Legacy of Evil

by Sharon Buchbinder

  Blinded by rage, Otterlegs missed the message the first time, so she had to re-do it, repeating her first call to the great one in Crow, not talking to Otterlegs directly in their native tongue, lest one of these lunatics actually spoke the language. The second time, a glimmer of recognition lit his eyes. He took a deep breath, shrugged, and nodded as if in surrender.

  Keeping a poker face, her heart danced with joy. He got it!

  “Tommy Otterlegs, I hereby sentence you to be dragged to death by horses.”

  A collective gasp of joy went up from the crowd of men. Cheers and shouts erupted. “Go get ’em Medicine Woman!” “Awesome!” A chant of “Kill, kill, kill!” rose to the sky.

  Sick to her stomach at the pure hatred pouring out of the mouths of those around her, she stomped over to the alpha mare and led her over to Otterlegs. As she walked she gave the horse instructions. When I tell you to go, don’t look back, just run. This gate is open. You will have to jump the metal gates. The mare, a beautiful blue roan that reminded her of Indigo so much that tears pricked her eyes, nodded. Then with crystal clarity, Emma saw the mare running in a field, prancing with a foal, and then being lassoed and dragged into a horse trailer, her youngster screaming for his mother. These same men in camouflage, the ones cheering for Otterlegs’ death, had taken her away from her baby and the life she loved as a wild horse. She was more than ready to extract her revenge on these monsters.

  Shaking her head to clear her vision, she led the mare over to Otterlegs. Shouting over the crowd’s jeers, she yelled, “Better start running, short stuff!” With one swift move, she yanked her hunting knife out of its sheath and sliced the bindings on his hands and feet. Leaning next to his head, she said, “Get ready, Tommy. Remember your Indian relay race days.” Then she tore the duct tape off his face, and he shrieked.

  The crowd went wild, jumping up and down, cheering at his pain.

  Eyes wide, Otterlegs grabbed a fistful of the mane and nodded at Emma.

  Without moving her lips, she shouted, Now you beautiful girl, run home to your foal, run free, and take your herd with you.

  Like a shot out of cannon, the mare screamed and flew toward the gate. Protecting their females, enormous stallions lined up along the fence, reared, kicked their legs and shrieked. The mob of bloodthirsty men fell off the fence railing like target practice beer cans. Kicking and stomping, the male horses managed to create panic and chaos, providing cover for the little running man and their alpha mare. Racing alongside the horse, Otterlegs got up to speed, threw his leg over the horse, and flattened himself along her back.

  Frozen in time, dust swirled and clogs of dirt floated around Emma in a vortex. Protected within the eye of the raging storm, not a single horse touched her. Hands at her side, mouth shut, she closed her eyes and screamed at the great beasts in her mind.

  Go, go, go! Run for your lives and don’t stop running until you get to the Crow Reservation.

  Chest resonating with the thunder of hundreds of hooves, she mentally urged the horses onward. Mind still connected with the alpha mare, she felt the weight of Otterlegs on her back, firm and strong. The metal gates came into view, and the mare didn’t falter. Two men screamed and leaped out of the way, racing to escape the herd. Raising her front legs, the mare cleared the bar easily. Behind and alongside her, the rest of the herd joined her one by one. Heart thundering, the alpha mare shot a thought back to Emma. Thank you. The tears Emma had not shed since arriving at the SS compound fell hot and wet and free, like the great beasts she treasured.

  Sounds began to penetrate her bubble of concentration as if from a distance. Blinking, she swiped at her face, as if dirt had flown into her eyes. The haze began to settle, and the cursing men dragged themselves out of the manure. Blood running down the side of his face, spittle flying, one of the manure and mud covered men stumbled over to her and shouted, “You bitch!” He lunged at her and grabbed her shoulder. Twisting, she ducked under his outstretched arm and placed the tip of her hunting knife at the base of his skull. Blood trickled to his collar, and he cursed using every vile name for women and Native Americans he knew.

  “You can walk away, or you can be a quadriplegic. Your call.”

  Hands up, he shrugged. “Hey, I was just kidding around. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

  She removed the blade. “Get going and don’t make me regret not killing you.”

  Bellowing, he whirled and reached for her throat—then stumbled backward as an ear-splitting blast rocked the ground.

