by Frank Klus
“I threatened to kill us all if he shot Sandy,” Chad said. “Just slit the driver’s throat and drive us off the road. I sized these guys up as amateurs. I knew the guy with the gun wouldn’t shoot. He looked like he never held a gun in his life. I made him hand over the gun to Sandy, then had them pull over right here.”
“What made you go with them in the first place?” Ray asked.
“This guy came to my car asking for help with their car. When I got there Sandy was there. They gave her another bullshit story. Look, more to the point. How in hell did these guys know about us? Did anything happen in the parking lot last night?”
Foote and Wrenn just looked at each other. “Yeah,” Foote said. Foote told Armstrong and the others what happened there. “There wasn’t anything we could do, but I should have told you about it.”
“And he didn’t put any tracker on Pamela’s car?” Armstrong said.
“No. I’m positive. What must have happened is that the guy called Colderon anyway.”
“No one would have answered,” Cassandra said.
“Then how do you explain the kidnapping?” Chad asked.
“More guys watching the rest stop,” Cassandra said.
“I’m not buying it. They would have tried to do the same thing as the kid at the motel. This required planning. They were waiting for us. They knew where we were going and when we’d get there.”
“I know what’s going on,” Ray said. They all looked at him. “I should have realized it. Casimir has done it before. He can have someone’s phone number forwarded to headquarters. If the motel guy called Colderon, he may very well have reached my brother.”
“If that’s true,” Armstrong said, “our killing Colderon didn’t do any good at all. Every place we might stop, there will be spies, all looking for a reward.”
“I have an idea,” volunteered Pamela. “I’m supposed to be the expert in navigating us to New America. Now I can finally earn my fee. All we have to do is get to my friend’s house in Idaho.”
“Is that the housekeeper you told me about before?” Eugene asked.
“Exactly! Her name is Jeanne. She was my grandfather’s housekeeper. I gave her some of my inheritance so she’d have a comfortable retirement. She lives in Midmountain, near the Snake River. It’s about five hundred miles from here, but only about two hundred miles or so from the border with New America.”
“That will mean one more fill-up,” Chad said. “What’s there, about three hundred miles from here?”
She checked her maps and found a small town in neutral territory. “All right, we’ll aim for there,” Chad said. “Everyone stick together. Stick to fifty miles an hour and ride the right lane. We have to make the gas last. No stopping at any more motels on the way. Anyone have any questions?”
No one did.
“All right, Pilgrims, saddle up!”
Chapter 22:
The Conqueror
The new pilgrims had been driving for about an hour when suddenly they heard the whistles of the Lightning Squad. They had triangulated Sandy, the last car in the queue. They all pulled over and watched in horror as the squad leader pulled Sandy from her car and forced her onto his bike. Armstrong called over to Pamela. “Are we in Squad territory?”
“No, Chad. This is neutral territory, but the police side with both paramilitary organizations. They won’t stand up to the Squad. The police are known to look the other way when they show up.”
Chad told Pamela and Eugene to get in the car and be prepared to drive out on Armstrong’s command. Eugene hesitated. “You too, Eugene,” he said. Then he turned to Ray, Cassandra, and his two sharpshooters. He said softly to them, “You guys still remember how to triangulate?” They all grinned. “Watch for my signal. Don’t make a move until you see it. Ray and Cassandra—you take lead point. Wrenn and Foote—you take midpoint. On my signal.”
The squad leader knew Armstrong was up to something, but not what. He turned to his pointmen and told them to be on their guard. Then he turned to Armstrong. “Now, where’s Eugene, Armstrong? That’s right. I know your name. I’ll betcha right now you kind of wished you’d killed those two yokels. I strapped a tracker to the ankle of one of those guys. We came and got them as soon as you left. We followed you the whole way.” The squad leader cackled, right along with the other two men.
