by James O'Neal
He had the others stay in place as he crept forward with his assault rifle off his shoulders and in his hands. It was a gas-powered motor. Like a motorcycle or other small engine. He took a few turns in the trail and then ducked into the high brush on one side.
Looking out over a clearing he saw a man riding a lightweight, tracked, all-terrain “Hyena” past a parked four-wheel-drive Ford that had the telltale sign of steam conversion: a huge water tank on the back. Johann had seen a few Hyenas near his house in the district. The large motorcyclelike vehicle used a heavy, single polymer track across both wheel hubs to roll over any obstacle. They cost a small fortune.
Three men sat on stools around a commercial fire pack under a tarp.
This was the Zoners advance party. Now the only question was how to deal with them.
The big owner of Hugo’s plopped into the chair across from Wilner and pulled off his dirty white cap.
He had a deep voice with an educated Spanish accent. “I have been here a long time. I’ve seen much change.”
“What’s your last name, Hugo?”
“Chavez.” He saw the look on the UPF cops’ faces. “I know, I know. I got the same name as the Hitler of South America. Believe me, it was just coincidence. I was born in Cuba. That’s one of the reasons I’m glad no one worries much about last names down here in the zone.”
Wilner leaned in and said, “Hugo, we’re looking for someone.”
“He must be a bad, bad man for the UPF to come into the Quarantine Zone.”
“He’s the worst. He’s a killer.”
“The one who stabs people in the neck?”
“Exactly.”
“Who is it?”
“We think he might be a guy named Janos Dadicek. You know who he is?”
“I know of the family. They been down here since the zone was established. There’s a whole pack of them.”
“Where?”
“Over by the Zone River somewhere. I wouldn’t serve one of them. They deal in people. Women get sold to different pimps and clubs. It’s men like that who caused the zone in the first place.”
Wilner nodded as he made a few notes. “Would you know him if you saw him?”
“I don’t know of anyone who’s actually seen Janos. We hear about him sometimes. Supposed to be tough. Heard he was in a bar fight a long time ago and took a knife in the chest and still killed a man.”
The more Wilner heard the more he realized that this had to be the man. And that he had to be a Simolit.
Wilner leaned back in the chair and glanced across the street. A man with an eye patch was staring at him.
Besslia said, “That a friend of yours?”
Wilner remembered him from the gang at North Miami city hall. “We had a run-in once.”
When Wilner stood up to walk toward the man he fled quickly around a corner. He wasn’t worth chasing right now. He’d see him again soon enough. Still Wilner was on guard knowing the man had some friends.
Mari Saltis sat at her desk and absently thumbed through some textbooks that had been proposed by a science teacher. They had been found at one of the closed public high schools but had never been used. They were at least twelve years old but still had the basic information right. She smiled at a chapter on global warming that had to be out-of-date by the time the book came out. Florida had already turned cooler by the time the book had been issued. If only the author could see the former Sunshine State now with its constant drizzle and midsixties year-around. It felt more like the older descriptions of Seattle. At least Seattle had not suffered much change. No terror attacks, no flood of refugees, the climate still lousy but at least normal.
Miami still had a livable atmosphere and a small population. There had been a bioplague camp in the heart of the city but the entire population of the camp had disappeared a few months earlier. No one had any clue where everyone had gone. It took local residents several months to build up the courage to check the camp and confirm their suspicions.
Now it was just another odd story from the Miami Quarantine Zone.
She looked up at a soft knock on her door. A smiling Tom Wilner made her heart race and her own smile spread across her face.
The tall policeman said, “Thought I’d surprise you.”
“This is a nice surprise.” She was across the room and embracing him before he could continue.
“Steve and I are looking for this guy Dadicek.”
“Any luck?”
“Not too much. We think he lives by the river. We’re gonna keep looking tomorrow. I thought I’d get to meet Leonard face-to-face.”
She shrugged. “I think he’s around somewhere.” She led him out by the hand and continued holding it as they checked the courtyard, his storage shack and then a few hallways.
Finally she said, “He must be out on some errands.” She stood on her toes and kissed him again. “Can you stay a while?”
“No, I have to get home to the kids. I’m gonna drop Steve at the UPF station then head home.”
She could see the disappointment on his face. She liked that he was sorry he had to leave. Even if he wanted to stay.
Leonard Hall slipped out from behind the storage cabinet he had placed in the main courtyard. It held the things he needed to tend to the plants in the open-air middle of the school. It also provided him with a handy hiding place. He often slipped into the indentation in the building’s wall and slid the cabinet back so he could have some peace and hear what people were really thinking.
Today he had used the secret room to avoid meeting the UPF detective face-to-face. He had turned the corner when he caught a glimpse of Mari and the tall cop walking hand in hand. He knew they’d end up back near her office when they didn’t find him. He slipped behind the cabinet and made himself comfortable. The main reason was to avoid the cop. But after a few minutes he realized they were talking as they walked down the hall. This little hole gave Leonard the ability to hear most everything said in the hallway. Like the famous whisper channels in the Capitol or New York’s Grand Central Station underground.
