by Roger Hayden
“She’ll fight them off.”
“All by herself?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think the princess should try going through basic training before she starts making such reckless decisions.”
Brooke chuckled to herself. She looked around for John but couldn’t find him. She panicked for a split second until she saw his feet through the space under the cruiser. She left Eric and Emily to work out the rest of their castle blueprints and joined her son.
John was holding the family picture he’d managed to salvage before they left. The glass had cracked in the frame, most likely either from the bumpy ride or the Mexican gunfire they had experienced yesterday.
“That was a good day,” Brooke said, gesturing to the photo.
“I don’t remember it,” John said.
“You don’t? Well, I do,” Brooke said, taking the photo from him. “It was the week after school let out of your seventh grade year. I’m pretty sure you had just gotten a shot of adolescence the day before because you were in a terrible mood.”
John rolled his eyes in response.
“Oh, looks like it’s kicking in again,” Brooke said, nudging him with her elbow.
“If I was in such a bad mood, why was it a good day?” John asked.
“Because your dad came home that day.”
“He did? I don’t remember that.”
“It was a surprise. He wasn’t supposed to be home for another week.”
“I’m sorry I’m difficult sometimes.”
John’s response threw her off a bit. He kept his head down when he said it, so she knew he was embarrassed. She tilted his head up by his chin.
“Hey. It’s all right. You’re not the only fourteen-year-old with raging hormones. Everybody goes through it,” Brooke said.
“Yeah. You should see some of the other kids at school.”
“Oh, I have.”
Brooke handed the picture back to John and kissed him on the cheek.
“Brooke!” Eric yelled.
She rushed around to the other side of the cruiser to the sight of Eric running toward the car with Emily in his arms. Behind them in the distance was a caravan of vehicles heading right for them.
The cruiser bounced violently along the sand dunes. Waves of white flew up from the traction of the tires.
Eric slammed a magazine into his AR-15. Brooke kept looking behind her, trying to see if the marauders were gaining on them. The gear loaded down in the back obstructed her view. She looked over to Eric, who was pulling his goggles down and tying a bandana around his mouth. He rolled the window down and pushed half his body outside.
“Eric, what are you doing?” Brooke asked, grabbing his belt to make sure he didn’t fall out.
Grains of sand flew past him and whipped into the car as the cruiser climbed up the side of one of the dunes. Brooke squinted her eyes and pursed her lips, trying to block the sand from entering her mouth. She held onto the wheel and Eric’s belt. She jerked the wheel to the left, sending Eric crashing back into his seat. Eric rolled up the window, pulling his goggles down along with the bandana.
“Seven cars. Two-seater buggies. They look like racers,” Eric said.
“How close are they?” Brooke asked.
“About four hundred yards back, but they’re gaining on us.”
They were still one hundred fifty miles from the Texas border. Brooke figured they were just looking for an easy score. The gang behind them would give up if they made it hard. Brooke just needed to give them a reason to turn around.
Brooke adjusted her course to head dead east. Eric noticed the shift.
“The border patrol is worse closer to the south,” Eric said.
“I know, and our friends behind us probably know that too,” Brooke said.
A few of the buggies leapt over the top of one of the dunes and landed wildly halfway down the hill. As fast and tough as Brooke’s cruiser was, it wouldn’t be able to outrun race buggies. The desert was their element, and while the cruiser was able to handle the desert, the buggies were built for no other landscape but this one.
Emily started crying in the back. Eric pulled his goggles off his eyes and looked back at her.
“What’s wrong? You’re not scared, are you?” Eric asked, knocking the sand off his spare magazines.
Emily nodded her head.
“Hey, there’s no reason to be scared, all right? Remember, princesses always beat the bad guys,” Eric said.
Emily wiped her eyes. “Like when we protect our garden?”
“Exactly. Those guys back there aren’t any match for you. In fact, you should probably be the one carrying this,” Eric said, lifting up the rifle. “Here, you hold on to this for me.”
“Eric!” Brooke cut in.
Eric pulled the rifle back into his lap. “Your mom’s right. You don’t even need a gun. You’re tough enough without one. But do you think you could let me borrow it for a while?”
“Okay,” Emily answered.
“Thanks.”
Brooke checked the side mirror again. The marauders were only three hundred yards out now. She wasn’t going to make it to the border, not unless she could slow the racers down somehow.
“We need a distraction,” Brooke said.
Eric reached down into his bag. Brooke watched him pull out one of his MK3A2 offensive grenades. With eight ounces of TNT, it had more explosive power than a frag grenade. Brooke figured that would work just fine.
“Did you ever watch Dukes of Hazzard?” Eric asked.
“No,” Brooke answered.
“Well, it’ll be something new for you, then.”
Outside, the white sands were shifting to shades of orange. They were almost out of the national park.
“The time delay’s six seconds,” Eric said.
“They’re still about one hundred yards behind us,” Brooke said. “You’ll have to wait at least two seconds before you toss it.”
Eric pulled his goggles back down over his eyes and retied the bandana. He turned around to John and Emily in the back seat, and through the muffled bandana he yelled, “If you want a cool profile picture, I’d take out your cameras now.”
