Southern Cross

by Jen Blood

  I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist. Reached for my Glock, waiting on the counter.

  Except that it wasn’t.

  Neither was my cell phone.

  I swallowed past the rush of distant thunder in my ears. “Juarez?” I called.

  No answer. The bathroom door was ajar, just as I’d left it. I pulled on shorts without bothering to dry off, biding my time.

  In the other room, I heard the door open and close softly.

  I pushed the bathroom door open all the way.

  The room was empty. Cameron’s folder was still on the bed. My dirty clothes were on a chair in the corner, right where I’d left them.

  My cell phone and gun were on the dresser now, though. I looked around the room. There was no one in sight. The steady pounding of my heart in my ears and the weak-kneed fear running through my veins reminded me that just because I couldn’t see them didn’t mean they were gone.

  I went to retrieve my gun and phone, still on the lookout for someone in hiding. There was no one, though. I saw no sign that anything had been taken, but it was obvious after a cursory look around that something had been left behind:

  A Latin cross in red lipstick, on the full length mirror mounted on the closet door.

  My heart stuttered. I picked up the Glock, then reached for my phone and hit number 1 on speed dial, already on my way out of the room. I’d pulled open the door a quarter of an inch, no more, before someone kicked it the rest of the way and pushed me back inside. He was well over six feet tall, in black from head to foot, with broad shoulders and a hard, lean body. I whirled with my gun raised, but a second man—this one built like a fire plug, short and hard and barrel-chested—came at me from behind. He smelled like cheap aftershave and sweat, and when I moved to take a swing at his buddy he hurled himself at me, drilling me back against the wall. The big guy jammed a needle into my neck, deep, and I heard myself shout as my knees went out from under me.

  The room swam.

  “Repent,” The Giant whispered to me. He smiled through his ski mask with gleaming white teeth.

  I fought harder, trying to keep my head above water. My gun was empty—I pulled the trigger and it clicked. They laughed. Fire Plug took the gun away and dropped it to the floor. I still had my cell phone… all I had to do was hit Send.

  The Giant took my phone before I ever got to the magic button, dropped it, and smashed it beneath his behemoth black boot. Then he pushed me down and followed me to the ground, where I swayed on hands and knees. I couldn’t feel my body. Couldn’t make sense of anything.

  “Your time has come, Daniel,” Fire Plug said. He knelt in front of me and looked me in the eye, still smiling. I thought of that summer at Barnel’s camp, at twelve years old. Water gushing over my head. The smell of sackcloth over my mouth and nose while I tried to get free. The sizzle of my flesh and the rush of searing pain as the world went dark.

  “Repent,” Fire Plug said, echoing The Giant. His voice was a million miles away, like the buzz of ants underground.

  “Fuck you,” I said. I slammed my head down on the bridge of his nose, then used his body for leverage to stand, my hands curled around his meaty shoulders as I pulled myself back to my feet. I stumbled, slamming against the wall as I tried to reach the door. It was like I was made of liquid, a store of molecules with no way to contain them. Nothing was working.

  The Giant caught me and pulled me back before I could get away. He was pissed—his hold tighter now, Fire Plug’s mask wet with blood. He wrapped his forearm around my neck and held on tight while I thrashed, gasping for air.

  My legs went out from under me again.

  Everything went bright white for an instant, and I thought of Solomon and of Danny and of Wyatt.

  I closed my eyes, and fell.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  SOLOMON

  09:00:42

  I woke at three o’clock, surprisingly refreshed considering I’d had an hour and a half of sleep in the past thirty-six. Juarez was already up and dressed.

  “What did Blaze have to say when you met with her?” I asked from the bed.

  He came in tying his tie and shook his head, both pups on his heels. Einstein hopped up on the bed without waiting for an invitation; Grace sat very politely on the floor.

  “She’ll brief us when we meet up. We’ve got another few minutes. I figured I’d hold off as long as I could.”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes, scanning the room for some sign of my underwear. Juarez found them under the bed and handed them to me with a sheepish grin.

  “Looking for these?”

  “As a matter of fact, I was,” I said. He kissed me lightly, then went back to the bathroom to finish dressing.

  “I already walked the dogs,” he said, raising his voice to be heard from the next room. “I know you usually like to…”

  “No, that’s good. Thanks. How long have you been up?”

  “Half hour, maybe,” he said. I got up and joined him. He stood in front of a full-length mirror mounted on the bathroom door, mangling his tie. I turned him toward me and pushed his hands away. I perfected the art of the Windsor knot with my father when I was a kid; being married to a stodgy professor for six years kept me in practice.

  Despite the domesticity of the scene, there was something off about Juarez again—a kind of coolness that was totally out of character for him. I started to call him on it, but there was a knock at the door. The dogs went nuts.

  “I’ll get it,” he said. Which was good, since I was standing there in his t-shirt and nothing more. I took care of business while he went into the other room. When he came back, I was just pulling my jeans on.

  “What is it now?” I asked over my shoulder. My hair was a catastrophe. “Locusts? Streets running with bile and viscera?” I turned when he didn’t answer. “Jack?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “What happened?” My adrenaline had already kicked in, just at the look on his face.

