Nothing he and his men couldn’t handle.
Extracting himself from the bush, he snuck back down to where Tomlinson and Milligan waited, then drew them in as he described what he saw, all the while watching the bridge above them. Just as he was finishing his report, a man’s head, torso, and the top of the AR-15 he held against his shoulder appeared near the bridge’s edge. Without looking in Jeffries’s direction (though he wouldn’t have seen the Marine even if he had), the man reached up, pulled a nearly-expended cigarette from his mouth and flicked over the side of the bridge without bothering to extinguish it.
The man’s actions gave Jeffries an idea. Motioning for the other men to follow him, he made his way over to the area the cigarette had landed in and then glanced up towards the bridge, then towards the bridge’s underpass. Moving further underneath the bridge to hide them from view, he brought the other two men closer and used a low voice to communicate his plan.
Watching from the shaded area beneath the overpass, Jeffries, Tomlinson, and Milligan waited patiently as they heard the man muttering angrily while he walked to the edge of the bridge, then stepped off the pavement and onto the shoulder. Moving noisily through the underbrush, he worked his way towards where the pillar of smoke rose up into the afternoon sky, cursing the whole time.
“Stupid fuckin’ leaves,” the man said after nearly slipping when he stepped over a log. Arriving at the source of the smoke, he raised his foot as he prepared to stomp out the flames, then paused and looked past the smoldering fire, taking in the sight of a path of crushed bushes and flattened shrubs that led to the water’s edge. “What the hell?”
As the man cocked his head in confusion, Corporal Tomlinson rose up from the bushes behind him. Gliding forward silently, he brought his right arm around the man’s neck, cutting off oxygen as he clamped his gloved left hand tightly over the man’s mouth. He quickly dragged the man underneath the bridge, maintaining his steel-like grip until the man’s consciousness faded.
Moving past him, Staff Sergeant Jeffries and Corporal Milligan tossed a large, sixty pound rock down onto the path. It rolled downward heavily before dropping into the river, creating a loud splash.
“What was that?” A voice called out from the bridge above them.
Glancing at Tomlinson, Jeffries saw that the Marine had already finished gagging the man and binding his arms and legs. Catching Tomlinson’s eye, he gave him a thumbs up.
“Shit!” The voice above them yelled. “I think Billy Ray fell in da river!”
“What?” Another man’s voice responded. Heavy footsteps followed as several men rushed to the edge of the bridge to look down towards the river.
The first man cursed. “Fuck! Billy cain’t swim!”
“I know!” the other man responded.
“Shit! Looks like he musta slipped!” Another man added.
“Goddamn! Let’s go help him!” The first man shouted. “Timmy, stay here!”
Jeffries turned to Tomlinson and nodded.
The man disappeared into the bushes silently.
Three minutes later, four additional men had been disarmed at gunpoint, knowing better than to try their luck against the Marines that had appeared like ghosts out of the bushes around them. They were quickly bound, gagged, and seated in the area beneath the bridge.
Not long after, the last man was marched into the space as well, where he quietly submitted while avoiding eye contact, though he had no more reason to be embarrassed than anyone else in the group.
Looking down at the six men, Jeffries quickly identified their leader as the man who’d been dozing in the back of one of the trucks, a shiny, new one that didn’t have plates and had likely been stolen after the outbreak. The man had a medium build and a tan that covered his arms, neck, face, and little else. The man’s cut off sleeves revealed a pale, flabby midsection. His dark eyes were small and set into his face, and his dark brown hair had been cut into a mullet while thick brown moustache covered the man’s upper lip.
Stopping in front of the man, Jeffries glared at him while he shook his head and pointed up at the road.
“That there is messed up,” he said, simply. “People are trying to get to safety, and you’re molesting them.”
The man protested loudly behind his gag, grunting as he shook his head.
“Not that kind of molesting, jerkwad. I meant the general term of molesting, as in harassing people aggressively. We’ve heard about what’s been going on, and it’s…” he shook his head again for emphasis, “really messed up.”