  ****

  As Bronco turned toward the source of the explosion, fire shot out of the roof, and windows blew out—sending glass and metal flying across the tarmac. A truck parked next to the building flipped over and burst into flames. A series of explosions knocked holes in the sides of the building, and the sounds of rockets mixed with screams. It was as if the fourth of July was being celebrated using every firework in the country.

  “It’s the munitions storage,” his brother yelled over the din. “Keep that fire away from the other buildings.” Fists clenched, his body shook, and his head bobbed wildly. “We can’t lose my beautiful birds.”

  The men in black uniforms were gone, running for water pumps, Bronco presumed. He shouted, “Obergruppenführer, your men are working on the fire. Let me take you to safety.”

  Another explosion rocked the earth and both men stumbled against the jeep.

  “We’re under attack. This is war. I need to launch the predators.” He grabbed Bronco’s arm. A puzzled look crossed his face. He shook his head and shouted, “Take me to the birds.”

  “I’m not the man for the job,” Bronco shouted. “I don’t know what to do.”

  An ear-splitting explosion rocked the ground again.

  “No time to spare. I’ll take care of it. You just get me there.” The Obergruppenführer shook his head. “For a moment, you reminded me of my brother.”

  Bronco held his breath. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Not possible. He’s dead.” The Obergruppenführer pulled himself into the jeep. “Drive to the building at the end of the tarmac. You can’t miss it.”

  As he climbed into the driver’s seat, a flicker of movement in the rearview mirror caught his attention. He turned. Gaucho sat on the backseat. In his mouth was Beautiful’s medicine stick.

  How had that gotten here? Lucius would never let that thing out of his control unless—Bronco’s heart somersaulted. Dear Lord, was he dead?

  Gaucho shook his head and sent an image of Lucius slumped in a horse stall, hidden behind a blanket.

  Thank God.

  As he turned the engine over and put the jeep in gear, Emma hopped into the back seat. “Going somewhere without me, darling?” At his wide-eyed glance and significant look at the bobcat, she paled.

  “We have to get to the drones,” the Obergruppenführer said and tapped the floor with his cane for emphasis. “Move.”

  “I’ll get there as soon as we can get around the corral and past the barn, sir,” Bronco said in a rough voice. “Can’t go past the fire, could be more explosions.”

  Jouncing over rocks, mud, and smoking debris thrown from the ammo dump, Bronco headed away from the chaos.

  “Stop,” Emma shouted. “I need to pee.”

  “Get out, you stupid woman,” the Obergruppenführer snarled.

  Bronco hit the brakes, and his brother hit his head on the dashboard. “Sorry, sir.”

  “You idiot.” He backhanded Bronco.

  Despite the blood trickling from his nose and ire blossoming in his chest, Bronco bit his tongue.

  Grasping the Medicine stick, Emma and Gaucho leaped out of the jeep and headed into the barn. Bronco hit the gas and aimed for every pothole and rock pile he could see on the route to the hangar. Five miles away from the inferno blazing behind them, he slid to a stop in front of a sliding metal door. “We’re in front of a hangar.” He hopped out and went to the passenger side. “Would you like my assistance getting down?”

 
“Get out of my way.” The Obergruppenführer snapped, “I can get down on my own, you moron.”

  Hand gripping the side of the Jeep, he stepped down using his cane as a guide. Without hesitation, he stomped over to the door, and felt for the keypad. The SS leader tapped a code into a security panel and the door slid open. He shook his head and entered the cavernous space and Bronco followed.

  One dozen identical drones armed with AR15s awaited within, a flying squadron of death.

  Raising his hands, the Obergruppenführer exulted, “Behold my beautiful birds.”

  Tapping his way to the closest one, he stroked his hands along a wing. “My lovely raptors, you swoop down, raining death, destruction, and despair on those who wish to destroy me and anyone who believes in the new world order.” He kissed the machine. “My beautiful creation, soon you and your brothers will leave this shelter. Some may not return. Be strong. I am your father, and you are my true children.” He stepped aside. “Your time has come.”

  Bronco’s stomach roiled and bile rose in his throat. Jack, his twin brother, the kid who fought to protect him from bullies and even took beatings for his little brother, Brandon, was gone. In his place stood the monster his father had created. While hate, drugs, and torture had destroyed the boy, power and corruption had created the man known as the Obergruppenführer. After playing the criminal role for years, Bronco knew all too well how hard it was to come back from the brink of corruption and evil. But he had come back. Perhaps there was a vestige of goodness left in the monster before him. He had to try to reach his brother. But how?

