Rise of the Liberators (Terrafide Book 1)

by Ryan Hyatt

  “So, what happened?”

  “Nothing happened, and that was the problem,” Chuck said. “Neither of us had jobs, only squandered dreams. The book stuff didn’t pan out the way I hoped, and we quickly burned through any royalties, savings and retirement we had. Your mother and I turned on each other, but the divorce only made life harder for both of us. Suddenly there were twice as many house payments, twice as much pressure to make a living and juggle schedules with someone you didn’t work well with already. I handled those first years better only because I found a job sooner and was often away. Your mom had the worst of it. She still does, and she never lets me hear the end of it.”

  “Sounds like a lot of craziness to me,” May said.

  “It is—single-parent craziness,” Chuck said, and he raised the Radicals. “These glasses are a lot of craziness, too, don’t you think? Would you like me to read you?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Good,” Chuck said. “I was hoping you’d say that. I didn’t want to read you.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “I guess I felt like it was my duty to give you the option, as your father.”

  “You’re a great one, despite what Mom says.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Just being a daughter, I guess.”

  “You’re a great one, too, despite what your mom says,” Chuck said, and he pushed May off the bed. May laughed and pushed him back, and Chuck dragged her by the arms onto the mattress. He pinned her briefly, tickled her lightly. Still, she caved. As soon as she was hysterical and out of breath, he released her.

  “Now that I’m still the reigning tickle champion, are there any more serious issues we need to discuss?” Chuck said. “Shall we talk about the birds and the bees?”

  “Mom and I already did, long ago.”

  “Thank God!” Chuck said, with a sigh of relief. “Just don’t get pregnant until you’re married, and everything should be fine.”

  “Just like you and Mom, right?”

  “Yeah, right. Now what?”

  “Ice cream?”

  “Too cold. Cupcakes?”

  “Yummy!”

  Chuck tossed the Radicals on the bed, and they left the hotel room to find dessert.

  CHAPTER 11

  May’s visit reminded Chuck his daughter was a visceral human being, not an abstraction of his mind, and considering their quality time spent together, he was in good spirits when they parted ways in Seattle.

  From Seattle, the roadshow looped southward to Spokane, then Boise, Salt Lake and on to Las Vegas. The first episode of Buyer’s Best aired the first week of January 2023. It earned high ratings and seemed to have secured mass appeal. Only a fraction into their year-long, nationwide trip, Chuck only achieved a fraction of the necessary sales. He was on track to earn the $10 million, but it could very well come down to the last dime made in the last minute in New York.

  With so much at stake, and his daughter safely returned to her mother, Chuck found it easy to focus on work. Although he was generally happy with his team, there were occasional points of contention which might have made for good Telenet, according to Joe G., but nonetheless caused Chuck and his team real headaches.

  In Boise the bus driver, Matt Kirk, went out to fetch the staff some lunch at a nearby diner, which was clearly in sight while the bus remained stranded on the freeway during a blizzard. Matt ran into an old girlfriend at the diner and, unable to resist the temptation of shacking up with a woman in a warm home, he failed to return to the bus with the food that the team ordered, nor did he bother to return any calls concerning his whereabouts.

  Matt’s treachery in the name of sexual satisfaction might have earned him a pat on the back and a few laughs in milder climes, but the incident left the team cold, hungry and moody. Huddled up with their feet in the bathtub, munching on beef jerky, passing a bottle of whiskey, they managed to make it through the night without harm. The next day the storm cleared and they found Matt several miles up the freeway, hitchhiking. They picked him up, penniless, as his ex-girlfriend’s boyfriend, an ex-convict, had robbed him at gunpoint the night before. The Buyer’s Best staff continued on their quest, and after hearing Matt’s story, a new driver, Alonso Ortega, was flown in to replace him in Salt Lake.