Eric rolled down the window and pulled the pin on the grenade. He released the safety lever, which stroked the primer, causing a flash of heat that ignited the delay timer inside. Two seconds later, he threw the MK3A2 and watched the long cylinder clunk into the sand. Two seconds after impact in the sand, the delay fuse struck the detonator, igniting the eight ounces of TNT. The explosion, which had a blast radius of three hundred feet, created a crater in the sand.
“WHOOOOA!” Emily and John said simultaneously.
While the explosion disoriented the buggies and slowed them down for a minute, they corrected their course and were back in pursuit. Eric pulled another grenade from his bag. Just then, the cruiser dipped into a trench, causing Eric to slam into the dashboard. His grip on the grenade loosened, causing the safety lever to be released, and it rolled to the floor.
“SHIT!” Eric said.
Three seconds passed before Eric grabbed the cylinder with his fingertips and tossed it out the cruiser’s window. The explosion that blasted behind them jerked the cruiser. Brooke strained against the steering wheel, struggling to keep them from swerving into a spin.
A solid ringing pierced Brooke’s ears. She managed to keep her foot on the gas, and she looked back to John and Emily, who were both covering their ears in the back seat. When she opened her mouth to check if they were okay, she couldn’t hear herself. Eric shook her shoulder, trying to tell her something, but all she could see was the movement of his lips.
“What?” Brooke asked.
The ringing waned. The words from Eric’s lips grew louder.
“Are you okay?”
Brooke nodded. Her grip on the wheel tightened. She checked the rearview mirror. The bandits were only forty yards behind now. Gunshots blasted, and Brooke could hear the distinct thump of bull
ets hitting the back of the cruiser.
Eric grabbed another MK3A2 and pulled the pin. He held the safety lever down. One of the buggies was coming up on the left. Just before they were in range, he released the safety lever and chucked the grenade right at their pursuers. The buggy tried to swerve out of the way, but it was too late. An eruption of metal, glass, and fire burst into the air as one of the bandits’ vehicles was destroyed.
When Brooke checked the mirror again, she saw that the rest of the gang had slowed. John, Emily, and Eric cheered. Eric and John exchanged high fives. Brooke let out a noise that was more relief than celebration.
“We’ll keep east to make sure they don’t try and make another run,” Brooke said.
“It’s always good to err on the side of caution,” Eric said.
“Caution? This is coming from the man who almost blew us sky high?”
“Hey, I wore the proper safety equipment,” he said, pointing to his goggles.
After another hour of maintaining their high speed and keeping east, Brooke slowed the cruiser to a more manageable forty miles per hour. With the bulk of New Mexico behind them, she breathed a little easier. They were only thirty minutes from the Texas border. Brooke continued to ease off the accelerator until the cruiser came to a complete stop.
“What’s wrong?” Eric asked.
“If we’re going to try and head north, then this is the time we should do it,” Brooke said.
“So what’s stopping us?”
“The gangs will be worse the farther north we go.”
Eric motioned his hands up and down, weighing the options.
“Gangs? Police? We’ve got a regular smorgasbord of shit sandwiches.”
If they headed north, they would waste fuel and face the possibility of running into marauders again. But she knew sneaking through the border near the south would be difficult. Once they made it into the States, there wasn’t any guarantee that they would still be able to purchase fuel. The bullet holes in the cruiser, along with all of their packed-down gear, would make them easy targets for law enforcement. Aside from water, fuel was the most important commodity right now.
“We’ll stay here till nightfall. Then we’ll continue east and cross in the south,” Brooke decided.
15
Daniel signed the papers to have his belongings released back to him when he left the jail. He passed thieves, prostitutes, and junkies on his way out of the police station. For the past two hours, he’d been locked up with the scum of humanity. Part of him believed it was where he belonged.
The sun was beginning to set in the west, and the city was bathed in an orange glow. He walked down the steps of the station and put his hand in the air to flag a taxi.
“Daniel,” Smith said.
When Daniel spun around and saw Smith standing behind him, he didn’t know how to react. He found himself calm. The anger from earlier had run its course. He just wasn’t sure if that was because he’d forgiven Smith or because of Jones’s deal.
“How are you feeling?” Smith asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Daniel, we need to talk.”
“I’m done talking.”
Daniel raised his hand again, and Smith came over and pulled it down. Daniel shoved Smith back, clenching his left hand into a fist and gritting his teeth.
“Don’t touch me again,” Daniel said.
Smith raised his hands in submission. “All right, okay. But, Daniel, you have to listen to me. What happened with Jones I…”
“What happened with Jones is done. Neither of us can undo it.”
“We still have a chance to do some real good here, Daniel. It’s not too late.”
A yellow taxi made its way down the road. Daniel whistled, and the car pulled up to the curb next to him. Daniel opened the door and put one leg in before turning around to Smith.
“I’m done borrowing time,” he said.
Daniel climbed into the back seat and slammed the door shut.
“Take me to Capitol Hill,” Daniel said.