Looking over his shoulder, he nodded at Tomlinson and Milligan. “Do it.”
The men walked to the edge of the river and began tossing the men’s weapons into the water. The bound men grunted, groaned, and whimpered in protest, but the Marines didn’t stop until every weapon had been deposited in the watery depths of the fast moving river, including the random pocket knives some of the men carried.
“Done, Staff Sergeant,” Tomlinson said, as he and Milligan walked back to where the Marine stood.
Jeffries nodded. “Good job.” Holding up the numerous sets of keys he’d taken from the men, he continued to stare at the seated men as he said, “Alright. We’re gonna go up and move the vehicles off the road as well; clear that fuckin’ roadblock. When we’re done, we’ll leave two of the trucks close by with the keys in the bed.” Looking around the area, he added, “I’m sure you’ll find something around here to help you get out of those bonds.
“But let me make something perfectly clear: when we get to the OKC Protective Zone, we’re going to recommend recurring route checks of freeways and major highways. We find you all here again, it won’t go well. Why? Because you’ll be expecting us, and you’ll think you’re ready for us. You’ll think you can put up a good fight.” He scoffed. “You might even think you can win, but you’d be wrong.”
Thinking back to their encounter in Tennessee, he shook his head and repeated himself. “You’d be very, very wrong.”
Turning away from the seated men, he walked a few steps away, pulled out his radio, and told the others to bring the vehicles forward. When he was done, he looked at his squad members. “You two stay and keep an eye on these guys. If they try anything, deal with it. Non lethal means only, got it?” Raising a finger, he pointed at them each in turn. “Nothing more unless your life is in danger.” Looking over his shoulder, he shook his head. “There’s been enough bloodshed.” With that, he turned and walked up the embankment and onto the freeway.
After he left, Tomlinson and Milligan found seats across from where the men sat. Sitting down, they placed their rifles across their laps and watched the six prisoners. Reaching into his pocket, Corporal Milligan took out his pack of cigarettes, withdrew one, and lit it.
As the two of them sat and watched the bound men, they heard the sounds of the two Humvees approaching, followed by talking. A few seconds later, they heard the vehicles on the bridge being moved.
Sitting next to Milligan, Tomlinson looked over at the bound and gagged men. Their leader was leaning back against the embankment casually. He looked completely relaxed, unworried about the predicament he was in and seemingly unfazed by the Marines’ presence.
Feeling Tomlinson’s gaze on him, the man looked over and scoffed through the cloth that had been wrapped around his head to cover his mouth.
“What’s your deal?” Tomlinson asked, leaning forward.
The man smiled behind his gag, then mumbled something through it before shaking his head. When he was done, he looked at Tomlinson with pure contempt.
“This motherfucker…” Tomlinson muttered, as he stood up.
“What’re you doing, man?” Milligan asked.
“Guy’s got something to say,” he replied, as he moved forward. “I’m willing to listen.” Reaching out, he roughly worked the cloth away from the man’s mouth, jerking the man’s head back and forth as he did.
“Easy there, boy.”
“You son of a bitch…”
<
br /> The man’s smile evaporated instantly. “Watch it there, boy. You’re lucky you ain’t been strung up yet. Remember: you’re talking to a White man.”
“And?”
“And you better show me some damn respect.”
“Yeah? Or what?” Tomlinson asked, stepping back and lifting his chin defiantly.
“Take these ropes off me and you’ll see,” the man suggested.
Tomlinson hesitated as he considered the man’s idea. He’d have little trouble pummeling the pudgy redneck.
“Negative.” Milligan answered, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stomping on it. Pushing past Tomlinson, he pointed his finger at the man’s face. “Listen, fucker. You’re a piece of shit, and you’re lucky we didn’t put a fuckin’ bullet in your goddamn ass already. You keep fuckin’ around and I may not be allowed to put that bullet there, but I can damn sure plant my fuckin’ boot in your ass.”
“Whatever,” the man said, looking away. After a moment, he sat forward and looked back at Milligan. His eyes narrowed as he spoke. “Why you stickin’ up for a goddamn nigger, anyway?”
