, don’t you? You’re no different from anyone else. Ever since I was a kid, people have made fun of my speech,” Moose squeaked.

  Zach shook his head, desperately trying to hold in the laughter. “No, seriously, that’s not it at all.”

  “Uh huh. I’m not buying it, but that’s okay. We’ll see how funny you think I am after I finish this body-cavity search.”

  Before Zach could respond, Moose pulled a plastic glove out of his pocket, along with a tube of K-Y jelly. “Normally I’d grease you up, but since you seem so relaxed and jovial, I assume you don’t need any lube.”

  “Now wait just a fucking minute,” Zach barked. “Why in God’s name, after two days in this shithole, do you guys finally want to search up there? And for a traffic ticket? This is absurd.”

  Moose ignored the protest, moving behind the ranger and snipping the drawstring of the city-issued uniform. Zach started to panic when he felt the flimsy material fall around his ankles.

  “Oh, my, my,” Moose cooed from behind. “What a sweet, tight, little ass you have, Mr. Piedmont. And I assume it’s cherry… since you were arrested with a woman.”

  Zach tried to turn, but the table and his wrists were tightly bound. “Don’t do this, dude. I swear to God, you’ll regret it.”

  But Moose wasn’t impressed by the threat. “This is normally when I make you an offer from the chief, but not today. My boss told me you were to get the full treatment, and to be honest, I’ve been looking forward to this since my shift started.”

  Zach flinched when Moose ripped off the rubber glove and tossed it onto the table. His heart began to race when he heard the goliath’s zipper move down.

  The ranger managed to maneuver out of his flip-flop, pulling his right leg from the prison pants just as Moose reached for Zach’s hip.

  With a vicious, adrenaline-powered kick, Zach’s foot slammed into Moose’s right knee, coming in at the perfect angle and resulting in a sickening pop.

  A high-pitched howl of pure anguish roared from the behemoth’s throat just as Zach shifted his balance and hooked his left arch behind the pervert’s only weight bearing leg. Again, with all of his significant strength, Zach pushed, toppling the giant to the floor.

  Moose was withering in agony, trying to clutch his injured limb. Crossing his wrists, Zach began to circle the table, each orbit resulting in the handcuff’s chain being knotted tighter and tighter.

  On each rotation, Zach checked his victim to ensure the titan wasn’t going to regain his feet. After the third orbit, he found Moose had managed one elbow and was making a significant effort to rise. That attempt was cut short by another slashing kick making full contact with a beefy arm and eliciting another screech of pain.

  On the fifth trip around the table, the chain on Zach’s cuffs was taut, the links twisted against the thick steel ring. Taking a deep breath and gathering his strength, Zach put all of his weight and muscle into another foot of travel.

  The chain torqued, and then a resounding “ping” signaled one of the links had finally conceded. Zach was free of the table.

  His first move was to pull up his pants.

  Next came almost a full minute of trying to catch his breath.

  Finally, he moved closer to inspect a now-tearful Moose.

  “I think you broke my leg,” the big man squealed.

  “No, I doubt it,” Zach grinned. “But I did pop a tendon or two.”

  Moose was actually scared, his saucer-sized eyes darting between Zach and his injured limb. “What are you going to do?” he asked weakly.

  “Just stay there. Don’t try to get up, and I won’t have to hurt you anymore.”

  “But I need an ambulance. I need to see a doctor,” Moose replied, brushing away the streams of tears with an oversized hand.

  “I’ll summon the guard in just a minute. Before I do that, I want to know how many prisoners you’ve raped.”

  “Fuck off… I ain’t got to tell you shit. You just assaulted a peace officer. They’re going to lock you up forever.”

  Zach crossed his arms, and then casually rubbed his chin as if in thought. “You know, you’re right. I might as well go ahead and kill your sick ass. What have I got to lose?”

  The suggestion sent another wave of panic through Moose, his voice stammering a response. “Please, don’t….”

  Zach took a step toward the still prone guard, doing his best to mimic a murderous gaze. The door opened just then, surprising both the Texan and his victim.

  “What the hell is going on here?” boomed the chief’s voice as he crossed the threshold.

  The scene had to look pretty strange, Zach conceded. There was Moose, lying on the floor with his pants down around his knees and tears streaming down his cheek. The prisoner was free, standing over the guard with a steel bracelet on each wrist.

  It was all so odd; it took the chief a moment to realize something was badly wrong. Zach saw the old cop reach for his sidearm, and for a brief second, the ranger thought he was about to be executed on the spot.

  Suddenly a hand shot through the doorway, pinning the older cop’s arm against his side. Two large men then pushed themselves past the bewildered chief.

  Zach exhaled when Major Putnam appeared, along with another ranger from the Dallas office. “There’s no need for that,” stated the commander of Company E, removing the hand that had prevented the chief from drawing his weapon.