He heard the cop say he was going to the UPF station, then home.
After they had moved on Leonard popped back out into the hallway. If he hustled he could beat the cop back to the station, then follow him home. If things worked out he wouldn’t have to worry about the cop anymore.
The thought of his open neck excited Leonard and he allowed the buildup to begin.
THIRTY-THREE
Johann Halleck had made it clear to the other men that he wanted to go into the camp alone. No one else was to move from the safety of the brush. Victor knew his reasoning and used his influence to overcome the halfhearted protests. Only the Naples cop, Jim Sewell, really wanted to come with Johann.
“No, Jim. If something happens to me you’ll need to get them back and protect the settlement.”
Sewell understood and nodded, his bushy hair and mustache waving as he did.
Johann nodded, pulled his M-20 in close and slipped away into the thicker brush. He took his time working all the way around to the other side of the camp. If they did notice where he had come from, he didn’t want them to find his friends easily.
This sort of activity wasn’t new to Johann. Over his long life he had engaged in many human conflicts. He may not have been in quite as thick foliage, but he had engaged in ambushes and attacks against the Nazis. It was one of the few times the Hallecks and Simolits had ever worked together. It fostered in an era of more understanding and eventually led to the treaty that kept the families in relative peace even today.
These men he spied on now were no battle-tested Nazi veterans. These were bullies who had no regard for other people’s suffering and without the ability or courage to fight.
Now Johann edged closer until he was at the rear of the big truck. Three men stood unaware of his presence, watching the fourth man do simple stunts on the Hyena.
He waited until the motorcycle was at the far end of the clearing the
n made his move. He struck one man with the butt of his rifle, sending him to the ground unconscious. The other two men reacted quickly but not so fast that Johann couldn’t kick one man off his feet.
The third man fumbled for a weapon and ducked behind the hood of the truck.
Johann held up his rifle when he heard a shot from behind him and a searing pain in his back.
He turned to see the man he had kicked to the ground had somehow pulled a hidden revolver and fired twice before Johann could hit him with a burst of heavy caliber bullets.
The man’s chest erupted in blood and his arms went still at his side almost instantly.
As Johann turned to look for the other man, he realized the motorcycle was bearing down on him incredibly fast. He raised the rifle and got off a few rounds. The rider tumbled off onto the soggy grass but the bike kept rolling, striking Johann hard and knocking him into the truck with a loud thump.
As he lay, dazed on the ground, he saw his compatriots start to emerge from the brush across the clearing. He had told them to stay put but appreciated their concern for him.
A Zoner appeared at the rear of the truck with his pistol raised and pointed at Johann.
Johann stood to face the man, unconcerned about the small-caliber automatic.
Victor raced across the field, yelling, “Stop.”
His hair fanned out behind him and his own rifle raised at the assailant.
The rifle cracked and Johann felt a stab of pain in his arm. Victor had missed by four feet.
The next round struck the truck, a pinging sound that moved the man with the pistol back. The Zoner saw the advancing force and Johann standing with no apparent injuries, then dropped his pistol.
Panting and wheezing, the men from the settlement came to a stop near Johann.
Sewell came right to him and grabbed his arm, lifting it for inspection. Then he checked the bullet in Johann’s back.
“How are you still standing?” asked Sewell.
“They just grazed me.”
The man who they had captured said, “Bullshit.”
Tom Wilner held each of his children as he read a report from the interview with Janos Dadicek nearly fifty years ago. A Pompano detective named Kevin Butler had written the report after talking to Dadicek about the unsolved murder of Mary Harris. Even after all of the generations of cops that had come and gone Wilner could tell that Butler was one hell of a cop. He had already investigated a number of leads so he could push Dadicek in one direction or another if he had to.
The detective also had asked for a set of fingerprints and a DNA sample from Dadicek who was at the time a plumber for the horse track in the city.
Wilner set down the report and tried to picture where the Pompano harness track would have been located. He knew it had shut down long before he moved down here and thought it was part of the clearing project just west of the interstate. In an effort to cut down on vacant buildings and allow a good chance for native vegetation to return the state had bulldozed dozens of square miles in the district and the Northern Enclave. That was back when they thought people would start moving back to the state. It was little enticement. Then, after the New York blast that produced millions of refugees, the state realized that even people displaced by radiation wanted to move anywhere but Florida.
Many of the clearing projects had been abandoned halfway through. The Pompano project had been completed, which was why Wilner couldn’t even imagine where the track used to lay.
He read the report trying to get a feel for Dadicek. He knew that there was a lot that went on in the interview that wasn’t in print. That was probably the reason the interview wasn’t recorded.
It still made him wonder. Butler was obviously a sharp detective, his reports were thorough, he was dedicated. Why didn’t he ever arrest Dadicek? Had the shadowy man fled? Did he use his vast network of Simolit connections to hide? Or use them to have Detective Butler taken off the case? Wilner was starting to learn how conspiracies played into everyday life as he discovered more about the other species. The two separate families had multiplied over the years and spread to every nation.