Armstrong stood about fifty feet away, just in front of the forward pointman. He had a smirk on his face and cocked his head a bit. “Well, it seems that you have an advantage over me. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
The squad leader gleaned his yellowish rotting teeth, looking behind him to the trailing pointman, and then back up to Armstrong. “Pizzaro’s the name. Just like the conqueror.” His pointmen just guffawed. They sat comfortably on their bikes; their weapons sitting on their laps. Armstrong stood empty-handed in front of Pizzaro and about twenty feet in front of the forward pointman.
“Guess you’re probably saying to yourself, ‘but I didn’t see any bikes.’” More laughter. “We had the bikes in a van. We passed you a short while ago and got the bikes out. Then surprised the girl. Now, down to some business. Where’s Eugene?”
“Hand over Sandy, first,” Armstrong said, calmly.
Pizzaro smiled at him. “You’re in no position to make demands.” Then he looked around, grinning. He looked at his men, sitting comfortably on their bikes, rifles out, and hands on the trigger. Then he looked at unarmed Armstrong standing in the open, and the scared faces of those still in the car. “I could cut you down right where you stand.”
“Your men should have you on suicide watch.”
Pizzaro enjoyed that one, flashing his decayed teeth while squealing wheels moved into place. He didn’t know what was happening at first, but Armstrong gladly informed him. “You’ve been triangulated, Mr. Conqueror.”
Pizzaro wasn’t grinning. He was positively angry. He climbed off his bike abruptly, grabbing Sandy brusquely, holding her tight to his chest.
“What’s your plan, Armstrong? You shoot, you might hit the girl. Even if you miss her, my boys won’t. She’s a honey, isn’t she?” He caressed her breasts.
“Cut it out, Pizzaro. She’s more woman than you could ever handle.” Pizzaro’s men began howling.
“You want me to stop? Get me Eugene.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Suit yourself, Armstrong. The longer you take, the more fun for me.” Once again, his men laughed. Then he turned to them. “Anyone want to see a live sex act right here by the side of the road?” His pointmen shouted and yelled, “Do it, Sevi.”
Pizzaro just stared at Armstrong, flashing those rotting teeth as he grabbed the inside of Sandy’s left leg. Then he rubbed all the way up to her crotch. She looked up, her face red and angry.
“Stop!” cried Armstrong. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m getting ready to fuck the bitch.”
Armstrong wasn’t sure what to do. His men could easily take them out but Sandy would probably die. If there was any doubt Pizzaro flashed a blade and put it at her throat.
“Get me Eugene.”
“All right, but put the knife away.”
Pizzaro just grinned. “Okay.”
Armstrong walked back to Pamela’s car. “Where’s Eugene?”
“I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. He took the Berretta you gave him from the glove compartment, and got out of the car. Then he ran into the woods. I don’t know what he’s planning. He didn’t say anything to me about it.”
“Damn. That fool wants to play hero. Christ, what a mess now. There’s no telling what that creep will do if I don’t come back with Eugene.”
“You mean you’d trade Gene for Sandy? What kind of deal is that?”
“Not trade. I won’t do that. I need to stall for time. My men will take those guys out when they can get a clear shot and when they can be assured of Sandy’s safety.”
“How will they know when she’s safe?”
“I can’t answer that. They’re pros. They’ll know.”
“What’s the holdup, Armstrong? You planning something? Of course you are. Well we got plans too.”
Armstrong came back to the spot he occupied before, sans Eugene Sulke. “He’s gone. I don’t know where he went.”
“He ran into the woods,” his rear pointman said.
“Ohhhhh, he wants to be a hero, methinks.” He turned around and his men were howling. “Is that true, Eugene?” turning to the woods. “You want to play hero? Rescue the señora? Well, now’s your chance. Come over here and tell me to stop fucking with her, and I will. All you have to do is come here and tell me to stop.”
“I don’t think he wants you to stop,” the forward pointman said. The other pointman laughed again.
“That true, Eugene? You want me to continue?”
“Hey, boss,” from the rear pointman, “maybe you should let him see her tits.” The guffawing continued.