“You motherfucker,” Tomlinson growled, moving forward. Before he could fight past his fellow Marine, Milligan’s boot flashed out, slamming into the man’s chest. The man’s torso was thrown backwards, slamming into the slope of the embankment and knocking the wind out of him. Around him, his friends objected through their gags as the man groaned and heaved as he tried to catch his breath.
Milligan turned to glare at the other men.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
They did.
Stepping forward, Milligan yanked the man’s gag back up and over his mouth.
A second later, Jeffries’s voice called out from above.
“Devil dogs! Let’s roll out!”
Allowing Milligan to lead the way, Tomlinson fell in behind him. Glancing back at the six bound men, he saw them staring daggers at him.
Raising his left hand, he showed them his middle finger.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
McLean, Texas
Day 4
Looking at the low, single story building with its faded aqua-colored metal roof, Specialist Lisa Zhang shook her head. “Well, this place has seen better days.” Sitting in front of each room’s parking lot-facing window, metal chairs with wicker backing bracketed small metal tables. Atop each table, an ashtray sat, most with old, smashed cigarette butts in them. In front of several rooms the tables and chairs had been knocked to the ground as a result of some violent struggle, but it seemed as if whatever had occurred had been limited to the northwest end of the building.
“Looks like the Stagecoach Inn hasn’t been updated since the last stagecoach came through,” Simmons remarked wryly.
“Hmmph,” Nicholson grunted. “Still would be better than sleeping in sleeping bags on mats.”
“Hey,” Zhang interjected. “If this works out, we may not need mats, but I’ll still be in my sleeping bag. This place looks like it’s been used, if you know what I mean.”
“I hear ya,” Nicholson replied, nodding. Looking in his mirror, he saw the Stryker and the second Humvee waiting out near the road. Once they received the signal, the two vehicles would join them. Taking a breath, he said, “Alright, let’s get this place cleared. Rod - ”
“- stay on the fifty?” Rodriguez asked.
“Nah. Give Simmons a turn.”
“Yes!” Simmons said, grinning.
“Ah, Sarge…”
“Let’s go, Specialist.”
“Alright,” the man said, sliding down from the mount. Looking at Simmons, he grinned. “Now, when you get up there, be sure to adjust the seat height, then check that the sight is aligned - “
“I know how to use it, jackass,” Simmons replied, punching him in the arm. “Just ‘cause you’ve been hogging it the entire time doesn’t mean no one else knows how to handle it.”
Grabbing his M-4, he smiled at her slyly. “It’s all yours. Take good care of it.”
“Don’t worry, I will. I’m familiar with handling large weapons, thanks to you,” she replied, biting her lip as she looked back at him seductively.
“Jesus Christ, you two, get a room,” Zhang said, rolling her eyes.
“Sounds like exactly what we’re trying to do,” Rodriguez replied, moving past her to join Nicholson.
“Gross.” Checking her rifle quickly to make sure it was loaded and ready, she followed the two men.
“Let’s do this,” Nicholson said, leading the way. Pointing towards the building, he said, “Alright, we’ll clear the office, then clear the guest rooms.”
“Same number of rooms?” Rodriguez asked.
“Yes. Six,” Nicholson replied. Serrano would stay with Doctor Reed, Logan with Isabella. The two Marines would take a room, then Zhang and Simmons, Nicholson and Rodriguez, and finally, Sergeant Mason would be with Paul and Long.
“You’re seriously not gonna let me and Simmons bunk together?” Rodriguez asked.
“No. I’m not. This ain’t a goddamn vacation. It ain’t ‘fun time.’ When we get to OKC, you two can find some private time on your own. Until then, this is a mission. Every minute of every day. No screwing around, and I mean that both figuratively and literally.”
“Alright…” Rodriguez relented.
Inside the Stryker, Logan looked over at Jonathan. The other man rolled his eyes, leaned his head back against the thin padding of the head rest and exhaled. At his feet, Steight was alert, standing and facing the small figure to his right. With its head lowered and tail down, the German Shepherd looked as fed up as the two men were.