  In another turn, al-Hakim, overcome by lust, went missing while he was supposed to be filming the roadshow’s layover during a convention in Las Vegas. Instead team members found him in his hotel room tied to his bed naked with naughty footage covering his own meanderings that led him to such a state. Like Matt, al-Hakim also became penniless, thanks to an overcharging hooker. That particular deviation from the work schedule, however, caused harm to none but al-Hakim himself, who contracted a mild sexually-transmitted disease from his male escort, and he was only forgiven after he made a teary-eyed confession at the next sales meeting, a memorable sideshow of the roadshow documented for all posterity.

  Joe G. encouraged such shenanigans because they made for better Telenet. However, an incident not even the eccentric production crew could have scripted occurred on Saturday, February 4, 2023, outside Flagstaff. The experiences recorded over the course of that day not only made Telenet history, but effectively ended the roadshow, for subsequent episodes were unable to live up to the scope of drama that unfurled on that fateful day.

  The route from Las Vegas to Flagstaff on Interstate Forty was one which Chuck was greatly familiar with as an Arizona native. On that Saturday, while most of the sales team already advanced to Phoenix and Tucson in preparation for those events, Alonso, Chuck and al-Hakim remained on the bus, trudging forward slowly in the inclement winter weather. That stretch of state south of the Grand Canyon was green, flat and undeveloped and consisted of reservations and rural ranches, an expanse of high desert vegetation and pine forests, blanketed in a layer of snow.

  It was a freezing cold afternoon, but only as they neared Flagstaff did clouds begin to close in above them, the sun set, and snow fall. They were still several miles from the city limits when trouble arrived.

  Alonso was behind the wheel as al-Hakim edited video footage on his laptop and Chuck sat in the back seat and listened to Lou Reed, recently re-introduced to him by May. Chuck glanced out the front windshield and he noticed two figures, one tall, one small, dashing through a fresh field of white toward the highway.

  The taller figure stepped before the bus several yards ahead of it. She raised a double-barrel shotgun and pointed it at the windshield. Alonso slammed on the breaks, and this figure, a woman, seemed un-phased by the glare of the headlights on her.

  “Get us out of here!” the woman shouted, and she dragged the smaller figure, a little girl, to the door.

  Al-Hakim filmed as they boarded. They stood at the entrance of the bus, next to Alonso, shivering.

  The mother looked to be in her thirties with thick blondish hair and hazel eyes. The girl was about four or five, Chuck thought, with the same curly hair May had at that age. The girl’s eyes, however, were unlike any he ever saw. They were so opaquely blue they were more like gray, and they were deeply depressed in their sockets. Whatever adversity these two faced, Chuck sensed the girl had biological issues that may or may not have been related to their current predicament.

  Wrapped in the girl’s arms was a puppy. The mother refused to relinquish her shotgun, and her daughter refused to reveal to the staff her tiny dog.

  “Thanks for picking us up, but we’re not here for any games,” the mother said. “Drive as fast as you can now, or all of us are going to get killed.”

  “Okay, okay!” Chuck said, hands raised.

  She was surprisingly calm for someone whose life was in danger, he thought. Alonso began to accelerate, and Chuck and al-Hakim hunkered down in the seats around the kitchenette, away from the bus’s windows. It wasn’t until they were humming down the highway that the mother leaned her gun on the chair, clutched the girl, who clutched her pup, and all three of them sat huddled together quietly
.

  “Where to?” Alonso shouted from the driver’s seat.

  “Police station,” the mother said. “Fast.”

  “What’s your dog’s name?” Chuck said to the girl.

  “Libby,” the girl said.

  “It’s short for Liberator,” the mother said. “He’s a Labrador. Her father just gave him to her as a birthday gift.”

  “Interesting,” Chuck said. “How about you two, do you have names?”

  The mother rolled her eyes and introduced themselves. Chuck offered them cocoa. Dee declined, Sara accepted. Libby seemed content in Sara’s lap.

  The snowfall thickened, and by the time they reached downtown Flagstaff, the bus was stuck in traffic due to a car accident ahead. Along the way, Dee, eyes bloodshot, makeup smeared, explained what she was willing to. Listening to her speak, Chuck realized she wasn’t shivering because she was cold anymore. She was shivering because she was scared.