“That right, Gene? You just want to see some titties?” He reached around Sandy and ripped open her shirt. With his knife he cut off her bra and exposed her breasts. He turned her toward the woods. “There you go, Genie, my man. Take a gander at those gazongas.” He grabbed hold of her left breast and began fondling and shaking it. “How’s that Genie, my man? You’ve been dreaming of these tits haven’t you? Come on over here and have a taste.” He paused, looking at his men, grinning. “What’s that? You want me to taste them first?” The men howled again. Armstrong had no choice but to watch and wait for his opportunity.
Pizzaro put his hot breath in Sandy’s face. His breath reeked. Sandy fought back anger and tears. Pizzaro put his mouth over the nipple and suckled it.
“Ahhhh! Oh, Genie, you got to taste this. Just like the fine wine you like to drink.”
Eugene was only about ten feet from Sandy, hiding behind a tree. He knew what was going on, and he was determined to stop it. He tucked the Beretta in his pants while he tried to think of a plan. He kept picturing Catherine at Jaydin Casimir’s hands—helpless, and he, clueless. Not this time, though. This time he knew exactly what was going on, and he was determined that this time the guy would lose.
“Stop it!” Eugene heard himself yelling. It was a futile plea and he knew it. It was a threat that he expected to die executing; yet he knew there was no turning back.
“Oh, you want me to stop?” The men laughed.
“Well, just come on over here, and tell me to stop. I promise I will.” Pizzaro paused. “I’m not hearing anything from you, Gene. I don’t hear the crunching of dead leaves or some twigs on the ground. No, I don’t think you’re coming. If not, then I guess I should continue.”
“Do her, Sevi,” the rear pointman yelled.
“You want me to do her, Genie my man? Is that what you’re waiting for?” He reached around her waist and unbuttoned her jeans. He pulled down her zipper and put his hands under her pants, pulling them down to the knees. Then, with his right hand, he put the knife right over her panties and slid the dull side of the blade down slowly to her crotch; then turned it over to the sharp side, and held it there.
Sandy was doing her best to fight back the tears welling up inside her.
I have to be calm, my opportunity will come, she thought.
Then, suddenly, Pizzaro grabbed the panties and pulled them down. He then turned Sandy toward the woods. “Hey, Gene—get a gander of that twat will you.” The men continued laughing. The sharpshooters’ trigger fingers were getting itchy.
“You like that, Gene? What’s that you say? Too much pubic hair? Spoils the view?” Pizzaro and his men laughed.
“Hey, boss,” the forward pointman said, “I think he’s taking pictures back there.”
The other pointman spoke up. “Sevi, I think he wants a better view.”
“You want a better view, Genie? Oh, sure, I understand.” He turned Sandy toward the road. There were occasional honks from the passing cars, but still no police. Pizzaro bent Sandy over with her butt facing Eugene. Then he spanked her a couple times to the howling men. “Get a good look at that twat, Genie. How do ya like it now?” Pizzaro looked up like he was showing off his new trophy. Then he reached down and grabbed her vagina, rubbing it. “Just getting it ready for my big cock.”
“Leave her alone!” came the mournful scream from the woods.
“You know what to do,” Pizzaro said, not hollering, but softly, as if he were too busy contemplating his anticipated adventure. He then turned Sandy around so her behind faced him. Then he undid his own pants and pulled everything down.
Eugene saw what was happening, and he was about to surrender himself, then stopped. He looked at Pizzaro with his pants down and saw an opportunity.
Pizzaro grabbed Sandy’s left hand and forced it on his penis. “How does that feel, babe? You like it? You want daddy Sevi to do you now, huh?”
His two buddies were really whooping it up now. There was an occasional shout from the traffic. One guy even stopped for a better look, but a warning shot from one of the Blues let him know to move on.
Pizzaro rubbed Sandy’s vagina again and then shoved his cock into her; hard, brutal; with a desire to inflict pain. Then in and out, in and out, again and again. Sandy stuck a clenched fist in her mouth. She did not want to cry out.