Wilner set down the report. Tommy’s gentle snoring calmed him as did Emma’s arm flopped over his chest.
He looked up at the video screen on the wall across from his bed. He made a hand motion at the sensor and the screen came to life. Another hand motion lowered the volume to not disturb the kids.
The newscast reran every twenty minutes. This was the second or third story.
Footage showed the transplants settling in their new neighborhoods in the district. Wilner could see a few of the cops he knew sitting behind the scenes keeping an eye on everything. One woman was interviewed.
“I liked my house in Philadelphia but since I had only moved there in the last seven years they said I had to leave. My parents came to Florida years ago but left when it got crazy. I don’t see why we have to move somewhere we don’t want to go.”
Wilner nodded his agreement and mumbled, “You tell ’em, sister.”
He watched a few more minutes. One story told of a man planning to manufacture items for the approaching aliens to buy when they arrived. Although, like everyone else, he had never seen them, he said he had had a vision of what they looked like. He held up a sketch he had made of humanoid beings ten feet tall with long, seven-fingered hands.
Wilner was glad that guy lived in Texas where most of the nuts seemed to move nowadays.
He motioned the screen to shut down and let his mind wander as he felt his two most precious treasures snuggle in next to him.
Soon he started to drift off, then he heard a faint sound outside. It seemed to creep into his subconscious. It was a sixth sense he had picked up during his tour in the Second Iranian War. Once it had saved him from an infiltrator’s bomb. He had sensed someone nearby in a supposedly secure camp near Bandar Abbas. He investigated his feeling and surprised a young man planting a charge that would’ve killed him and his whole squad. He had managed to kick the man away from the bomb and later was congratulated when the man was executed by a firing squad nearby.
Despite the pats on the back, Wilner didn’t feel like a hero and wasn’t happy the man was dead. Even then he had started to think that they were really the intruders on the Iranian’s lands. He knew Iran had deserved some form of punishment for the way it had attacked neighboring Iraq and Israel. But the war had gone on three years with more than four million casualties.
The one Wilner had caught still weighed on his mind.
Now he sat up in his bed, the children slipping off to each side. He scrambled off the bed, glad he had fallen asleep with shorts and T-shirt on. He crouched, perfectly still and confirmed that he had heard someone outside. He thought about going for a gun he had secured high in his closet away from the children but wanted to keep track of the sound.
His heart raced as he slipped into the family room and determined that someone was out front, near his front door. He sidetracked into the kitchen and pulled a heavy utility knife from a drawer with other household tools.
He crept closer to the door, forming a quick plan in his head. He was a combat marine. He was trained to take action.
THIRTY-FOUR
Leonard Hall waited more than an hour before he parked his Honda and started on foot toward the cop’s house. He was very pleased with himself for how he had slipped out of the zone before Wilner and waited for him at the UPF station. Had he been alone instead of with the smaller cop, Leonard might have tried to take action there. But this way his anticipation had grown twofold in the ensuing hour.
He had followed the cop discreetly to this neighborhood and waited. He knew that few of the houses were occupied and he’d be able to figure out which one Detective Tom Wilner lived in. It turned out to be easier than he thought when, on his first slow pass through the neighborhood in his steam-converted Honda, he saw Wilner’s nice government-made hive sitting in the driveway.
He had driven back to this lit
tle park near a pond filled to overflowing with the constant cool drizzle. Leonard played with the gravity-fed German army surplus combat knife, turning it upside down, listening to the click of the blade falling in place. Then he pulled out the combat spike that had proven so effective in shutting down the human nervous system.
Finally, after allowing his mind to consider what was about to happen, he left the old car in the park and cut through bushes, sneaked behind houses and ended up across from Wilner’s house.
One thing he had not considered until that moment was what he would do if the children in the house saw him. Mari Saltis had not shut up about Wilner raising his children alone. Leonard would never hurt a child but he didn’t want to be identified either.
Then he had a thought. What if he brought them down to the zone to raise himself? His aunt might be of some help and she certainly wouldn’t turn away children.
Then he shook his head clear of thoughts like that.
First things first. Wilner had to die. Then he’d worry about anything that popped up.
Leonard crouched down when he heard a sound. It was his turn to be surprised.
Wilner stood to one side of the door with a kitchen knife in his right hand. The security system allowed a thumbprint to open the door from either side. He had to face the door to place his thumb in the small scanner and then wait as he heard the locks unclick inside the solid door. He knew that gave whoever was on the other side a warning but he was prepared too.
He yanked the door back and immediately saw a man’s shape. He paused a fraction of a second to assess who it was and saw a distinguished man in a nice all-weather coat that reached to his knees. The man didn’t move.
Wilner backed up a pace and stood straight. He looked down on the man by a few inches.
“Mr. Wilner?” asked the man.
Wilner nodded.
“I am Bejor Simolit and we need to talk.”