  “He’s attacked one of my officers,” stuttered the top local, still in shock.

  “I told you he was a dangerous… but why are the guard’s pants down around his knees?” Putnam inquired.

  “He tried to rape me,” Zach answered. “Fortunately, he didn’t succeed.”

  Everyone seemed to want to shout, talk, complain, and deny at once. Both locals equally motivated to enthusiastically dispute Zach’s claim.

  Putnam almost seemed amused for a few moments, but so
on established that he was the dominant alpha in the room. “Secure that prisoner,” he ordered the Dallas ranger, his raised voice quieting all others. “I don’t have time for this horse hockey. We’ll work this out later. Right now, I’ve got to get this man and his accomplice back to El Paso. Pronto. There’s a critical undercover operation there that depends on an eyewitness identification.”

  Nodding toward Zach, Putnam continued spinning his story. “We’ve been chasing this guy for two days,” the major told the chief. “When we saw his name show up on the arrest database, we got here as soon as we could. You’re lucky your man was only injured.”

  “But we’re holding this prisoner on a series of serious charges,” complained the local cop.

  “Don’t worry. As soon as we finish prosecuting him in El Paso, I’ll have him brought over here to stand for your charges.”

  The chief seemed to accept Putnam’s reasoning, but just barely. After all, I have a lot of cleaning up to do before you get back and ask a lot of questions, he considered. Turning to one of his own deputies, he demanded, “Call an ambulance for Moose. Let’s get that leg taken care of. And for God’s sake, somebody pull up his pants before I lose my supper.”

  The whirlwind of activity was probably fortunate for Zach. First, he still didn’t know why Putnam was there. Then his thoughts drifted to Sam, wondering if she’d called in the white hats. Given the treatment he was about to receive from Moose, his partner might have been in a far worse situation.

  And just that quick, Zach was being escorted out of the Crenshaw City Jail and into the major’s SUV. Sam was already in the backseat.

  “You look like shit,” she greeted.

  “Do you remember the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon?”

  “Yeah… sort of… it was a little before my time.”

  “I was playing the part of Rocky, and Bullwinkle was one big son-of-a-bitch who was up for some squirrel fun.”

  Putnam reappeared, Zach’s personal belongings in a plastic evidence bag under the senior lawman’s arm. With a quick glance toward the rear of the vehicle, he asked, “You okay, Ranger Bass?”

  “Ready to ride, sir,” Zach responded, not about to let his boss know how much the incident had shaken him to the core.

  “Sorry to pull you out of this one, but something very big has come up.”

  Ignoring his superior’s play on words, Zach exchanged looks with his partner. Sam only offered a shrug. She didn’t know why the operation had been interrupted either.

  “Let’s get you two out of this corrupt, little berg. There’s an all hands on deck briefing tomorrow morning at 7AM in Austin. You’ll have just enough time to sleep a few hours, get into some proper attire, and swallow some breakfast.”

  Zach knew better than to question Putnam about all the urgency. Like many military and law enforcement organizations, shit rolled downhill, but only when those at higher elevations were ready. “My truck is just outside of Austin, sir. If you could drop us off there, we’ll check into a hotel and freshen up before reporting to headquarters.”

  “Sounds workable,” Putnam replied. “Get some rest. Trust me on this; you’re going to need it. We all are.”

  “Could we get a cheeseburger and a cup of coffee along the way, sir?” Zach asked, the whimsical request causing the Dallas ranger to snort from his passenger seat.

  “Are we there yet, daddy?” Sam leaned close and whispered.

  “I can’t help it; that jail food sucked.”

  As they rolled out of Crenshaw, Zach couldn’t help but wonder what could be so important to pull them out of an undercover operation. Like all things associated with the rangers, he knew the answer would come soon enough, and it was unlikely to be good news.

  Chapter 4

  Zach scooted the hotel room’s door closed with the heel of his boot, both hands occupied with Styrofoam cups, paper plates, and plastic utensils.

  Sam glanced up, tossed away the towel she’d been using to dry her hair onto the undersized couch, and went to help her partner with breakfast.

  “They didn’t have any English muffins,” he informed. “I hope you like bagels instead.”

  “And hot tea?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I made your Jasmine green tea. This time,” he sighed. “You are going to have to start drinking coffee, Ranger Temple. It’s much less hassle and doesn’t drain a man’s testosterone levels while everyone in the lobby is glaring with inquiring eyes. Besides, this is covered in the ranger handbook. Real crime fighters drink joe.”

  Shaking her head, Sam replied, “Yeah. Right. I’ve asked a dozen times to see this legendary ranger handbook, but so far you’ve failed to produce a printed copy.”

