Rebel Guns of Alpha Centauri (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 3)

by John Bowers

  “Reverend, if the man was involved in a kidnapping, then he’s committed a crime. The fact that you know his name, if you won’t tell me, makes you an accessory. And it makes your sister an accessory as well.”

  Wiest smiled, almost in relief.

  “I promised my sister I wouldn’t tell if I didn’t have to. But since you put it like that, I suppose I have to.”

  “Yes, I think you do. A man who kidnaps people shouldn’t be allowed to run around loose.”

  “I completely agree.”

  “So who is your sister married to?”

  Wiest hesitated, as if having second thoughts, then shrugged minutely.

  “Titus Groening.”

  As Nick logged off the call with Jeb Wiest he heard a siren coming, getting louder by the second, then it flashed past the police station with a shriek and began to fade in the distance. He turned to Carrie King with flushed features.

  “You can put the prisoner back in his cell,” he said. “I think I’m done with him for awhile.”

  King nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He grinned. “You’re still a deputy U.F. Marshal, aren’t you?”

  “I think so.”

  “How would you like to come with me on a kidnapping case?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “I’ll probably need Officer Dougherty, too, and Marshal Nelson. Do you know where the Kristoferson farm is located?”

  “Not exactly, but the ambulance crew does.”

  Nick looked blank. “The ambulance crew?”

  King nodded. “They’re on their way out there now. There’s been a shooting.”

  Nick’s blood turned cold. “Who got shot?”

  “I don’t know, the call just came in. One dead, one wounded.”

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her along with him as he headed for the door.

  “Forget the prisoner. Let’s go!”

  The Kristoferson farm – Alpha Centauri 2

  The ambulance was sitting in the mouth of the driveway to the Kristoferson farm when Nick and King arrived. They set down behind an old farm pickup and leaped out, running toward where paramedics were working on a woman. Nick knew instantly that it was Suzanne and his heart froze with fear. He arrived just as the medical team was lifting her onto a gurney, but all he saw was blood.

  “How is she?” he demanded breathlessly. “Is she alive?”

  One of the paramedics glanced at him. “Barely,” he grunted. “Sorry, Marshal, we’ve got to get going. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “I’m coming with you—”

  “No, you’re not. We need room to work.”

  They guided the gurney into a secure slot inside the ambulance and climbed in beside it. Before Nick could protest, the pilot was already spinning up the fans and the heavy vehicle was lifting off. Nick fell back as a cloud of dust boiled over him and watched the ambulance swing around for its high-speed run back to Trimmer Springs. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  Carrie King gripped his arm.

  “It’s okay, Marshal. We need to find out who did this.”

  Nick felt frozen. At the moment he didn’t care who had done it, he just wanted to be with Suzanne. Saving her life came first—finding the guilty party could wait.

  But he didn’t have that luxury. Enos Kristoferson, his three wives, and four of his children were milling about the scene like spectators at a country fair. Carrie King was already asking questions, and Enos was answering them without hesitation. Nick stood alone for a moment, fighting his numbness, when he felt small arms wrap around his waist. He looked down to see the little girl he’d met twice before—Parthena. She was gazing up at him with tear-filled eyes.

  “Nick, is Suzanne going to be okay?”

  Nick stared at her for a moment, then dropped to one knee. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. For just a moment he forgot his own anguish as he held her and slid his hand up and down her back.

  “She’ll be fine,” he said. “Do you know Suzanne?”

  Parthena nodded. “She’s my friend.”

  Nick closed his eyes and hugged the girl a little tighter, hot tears flowing down his own cheeks.

  “What happened to her?” he managed a moment later.

  Parthena pulled back, wiping her eyes. “Darius shot her.”

  “Darius!”

  Parthena nodded. “Papa was going to take her back to town, but Darius and his daddy came and Darius shot her.”

  Nick wiped his own eyes and took a deep breath to control his emotion. “Where is Darius now?”

  Parthena pointed. “Over there.”