“I don’t like you, and I don’t see why we need to spend so much time worrying about your safety.” Long stated, eyeing Isabella.
The young girl glared back at him, seething. She’d managed to ignore the boy’s racist comments for the first day and a half, but over the last two, she’d clearly heard enough. “I don’t care if you like me, and I don’t care what you think. The PRESIDENT asked me to do this, so I’m doing it. If you don’t like it, I can ask them to let you stay here when we leave in the morning.”
Undeterred, the boy lifted his chin defiantly. “There must be a mistake. Someone must have lied to the President, otherwise she wouldn’t want you.”
Reaching down to pick up her toy, she held up the President Martinez action figure. “You do realize she’s Mexican, just like I am, right?”
“Pfft,” the boy replied, scoffing. “That’s why she cheated to win.”
“That’s not true!” Isabella shouted in anger.
Logan nodded. “Yeah, kid, that whole thing about Democrats ‘stealing the election’ was proven to be false.”
“Nuh unh,” the Vietnames boy protested. “The news channel my father used to watch had experts talking about it all the time.”
“That doesn’t make it true,” Isabella replied, shaking her head. Turning the doll towards her, she admired it openly, smiling happily. “And she’s a great president.”
The next few seconds were a blur.
“She’s the worst!” the boy yelled, before suddenly lunging forward to smack the doll out of the girl’s hand. The doll flew across the interior of the vehicle, smacking against the back of one of the Stryker’s interior equipment cages.
Before it had a chance to hit the floor, Steight had already lunged forward, latching onto the boy’s arm with her teeth and applying pressure as she emitted a low growl.
The boy screamed. Panicking, he pulled his arm back, causing Steight to clamp down harder. Fortunately for the boy, the dog still hadn’t applied enough pressure to break the skin on his arm, but she wasn’t letting go, either. Her growl intensified as she set her paws firmly on the interior deck of the vehicle, bracing herself.
“Steight, let go!” Isabella cried.
Reed swung in his seat to grab the boy’s upper arm, immobilizing it.
“Let go of me, goddammit!” Long yelled, bringing his free hand up to hit R
eed in his shoulder. The boy began pounding his fist against Reed’s muscled shoulder, but his efforts were barely registered by the Doctor.
“Stop pulling.” Reed commanded, before explaining to the boy. “If you keep pulling, she’ll continue to increase pressure.”
Whimpering in fear, the boy froze as tears formed in his eyes.
Bringing his hand down, Jonathan stroked the dog’s head. “Easy girl. It’s okay,” he said softly. Petting the dog softly, he said, “Let go, girl.”
Clearly reluctant, the dog’s eyes met his, seemingly pleading with him.
Reed shook his head.
Whimpering softly, Steight finally released her grip on the boy, allowing him to slowly pull his arm away.
The instant it was clear, the boy got up from his seat and backed away from the dog until his back was against the rear door of the armored vehicle. Grabbing his left forearm with his right hand, he covered the points where the dog’s teeth had gripped him while his face scrunched up. Tears began forming in his eyes as he stared back at Steight.
“Stupid dog.”
Steight lowered her head as she stared back at the boy. A low, steady growl emanated from her throat.
“Easy girl,” Reed repeated, continuing to stroke the dog’s head. She whined in response, then moved over slightly so that she was squarely between the boy and Isabella.
Getting up from his seat, Logan stared down at the boy for a long moment, his tan, weathered face hardened with irritation. His dark eyes bore into the boy as he spoke, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”
Still holding his arm, the boy glared back at him in anger. “She’s not that special!” he spat.
“You know what? She is to me. That’s all that fuckin’ matters, you insolent little punk.” Turning away, he stepped across the small interior space of the Stryker vehicle and picked up the action figure. When he turned back, he handed it to Isabella as he looked back at Long. “Do something like that again and you’ll be running alongside this vehicle instead of riding in it, you hear me?”
Surviving Rage | Book 5 Page 26