All at once Pizzaro stopped to raise his arms in triumph; turning around to his men, who continued to howl. He never even noticed Eugene speeding out of the woods, grabbing Sandy and, while lifting her off the ground, headed back to the woods. In the roughly two seconds this happened both pointmen lie dead, and a surprised and stunned Pizzaro stared at a 9-millimeter Berretta pointed at him…then lowered. Before he had a chance to react he felt a sharp sting. When he looked down, there was just a red patch where his privies used to be. He stared at Armstrong, pointing the Beretta at him; then everything went black as he collapsed to the dirt and gravel at the side of the road.
Armstrong rushed into the woods where he found Gene and Sandy arm in arm. Sandy was still exposed, and when she realized it, Armstrong and Eugene turned away while she pulled her pants back up and folded her arms around her breasts. Armstrong came out of the woods. Pamela rushed over as did Ray and Cassandra from the rear point. The two Blues sharpshooters, Wrenn and Foote, drove across the roadway to this side of the road and came out. They all clapped and smiled as the three came out of the woods, and everyone crowded together.
“Well, Eugene,” Armstrong said, “a bit reckless, but well-done.”
“Gene, you scared me so,” Pamela said.
Then Sandy scolded him. “What were you thinking, Gene? You could have been killed.”
Gene retorted, “Maybe I’ve seen the Blues in action too much, but I knew they needed separation between you and Pizzaro. I figured we’d both be killed if something didn’t happen.”
Wrenn and Foote came over, each with grins on their faces. Then Wrenn spoke. “That was awesome, dude. Where’d you learn to do that?”
They all started laughing. Even Pamela cracked a grin. Finally, all the emotion that Sandy held back during her time of shame and humiliation came pouring out of her in raptures of sorrow and relief. Tears streamed down her face, while Pamela put Sandra’s shirt back on. She tucked it in, and even though everyone showed her great support, part of her was ready to run in shame. Then came the realization that they were in full view of witnesses with three dead bodies around them. “We need to get out of here now,” Armstrong said.
“Sandy, you stay in the middle. You take the lead, Pamela, and I’ll follow you. Wrenn, Foote, and the O’Reilly’s—you trail behind. No one is going to get the drop on any one of us again. All right, people—we got one fueling stop and then strait to Midmountain, Idaho.”
Chapter 23:
Another One Flees
Horace Hayfield was being harassed by the parents of the children he treated. It seemed the little tykes were waking up in the middle of the night screaming, and talking about sticks touching them
, and hurting. It didn’t make too much sense to the parents at first, but after the Miller family took their youngster to a child psychologist, they believed there was a connection with Hayfield’s camp. After several other families revealed their children were having nightmares, the police were called in to question Hayfield. Since this threatened to unravel everything the government was doing with the brain probe, the investigation was terminated, and it became a civil affair in which Hayfield was being sued by the parents.
For Hayfield, the problem was only just beginning. When the Commandant’s wife went missing after having nightmares and yelling her first husband’s name in her sleep—the husband she wasn’t supposed to remember anymore—Hayfield knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be killed by government agents—probably by Jaydan Casimir. He knew Eugene Sulke was being hunted down and he knew how badly the government wanted this whole Brain Probe Project to be covered up. So Horace made the decision to flee.
The issue for Hayfield was how to get away. He was able to get a work visa in New America and he had an exit visa stamped on his passport. He tried to schedule a flight to New America only to be told all flights there were canceled. Then he tried to take a bus there, but all trips to New America had been canceled. It appeared that driving was the only way to get there. So he gathered his essentials, put his house up for sale, and took off in his two year old Mercedes for the New World.
He took Rte. 80 westward and moved up the coastal highway, which went into New America. About a mile from the border the highway closed at the last exit ramp just short of the border. All the side roads into the new state of North California were closed—sometimes only a block or so from the border.
“The border is sealed,” the guard said. “No one gets in or out on orders from the President.”
Hayfield spent about a month trying to find an access point. He rented a motorboat and tried to enter North California from the sea, only to be turned back by the Coast Guard. Then he heard about a small airport where a pilot had taken other people to Portland, Oregon. They paid a thousand dollar fee to the Piper Air Club, which provided tours of New America as seen from the air. Before the restrictions that began three years ago, they used to land businessmen there to conduct their trade.