  Nick followed her finger and his eyes widened. He stood suddenly and walked over to the boy lying beside the fence, face up, staring at nothing. He recognized him immediately.

  “Who killed Darius?” he asked quietly.

  “Papa did. Darius was going to shoot Suzanne again, so Papa killed him.”

  Nick knelt by the boy and felt his pulse, but he was only going through the motions—Darius was clearly dead. He looked at Parthena.

  “Where’s his daddy?”

  “I don’t know. Papa made him leave.”

  Nick gazed at the child for a moment, then smiled. “So you and Suzanne are friends?”

  Parthena nodded. “She’s nice. She talks funny, though.”

  In spite of himself, Nick grinned. “Yeah, she does. But it has a pretty sound, doesn’t it?”

  Carrie King walked over to him and Nick stood up again.

  “I think we’ve solved your kidnapping case,” King told him. “Suzanne was taken by Darius Groening and Dathan Billings, on the orders of Titus Groening.”

  “Billings! Are we talking about Elder Billings?”

  Parthena nodded. “He’s the one who brought Suzanne here. He and Darius.”

  “They brought her here for safekeeping,” King continued, “but Mr. Kristoferson wasn’t told of the plan until they arrived. He was taking her back to town when Titus and his son showed up and interrupted him. There was a fight and then the shooting started. I don’t have a clear picture of the exact sequence of events yet, but—”

  “That can wait,” Nick said. “Right now I need to go see Suzanne, and then I’m going after Titus and Billings. Are you up for that?”

  “You bet I am!”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Chapter 34

  Trimmer Springs – Alpha Centauri 2

  Suzanne was in surgery when Nick reached the hospital. No one could tell him anything except that her condition was critical and it would be several hours before a prognosis would be available. Feeling numb inside, Nick turned away, realizing that his best course of action was to catch the man responsible before anyone else got hurt. At least Suzanne had reached the hospital alive, which was something to be grateful for.

  He returned to the office and brought Nelson up to date. Nelson was stunned at the news and vowed to help Nick bring Titus Groening down. Together they went to work on arrest warrants, one for Titus Groening and another for Dathan Billings. It took a little over an hour to write up the applications, transmit them, and get signed warrants back from the magistrate in Lucaston. Nick printed them out and got to his feet.

  “Deputy King, here’s one for you and Officer Dougherty.” He gave Carrie King a copy of a signed warrant. “This is for Elder Billings. If you will pick him up I would appreciate it.” Nick had temporarily deputized Dougherty as well.

  “No problem, Marshal.” King scanned the document. “I know exactly where this address is. If he’s there, he’ll be in jail within the hour.”

  Nick nodded and the two city cops-cum-U.F. deputies went out the door. Nick turned to Nelson.

  “You and I get the big one. Titus Groening.”

  Nelson nodded and buckled his gunbelt. “Any idea where the son of a bitch is right now?”

  “No, but I know where he lives. We’ll start there.”

  They stepped out the front door of the marshal’s offi
ce and locked the door. Their hovercar was parked at the curb.

  “You wanna drive?” Nick asked.

  Nelson shook his head. “Shotgun,” he said.

  Nick walked around to the driver’s door, feeling a grim sense of dread. He would bring Titus in, but if Suzanne died it would mean little to him. In fact, if she died, his whole life would lose meaning. He paused with his hand on the car door, closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath. For just a moment he wished he believed in someone to pray to…

  His eyes popped open and he looked up—it wasn’t possible!

  Half a block away two pedestrians were also looking up, eyes wide with curiosity; even Nelson noticed it. “What the hell?” he muttered.

  It was coming fast, a rising shriek, a sound never to be forgotten. Nick’s instincts took over.

  “Get down!” he yelled, and hit the pavement.

  The shriek soared overhead, earsplitting, and hit the ground three blocks away. The explosion was deafening, the blast wave disturbing trees in the park. Amid the sound of shattering glass and flying debris, Nick heard someone screaming, and got to his feet in time to see a smoke cloud billowing above the roof of the marshal’s office. For just a moment he stood there, his mind refusing to work. Then he heard another one coming, and another.