  Apparently Dee’s husband was part of a military outfit that was going to use a new weapon to help the United States secure oil and other resources abroad. According to her, enemies of the state sent an assassin for her family, perhaps to deter the weapon from being used.

  “There was an intrusion at our home in Phoenix several months ago,” Dee said. “My daughter and I barely escaped. We’ve been staying at my parents’ ranch in Flagstaff ever since.”

  That afternoon, Dee and Sara returned to Flagstaff after a brief visit with her husband in Phoenix to celebrate their daughter’s birthday.

  “My parents weren’t home,” she said. “It was not unlike them to be gone during a snow storm, so I had no idea where they could be. I put Sara in front of the Telenet, looked around for them…and realized they were gone.”

  “Gone?” Chuck said.

  Dee covered Sara’s ears.

  “Dead,” she said. “I found my father…in the refrigerator.”

  “Oh,” Chuck said, and he gulped so loudly it was audible.

  He glanced at al-Hakim, seated next to him with his camera aimed at the mother and child. That’s when Dee realized she and Sara were being filmed. Her terrified expression transformed into outrage. In a seamless movement, she grabbed the shotgun and aimed it at Chuck and said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, man?”

  “Chicken Man!” Sara said.

  “What?” Dee said, distracted by her daughter’s outburst.

  “Chicken Man!” Sara said.

  “What are you talking about, dear?” Dee said, clutching her daughter with one hand, shotgun with the other.

  Sara didn’t respond. She lost her balance and spilled her cocoa. Chuck knew what the little girl was referring to. She must have recognized him from the picture from his hit children’s book, but he decided it was not time to delve into his past. He stuck to the present.

  “Everything’s okay,” he said to Dee, and he raised his hands in peace. “I’m a host for a reality show called Buyer’s Best, and this is my camera man.”

  “Great,” Dee said, regarding him and al-Hakim. “My husband’s putting himself on the line for this foolish country, and I’m stuck with the fools who are part of what’s wrong with it.”

  “I’m serious,” Chuck said. “Also, I’m sorry to hear about your husband and your situation. We’re just doing our job.”

  Seeing Chuck was sincere, if not sincerely ridiculous, Dee turned the gun on al-Hakim.

  “I’m serious, too,” she said. “Turn off the camera, please. Call it a commercial break, if it makes you feel any better. My daughter and I have dealt with enough crap for one day.”

  “Of course,” Chuck said, and he signaled al-Hakim. “Our apologies.”

  Dee waited until the cameraman stopped filming before she lowered her gun.

  Al-Hakim, nonplussed, wiped Sara’s spilled cocoa, and Chuck gave her his. Then he made more cocoa for everyone. Finally, with everyone seated and settled again, Chuck asked Dee the only question that mattered.

  “Now what?” he said.

  “We’ll hide as far away as possible until the end of the war,” she said. “We’re going wherever that boy isn’t.”

  “Boy?” Chuck said.

  “Yes,” Dee said. “He’s eighteen, nineteen maybe. Not much older than that.”

  Chuck thought about what she said. In recent years, around the world, reports of assassinations seemed to increase. They tended to be politically motivated, often perpetrated by untrained, misguided youth. However, strategic killings within the United States, and against members of the military establishment, were unheard of. To commit such domestic terrorism, the ‘boy’ must have been employed by a well-heeled enemy, probably a foreign government.

  This begged the question for Chuck, “What kind of new weapon is your husband operating, anyway?”

  Dee glanced at the dog, and Chuck felt a synapse spark.

  “Liberator?” he said. “You named your dog after a military program? And you say I’m a fool…”

  “It was her father’s idea,” Dee said. “His name’s Ray. He’s a captain in the Marines. He gave her the dog, in part, for her protection while he’s gone. He and his men are headed to Iran. He wanted to make Sara feel better, I guess, maybe himself, too.”

  “I wish your husband a safe return.”

  “Thanks,” Dee said, and she glanced at Chuck and the other men on the bus. “Right now, it’s not him I’m worried about.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “The truth is, I never wanted Ray to re-enlist,” Dee said. “I always thought it was a bad idea.”