  “Given how quickly the organization is growing, they’re in short supply. I’ll dig one up when we get back to Austin. Promise.”

  “I don’t believe such a manual exists,” the rookie rebutted as she purposely tore the top off of two artificial sweetener packets. “I think you reference this fictional work to further whatever numbskull idea is floating around inside that cavernous head of yours, and I’m not falling for it.”

  “It’s dangerous to ignore ranger traditions, Sam. Take staying at this hotel last night. I don’t know how I’m going to justify our expense reports to Major Putnam. The ranger handbook states that we should have shared a room to keep costs under control.”

  “Bullshit!” Sam snorted. “Do you really expect me to fall for that weak-ass line? You just want to brag to all the boys back at headquarters that you and I spent a night in the same room. Producing a receipt from the hotel would be the only way anybody would believe you.”

  Zach pretended to be hurt by the accusation. Feigning innocence, he protested, “Now that’s just not true. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times, I’m not interested in being anything more than your partner, Ranger Temple. You’re not my type. I like attractive, intelligent women who treat me as an equal in all things.”

  The anticipated barrage of a harsh response never came, Sam’s attention instead diverted to the image on the muted television’s screen.

  “Something’s going on. Turn that up!”

  Zach set down his plate and grabbed the remote, fingering the volume button in a second flat.

  “Furthermore,” the announcer’s voice continued, “experts at the CIA have informed this reporter that the video and claims appearing on the terrorist organization’s websites are believed to be accurate. My sources tell me that the Syrian regime did indeed receive at least one shipment from Texas, although an inventory of the cargo cannot be verified at this time.”

  The newscast then switched pictures, transitioning to the scene of a massive protest taking place in some foreign city.

  Sam and Zach gaped as a multitude of people chanted, “Death to Texas,” while a stuffed dummy dressed in cowboy garb was hung by the neck and then torched, eliciting hearty cheers from the crowd.

  “Protestors in Cairo took to the streets by the thousands this morning, apparently angered by the revelation that Texas is supporting the brutal dictatorship of Bashar al-Assad. Violence erupted here, as well as in Beirut, Amman, and several other Middle Eastern capitals.”

  “Oh shit,” Sam snarled, her eyes glued to the TV. “This can’t be good.”

  “Well, at least now we know what all the hubbub is about,” Zach replied.

  A man in a nicely cut suit appeared on the screen, the announcer continuing his report. “Secretary of State McGregor had quite a bit to say about this morning’s headline,” the reporter finished before the video of a rather official-looking press conference began.

  “The United States of America condemns, without reservation, any violation of the United Nations sanctions calling for a total boycott of the Syrian regime. Furthermore, we are in contact with our counterparts in the Republic of Texas, having issued a strongly worded request for a formal explanation and complete transparency regarding this incident.”

  Zach and Sam watched another f
ive minutes of the broadcast, neither commenting on what was undoubtedly turning out to be a godawful day for the Lone Star Republic.

  Representatives from several governments made harsh remarks as well, one European dignitary going so far as to compare Texas with the world’s other “rogue” nations, such as North Korea.

  The White House was quick to jump on the bandwagon of negative reaction, calling for the leadership of Texas to join the world community and to conduct her affairs as a responsible global citizen.

  Zach finally had enough, purposefully poking the remote’s power button. “We’ve got work to do, and we don’t have enough time to sit around and watch all this bullshit,” he mumbled.

  Sam nodded agreement and began preparing for the workday. Holstering her sidearm, she asked the obvious question, “Who in the hell would send anything to Syria?”

  “Somebody messed up,” Zach replied, “and it doesn’t surprise me one bit. The Republic’s customs agents are as overworked as we are, barely keeping up with imports, let alone exports. Even at that, I doubt anyone in Austin has bothered to pass a law reiterating what is legal to ship from our fledgling country. They’ve got their hands full as it is. Creating a nation out of thin air isn’t as easy as all of the politicians thought.”

  “So do you think Texas should join the United Nations?”

  “No, not really. I think that organization is a zero sum game. It does as much harm as good, so what’s the point?”

  “The original purpose seemed proper and honorable, I suppose, but I’m with you. I think with modern technology, a global economy, and nearly instant communications, humanity has outgrown the need.”

  The duo exited the hotel, Zach checking his watch. It wasn’t wise to keep Major Putnam waiting.

  The two officers made for a nearby pickup, the black paint and chrome wheels accented with the now-famous emblem of the Texas Rangers on the door.

  Zach had been disappointed when he’d been assigned the new quad cab truck. Despite its well-appointed interior, 4-wheel drive, and excellent storage, it was a Japanese brand. The old U.S. automakers didn’t build cars and trucks in Texas anymore. Punitive tariffs made it cost prohibitive to import the steel or parts necessary to assemble the vehicles from the Detroit brands.