  “It’s Diggs—” he started.

  Those two words were all I needed. I ran from the room and up the stairs with Juarez and the dogs on my heels.

  I stopped at the head of the hallway. The world slipped out of focus. Private Abbott sat in the exact spot where I’d left him, his head tipped back against the wall. The only difference was the blood spilled across his shirtfront and the way his throat gaped open. I walked past him, slower now, and only stopped when I reached Diggs’ door.

  The room was in shambles: a full-length mirror shattered, a dresser overturned. His clothes were still on the chair, Cameron’s file on the bed.

  “How did they get in here?” I demanded when Juarez caught up to me. Buddy Holloway and half the National Guard were with him. “The place was supposed to be guarded—it’s like a friggin’ fortress here. How the hell did they get in?”

  “There’s another guard dead in the back,” Juarez said. “They came through that way—we were already stretched thin because another fire was called in about an hour ago, but we had the place covered. They knew exactly what they were doing: where our weak spots were, who was stationed where... The whole process of taking him was carried out with the precision of a military operation. We never thought they’d attempt something like this considering the police presence in the hotel.”

  “But they did,” I said. “Because getting Diggs was worth the risk.” My voice cracked. I thought of Diggs’ words after Wyatt’s funeral: I’m the one who got away. The only one who never bought into any of this… Of course Barnel would come for him.

  Einstein whined and followed me into Diggs’ room, sniffing at the glass on the floor. I pulled him back to keep him from getting cut. Grace stood in the doorway watching us, head and tail down. She wouldn’t cross the threshold.

  “Do we know how long ago they took him?” I asked.

  “Forty-five minutes, maybe,” Agent Keith said. I hadn’t even realized he was there.

  “We have people out there,
though,” I said. I was starting to feel unhinged. “Right? The National Guard is checking vehicles; there are eyes on every street corner. Someone must have seen something.”

  Juarez didn’t say anything. No one said anything.

  “What?” I finally demanded.

  “A woman reported two men in black loading a blond male into a truck. He was unconscious,” Juarez finally said.

  “Well—that’s good, then. When? Where did they go? Do we have someone following them?”

  Juarez looked ready to punch something. Buddy shifted uncomfortably.

  “It seems like maybe the call went to voicemail,” the deputy said. “We don’t have nobody answering phones right now… and with the electricity out and a cell tower down, communication’s not what it usually is.”

  “Right,” I said. “What with the end of the world and all. So, does anyone have anything at all? Any idea where they might have gone?”

  No one spoke. Juarez looked at me uneasily, as did everyone else in the room. I started to say something more when he noticed the file on Diggs’ bed and moved to pick it up. I grabbed it before he could.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “Just a story he’s—we’re working on,” I said. “It doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  I nodded. He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it for the moment.

  “So, what do we do next?” I asked. “Search houses? Bring in helicopters? Search and rescue?”

  “Maybe you should get dressed,” Juarez suggested gently. For the first time, I realized I was standing there in bare feet, blue jeans, and Juarez’s t-shirt. “And then we can take it from there.”

  06:40:09

  For the next three hours, nothing happened. I don’t mean to say no one did anything: they searched vehicles; ransacked houses; went through Barnel’s compound with a fine-tooth comb. Jessie Barnel was still unconscious. The kids who’d been rescued from the cellar didn’t seem to know anything about anything, except some loons in black had taken them into the woods, locked them in a cellar, and then played UNO with them until all hell broke loose and people started dying.

  We went back to Mae’s house, but it was deserted. I peered in the windows, searching for some sign of life. There was none. George was still gone, his bunnies staring listlessly out at us. I opened the cage and put more pellets in, checking to make sure they had enough water.

  The window was still broken out in George’s shed. I thought of Diggs in my arms as we rode to the hospital our first night in Justice, his hand in mine.

  “No one’s here,” Juarez said.

  “I know.”

  “They’re staying with Ashley. Do you want to talk to her?”

  I really didn’t. I had no idea what else to do, though. I was panicking, I knew—there were too many angles to the story, too many players, and only two possible outcomes:

  We either stopped this from happening at midnight, or we didn’t. Diggs lived, or he died. I took a deep breath.

  “Whenever Diggs and I are working on a story that seems too big, we take a step back and try to deconstruct the whole thing.”

  “Sounds like a good approach,” Juarez said. He sat on the front steps of George’s cabin and patted a spot beside him. “Where do we start?”

  I got out my pen and spiral notebook, something that never fails to amuse Juarez. He didn’t look amused today, though. I sat beside him and stared at the blank page in front of me.

  “Jessie said Reverend Barnel was going back to the beginning,” I began, thinking of her words during the standoff.

  Juarez nodded. “Yeah—Allie’s on that, actually. They have a transcript of the whole thing… we’re assuming he was talking about Billy Thomas and the murders in 1963, since Billy was the first victim who turned up with the inverted cross, and everything Barnel’s set up revolves around the fifty-year anniversary of his death.”