  “It sounds like your woman’s intuition served you well,” Chuck said, and he took the empty cup of cocoa from Sara, patted her on the head, and carried it to the sink.

  “What happened to your eyes?” he said to her, washing the dishes.

  “I see better now,” Sara said proudly. “Chicken Man!”

  “Cock-a-doodle doo!” Chuck said, imitating a rooster.

  “Do you have kids?” Dee said.

  “A daughter.”

  “I can tell,” Dee said, and she nudged Chuck away from the dishes. “You’re a natural, aren’t you? Please, let me take care of those.”

  “It’s okay,” Chuck said. “Dishes are my job around here.”

  “Not today,” Dee said. “I need the distraction.”

  Her hands trembled, and Chuck gently took hold of them and embraced her.

  “Everything is going to be okay,” he said. “You’re safe.”

  Sara grabbed hold of their legs.

  “What’s this?” Chuck said, gazing down at her.

  “Huggy Time,” Sara said.

  “Your husband is a lucky man,” he said to Dee.

  “Not anymore,” she said. “Not after what he’s caused.”

  Chuck noticed out of the corner of his eye al-Hakim filming again, but since Dee didn’t respond, he figured it was okay.

  “Here we are,” Alonso said.

  The bus slowed to a stop in front of the police station. Chuck glanced outside. It was a large building not far from Flagstaff’s main strip. Chuck spent a night in the tank there once on a disorderly conduct charge. Besides a single light shining in the parking lot, all was dark, still and quiet. There wasn’t even a police car in sight. It gave Chuck the creeps.

  “I’d like to go in, too, and make sure you get squared away, if you don’t mind?” he said.

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  They left the shotgun leaning on the chair and put on their jackets. Chuck guided his guests from the bus: Dee first, then Sara, then al-Hakim. Alonso waited in the driver’s seat with Libby, keeping the vehicle warm and running. He said he’d call Joe G. and inform him of their delay.

  The snow relented, but the wind was frigid and blustery. They slowly marched, careful not to slip on the ice, making their way toward the windowless entrance. Inside, the station was bright and vaguely stank of sweat, much like Chuck remembered. There was a waiting area with magazines and chairs and a thick glass
counter where a black officer sat. She twirled a pen and stared at the motley crew standing before her.

  “Can I help you?” she said.

  “I’d like to report a murder and a missing person,” Dee said, covering her daughter’s ears.

  The officer’s eyebrows rose slightly. Murder wasn’t common in Flagstaff, Chuck thought, as she picked up a phone.

  “I’ve got a woman here to report a 1-8-7,” she said. “Okay, yes, sir.”

  The officer hung up and started taking down Dee’s personal information. As Dee spoke, Chuck noticed another officer enter the station through the front door, and he didn’t need to be wearing his Radicals to know his uniform didn’t seem to quite fit. It was large and ruffled, and the head wearing it tilted downward, eyes shielded under the hat. The young man flashed a badge at a scanner and slipped through the counter door, out of sight.

  An older, higher-ranking white officer appeared at the glass.

  “Dee?” he said. “Last time I saw you was at your brother’s wedding,” and then he glanced at Chuck and al-Hakim. “What’s wrong, dear?”

  Dee continued to cover Sara’s ears and wept as she said, “My father has been killed, and my mother is missing.”

  The officer walked to the counter door, opened it and led Dee and Sara inside. Chuck and al-Hakim followed, but he stopped them and said to Dee, “I think it’s best if your friends wait here for now.”

  “Sure,” Chuck said to the officer, and then he stooped down and faced Sara, free to hear him. “We’ll keep an eye on Libby for you, okay?”

  “Thank you,” Dee said, and Sara hugged Chuck.

  Chuck and al-Hakim took seats in the lobby. Al-Hakim played on his phone while Chuck tried to read a magazine.

  Within a minute, a gun shot rang throughout the building, followed by several more. Both men’s eyes locked on the black female officer seated behind the glass. She was already turned away, facing the direction of the blasts. From somewhere deep inside the station came Dee’s scream, “Leave us alone, fuck’n asshole!”