Beth waited for Smith inside the car. When he climbed into the back seat with her, she could tell by the sullen expression on his face that the interaction with Daniel hadn’t gone well.
“Are you sure you still don’t want to press charges? If he ends up siding with Jones, it could do you some good to damage his credibility. We can get a story out in less than an hour, and it’ll be posted with the evening news,” Beth said.
“No. No story.”
“Then what do you want us to do?”
“We move forward without him. Get Dr. Carlson his supplies and start construction on the site. What are the time estimates of having the factory retooled to his specifications?”
“I found a contractor that can do it in a week. He comes very highly recommended.”
“That usually means he’s expensive. What’s the cost?”
“Ten million.”
“What?”
“It’s not a job a lot of people are lining up for, David. Whoever we go with is going to be expensive, so we might as well go with someone who will do the job right.”
“Transfer the rest of the campaign money to cover the cost.”
“Not planning on running next year?”
“If we can’t get fresh water flowing at a high volume and affordable rate, then my reelection campaign will be the least of our worries.”
After his fifth attempt at reaching Gallo, Jones smashed the phone on the floor. The force of the blow shattered the screen, and he finished the job by driving his heel right on top of it. He also tried getting in touch with Captain Ford on the USS Ronald Reagan but couldn’t reach him, either.
Jones kicked the broken pieces of the phone away like a child discarding a toy he was no longer interested in playing with. He slumped into his chair and rubbed his temples. He was in the dark. He had no way of knowing what Daniel and Smith were going to do. Gallo had gone rogue, and the vice president had yet to commit to Jones’s plan.
In less than a day, years of plans were unraveling. That’s all it took. The egos surrounding him were too bruised and prideful to see the bigger picture. Jones loathed the ego. It clouded a man’s ability and turned his ambition into a hell-howling beast. And right now, all of the beasts were rampaging through the world, tearing it apart.
If Gallo ended up attacking official U.S. troops, it would collapse everything he was trying to build. Jones knew that if the United States entered a full-fledge war with Mexico, they wouldn’t have the resources to capitalize on South America. And if he couldn’t pull the water resources from Brazil, then the U.S. economy would collapse within a year. They needed that water now.
“Congressman?” Ken asked. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Ken’s frail head disappeared and was replaced by the grim face of Daniel Hunter, whose younger face looked how Ken’s must have felt all of the time.
“Daniel, I’m glad you came to s—”
“Save it,” Daniel said.
The room fell quiet, with Daniel’s voice acting as the silencer. Jones became aware of how dark the room was. The sun had finally set, and the windows provided no light for the two of them. Jones’s desk lamp was the only illumination in the office.
“You’re one of the most despicable creatures I have ever laid my eyes on,” Daniel said.
Jones’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he tried to clear his throat. His mouth felt dry. He reached for a glass of water but instead knocked it over in his unintentional haste. Daniel’s surprise visit and the tone he was using threw Jones off guard. Jones was in unfamiliar territory. He was now the one with something to lose, but he didn’t know how much Daniel knew.
“You manipulate, lie, and cheat to accomplish whatever goal you decide is important. It’s not Congress’s decision or the president’s or the people’s. Just yours,” Daniel continued.
Jones replied, “I know you couldn’t care less what I think of you, Daniel. But I do know that you
r family’s perception of you carries a great deal of importance. How would they react to what you’ve done? How would they see you if they learn what happened?”
Daniel reached for the spilled glass on Jones’s desk. Jones leaned back, creating space between himself and Daniel. Daniel twirled the glass in his hand. The color of his fingers turned from a healthy tan to a dark purple from the pressure he applied.
Jones jolted back as Daniel smashed the glass on the edge of the desk, turning it into jagged pieces. Daniel held the bottom of the glass, which was still intact, and thrust the sharp edges at Jones, who recoiled. A drop of blood ran down the side of Daniel’s hand.
“If you ever speak about my family again, I will end you. Do you understand me? I will kill you without hesitation, fear, or regret,” Daniel said.
Jones grew smaller in his chair. His breaths were short. The collar of his dress shirt and jacket rose to his chin. He had the look of a turtle too frightened to come out of his shell to confront the predator threatening him.
“I understand,” Jones answered.
Daniel threw what was left of the glass against the wall. It exploded upon impact and sent another shower of sharp pieces across the floor. Daniel fell backward onto one of Jones’s couches and closed his eyes.
“Me and my family have immunity against whatever charges are filed. The Colombia case is buried, and my children never have to worry about money again. Understood?”
“I’ll have Ken draft the paperwork up right now.”
Smith and Edwards were parked in a car just outside the factory where Dr. Carlson’s equipment was being delivered. The two of them exchanged a few documents detailing the costs and materials used. The contractor had all the material he needed. Now Smith and Edwards were stuck with the worst job of all: waiting.
“What do you think Daniel will do?” Edwards asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“You really don’t think he’ll side with Jones, do you?”
“I think he’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep his family alive and well. And if he thinks siding with Jones will accomplish that, then it’s in the realm of possibility.”