  “Billy took the girls while they were in city hall, right? And that would certainly be a public enough target—I mean, blowing up that place would be one hell of a statement, regardless of whether it’s full or empty.” I stopped. “Of course, now that Barnel’s taking all these people, I guess it doesn’t really matter whether the town’s been evacuated. He’s chosen the people he thinks should pay for their sins, and they’re the ones who’ll presumably die in this thing.”

  Jack lay his hand over mine, twisting our fingers together. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, too quickly. “I’m fine. I just want to find him.” I amended that at the look in his eye. “Them, I mean. Everyone.”

  He didn’t say anything, but I knew he was watching me. I felt like I was under a microscope since Diggs had been taken; like Juarez was analyzing my every reaction, and I had no idea how to reassure him that I was still his when the only thing I could seem to think of was the feel of Diggs’ body pressed to mine and his breath in my ear; the thousands of conversations we’d had over the years and the thousands more I’d always assumed we would have.

  “So… what about city hall?” I prompted again.

  “They’re already on it,” Juarez said patiently. “They’ve got bomb sniffing dogs going through the place, but so far no one’s found anything.”

  “Okay,” I said. “What about where Billy was born? Or the place where Barnel branded him?”

  “They’re looking at all of it,” Jack said with infinite patience. “They’ve got his file, baby. They’re going over Jessie Barnel’s transcript. They’re looking through everything at the compound.”

  “What about the dynamite?” I asked. “I mean, people don’t just give up that many explosives, right? Someone had to get them from somewhere.”

  “Everything was homemade—it’s easier to get hold of that stuff than something like C4. Fertilizer, household cleaners, found items… there’s no way to trace most of it.”

  “Well, that’s great,” I said. I pushed my notebook aside and stood. “I don’t understand where the hell everyone’s gone. It’s not like this is a huge place—how are all these people just vanishing right under our noses? You’d think we were trying to find Bin Laden, for Christ’s sake.”

  Jack picked up my notebook and pen and started writing.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “You said you and Diggs deconstruct, right? We haven’t really done that yet.”

  Right.

  I nodded and forced some air into my lungs. This was just another puzzle, I reminded myself. I was good at puzzles.

  “Okay, so… key players,” I said.

  “Jesup Barnel,” Juarez said immediately. I nodded. He wrote it down.

  “And whether or not Barnel had anything to do with their deaths, those first confirmed victims with the inverted crosses…”

  “Billy Thomas, Marty Reynolds, Wyatt Durham, and Roger Burkett,” Juarez said.

  I thought about that for a minute. “What do we know about Marty Reynolds?” I asked.

  “He was a bad guy who may or may not have killed his wife,” Juarez said promptly.

  “But I still don’t understand that,” I said. “There are two thousand, three hundred and eighty-six guys on Barnel’s list—and plenty of those guys have criminal records. Why Reynolds and no one else? Why no deaths from 1963 to 2002, then Reynolds gets axed and there’s not another victim for eleven years?”

  Juarez was looking at me strangely.

  “What?” I asked.

  “That’s a very specific number,” he said. “Twenty-three hundred and eighty-six. How did you know that?”

  “Diggs’ files,” I said carelessly. “He’s been keeping tabs on Barnel for years…” I stopped. I was an idiot.

  “These files—they’re on his computer?”

  “They are,” I agreed. “Back at the hotel.”

  Jack got on the horn to his people to tell them to grab Diggs’ computer. When he hung up, he came back over while I stare
d at George’s rabbits and tried to quell a growing sense of impending doom. He started to put his arms around me, but I shrugged away. There wasn’t time to sit around and be comforted—not when Diggs was missing and the clock was running down.

  “We should get back to HQ,” I said. “I’ve got a couple of ideas I want to check out.”

  <><><>

  06:02:10

  Command Central was buzzing when we got there: more troops, more equipment, more intensity. I walked down the school hallway to the dancing tiger on the wall and stood outside the war room for a minute, thinking of Diggs. He was still alive—I was sure of that. Barnel wanted us to know his victims, those sinners who’d strayed from his path to glory. He had something planned…

  I just didn’t know what it could be.

  Something big, we all assumed. Something to rock Justice to its foundation. Something that took him back to the beginning; back when it all went wrong.

  Blaze nodded me into the room, and I pushed those thoughts aside for the moment. She looked exhausted. Clearly, that three-hour nap she’d given the troops hadn’t extended to her.

  There was a place of honor waiting for me at the front of the room. Jack nodded at me and I sat, feeling strangely out of place without Diggs beside me. I spotted his laptop on a desk off to the side, with a computer tech tapping away on it. I bristled, thinking of how much Diggs would hate that. Blaze followed my gaze.

  “We’re having a hard time getting in there,” she said. “He has good security… and so far we haven’t been able to figure out his password.”

  I stood and went over. The computer tech was a woman, fifties to sixties, plump and blonde and efficient.

  “I’ve got it.”

  “You know the password?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” She wasn’t moving. “Just let me in there and I’ll get you what you need.”

  “We’ll need to scan the full hard drive,” she said.

  “Not without his permission, you won’t.”

  “You’re not authorized to work with our equipment.”