  “Get in the car!” he yelled. He followed his own advice and jumped in, spinning up the turbine as quickly as he could. Nelson scrambled in beside him, shaken.

  “What the hell is going on!” he demanded. “What the fuck is that?”

  “Eighty millimeter,” Nick said. “Titus Groening just told us where to find him.”

  The Trimmer Plain – Alpha Centauri 2

  Nick set the hovercar down at the bend in the road where Carrie King had waited for him the day before. As he and Nelson got out of the vehicle, they could feel the muzzle blast of the artillery gun a few dozen yards away. It was firing straight over their heads, pumping out six or seven rounds every minute.

  Nick was sweating with tension—it had taken them almost fifteen minutes to get here from town; if that gun had been firing steadily all that time, Trimmer Springs must be a wreck by now. This was worse than the war—it was peacetime, the streets and buildings crowded with civilians. How many were dead already? How many would die each minute until he could silence that gun?

  “We’re in a deep shit here, Luther!” he panted as he pulled open the trunk. He tossed Nelson a rifle and grabbed a mine detector for himself. “There’s a minefield between us and that gun, so we have to be super careful.”

  “We’re not exactly overburdened with time,” Nelson pointed out.

  “I know, but if you blow off your foot, you won’t be much help, so stay behind me.”

  Nick led Luther through the stream to the trail on the other side. They turned left and plunged into the woods, down the trail past the burned-out trees and on through the minefield.

  “What’s this prick’s problem?” Luther gasped as they crouched in the tall grass. They had reached a point where they could see the muzzle flash each time the gun fired, and every shot made their ears ring.

  “Drusilla Downing told me he’s a little unhinged,” Nick said. “I think seeing his son killed this morning must have pushed him over the edge.”

  Nelson puffed his cheeks to slow his breathing and bleed off adrenaline.

  “What’s our plan of action?”

  “How are you with that rifle?”

  “Dead-eye.”

  “Okay. I’m gonna scan for mines, in case he planted some new ones since yesterday. You cover me. When we get close enough, we’ll try to arrest him, but if he refuses to surrender, take him down. We’ve got to stop those shells, and we’re way behind the clock.”

  “Got it.”

  Nick’s blood sang as he began crawling along the trail, pushing the mine detector in front of him. Sweat rolled down his face and his heart thumped madly. He was back in combat again, under fire, the old instincts taking over; the same coldness in his veins, the same throbbing in his temples. Fear. Not debilitating, but mobilizing fear—make every move count, no time for errors, don’t screw up.

  He worked the mine detector with a clarity that had been missing yesterday. Yesterday had been no pressure, but now the pressure was on, and he couldn’t afford a single mistake.

  The path was clear. No new mines. It took four minutes to reach the end of the trail, and they arrived at the treeline on the edge of the clearing where the munitions were stored. The gun was still firing, not more than twenty yards away. Nick and Nelson lay flat on the ground, inching forward on their elbows, and Nick peered through the light underbrush to locate their quarry.

  From a military perspective, the gun was a thing of beauty. It sat upright on its undercarriage, the barrel elevated slightly, recoiling with every shot, smoke streaming out the rear vents as the next round fed automatically. Nick saw two autoloaders attached to the breech, one on either side, and each time the gun fired the next round was fed in by a spring mechanism. The trick to operating it was to keep the autoloaders full, to avoid interruption of fire.

  Two men were feeding the autoloaders.

  Neither one was Titus Groening.

  * * *

  “Oh, Jesus Christ!” Nick whispered.

  “Who the fuck are those guys?” Nelson echoed.

  The ground was covered with spent shells, some still smoking; every couple of minutes one of the men would kick them clear to keep them from piling too high. Behind the gun, four rows of shells sat lined up and waiting; the men were using these to refill the autoloaders. Nick scanned the clearing to see if any more strangers were around, but didn’t see anyone. Possibly someone was in the underground bunker, but if so they were no immediate threat.

  As they watched, the gun pumped four more shells toward Trimmer Springs, each one capable of killing dozens of citizens. Nick realized they had no more time to reconnoiter—they had to move now. He laid the mine detector aside and reached for his left holster—screw the laser pistol, he wanted the .44. With a nod at Nelson, he stood abruptly and stepped into the clearing.

  “Freeze!” he yelled, but at that exact moment the gun fired again and drowned him out.

  The men had their backs turned and didn’t see him. Nick took advantage of the moment and dashed to within ten feet of the gun, Nelson at his side. When the two strangers turned back again they stopped cold and stared in surprise at the weapons pointed in their direction. Both were wearing military camo with the sleeves cut off; both were tattooed, goateed, shaven, and looked nothing like cult members.

  Mercenaries.

  Each man was holding an artillery shell, but when Nick motioned with his .44 they put them down, then stood waiting to see what would happen next. The gun fired again; Nick glanced at it—the autoloaders still held seven or eight rounds each, and he realized those would be heading to Trimmer Springs if he just stood there and did nothing. He swung back toward his prisoners.

  “Cease fire!” he shouted. “Turn that goddamn thing off!”

  One of the mercenaries grinned at him and extended his middle finger. Without hesitation, Nick triggered the .44 and blew his hand off; he stumbled back with a scream.

  The artillery piece fired again as Nick swung to face the second mercenary.

  “Cease…fire!” he gritted. The mercenary, looking pale, hurried forward and tripped the auto-fire mechanism, then stepped back with his hands in the air. Nick counted down the seconds to the next shell, but the gun didn’t fire again. He glanced at it and heaved a sigh of relief. It was a fine weapon if you were in a war…and if it was on your side. In this context it seemed hideous and sinister as hell.

  Nelson had the uninjured man on the ground now, searching him for weapons, and then placed him in E-cuffs. The other man, his right hand hanging in tatters, was sitting on his knees, holding his wrist with his good hand, howling in pain. Nick walked up to him and gazed coldly down, not the least bit sorry for shooting him.

  “Who th
e hell are you guys?” he demanded.

  The mercenary stared up at him with hollow eyes.

  “You fuck! You goddamn cowboy! Look at my hand!”

  “Want me to blow the other one off? Answer my question.”

  “Fuck you!”

  Nick swung the .44 in an arc that connected with the side of his face; the gun sight opened his cheek and blood streamed into his collar.

  “Wrong answer, asshole.”

  He jammed the pistol barrel against the mercenary’s throat.

  “Listen up, motherfucker! You just spent thirty minutes blowing the hell out of Trimmer Springs and killing God knows how many people, so I have no problem cutting off your ears, your nose, your fingers, and your dick to find out what I need to know. You start talking right fucking now or I’m going to dismantle you like a bug in a science lab.” He slammed his gun against the man’s head again. “Do I need to repeat any of this?”

  Gritting his teeth against the pain, the man was panting through his nose. Jerkily, he shook his head.

  “I talk,” he grunted. “I talk. You get doctor, I talk.”

  “Fuck the doctor. You probably blew up the hospital and killed all the doctors.” And maybe Suzanne as well. “You talk first and if I like your answers, I might let you live.”

  The man’s eyes bugged slightly.

  “You not kill. You Federation. Your law no kill.”

  Nick laughed. “Yeah, right. I’m Federation, and my law no kill.” He dropped to his knees and twisted his face into a snarl. “But here’s what you don’t get—” He poked the pistol into the man’s eye, pushing it hard enough to hurt. “You don’t live here. Nobody knows you are here. And you just did something that really pisses me off. So that puts me in charge, and I don’t give a flying fuck if you live or die.” He jammed the gun a little harder. “Do you get me, you filthy prick?”

  Again the man nodded. A few feet away, Nelson watched without comment.

  “What’s your name?” Nick demanded.

  “Pyotr.”

  Nick grimaced, feeling the familiar old hatred for an enemy on the battlefield.

  “Pee odor? Pee odor what, motherfucker? You don’t have a last name?”