  “Jack,” Bronco said in a soft voice. “You don’t want to do this.”

  Jerking upright from caressing the drone, the Obergruppenführer stared at Bronco with unseeing eyes. “No one calls me that, not even my wives.” He frowned. “Who are you?”

  “Your brother, Brandon.” He took a step closer to Jack. “The news about my death was a cover story.”

  Jack’s face twisted in disbelief. “That can’t be. My brother’s dead—murdered by the FBI.”

  Bronco shook his head and went with his gut. “When we were little, we were so close, we slept in the same bed. I called you Jackie. When I wanted to annoy you, I called you Jocko. Remember?”

  Eyes fixed on a point over Bronco’s head, Jack seemed lost for a moment. He shook his head as if to dispel a cloud of gnats. “Anyone could find that stuff out.”

  “Before we moved to Idaho, we had a dog. His name was Caesar. Dad told us he jumped out of the car window and ran away, but we knew better.” Was that a twitch of indecision on Jack’s face? He took a deep breath and pressed on. “But we still had the dog house—and the neighbor’s chickens built a nest and laid eggs in it—”

  “Mom said if she caught the chicken, she’d wring its neck and make soup,” Jack’s voice trailed off in a whisper.

  “You’d bring frogs into the house in your hand, then open it up under her nose while she was doing dishes—”

  Jack’s lips quirked. “She jumped so high, I thought she’d hit the ceiling.”

  “Yes! Remember the day the other neighbor’s cow got loose?” A warm flicker of hope crept into Bronco’s chest. “And stood in the middle of the road, blocking traffic?”

  A small smile creased Jack’s face. “Mom walked up to the cow—and a driver rolled his window down and said, ‘That’s a mad cow! Better get away!’”

  Bronco laughed. “Then she took the cow back to the pasture—”

  Jack’s face went flat, emotionless as a statue. “She’s dead, my mother is dead. Shot to death.”

  Jack turned his head away from Bronco. The flame of hope sputtered. The longer he kept him engaged, the more likely he was to change his mind. He had to keep him talking, get him back. He tried another tack. “You’re right, Jackie,” he said. “She is dead—but from cancer. Not from bullets. She died with your name on her lips. She never forgot you, never forgave herself for leaving you behind.” He choked up, barely able to speak. “She wanted me to tell you she loved you.”

  Jack slammed his fist on the side of the drone. “Bullshit. She left me behind to be beaten, abused, tortured”—his voice broke—“every time I cried for her, he beat me more.” He shook his head and tears flew off his face. “What kind of mother leaves her little boy behind? If she really loved me, she would have come back for me.”

  Bronco took another step closer to his twin to seize the moment. “She had no choice. Our father was an abusive monster. If she had gone back, he would have shot her—in front of you—to teach you a lesson.”

  “Oh, I got plenty of lessons.” Jack snorted. “Ever been water boarded, Brandon? How about being kept awake for days at a time? Starved? Left out in the desert to cook and freeze? Drugged with LSD, psilocybin, cocaine, and whatever other shit he could lay his hands on? What about sex education? Did you get a good one? Because I sure did. Every time he picked up another woman at a bar, he and his buddies raped her and made me watch. The only time he showed me any affection was when I kicked the shit out of other kids. That made him so proud.” Shoulders hitching with sobs, he said, “How could she leave me with him?”

  Heart sinking to his boots, Bronco grabbed Jack in a bear hug. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Gut wrenching sobs burst from Jack. Guilt rolled over Bronco in waves. He’d been safe, loved, cherished by his mother and stepfather. Jack had been dealt a horrifying life in hell. It wasn’t fair. No child deserved to be tortured like that, much less his brother, his blood. “I wish I could go back in time, fix things, but I can’t.”

  “I killed him, Brandon. When I was sixteen, I’d had enough. Made his assault rifle turn on him when he went out for target practice. Looked like a suicide. That twisted psychopath had no idea what he unleashed with his ‘experiments’. I have powers a man can only dream of.” He waved his hands over his face. “I’m blind, but I see with remote viewing. I can’t drive, but I can guide machines of death and destruction with telekinesis. No radio waves can jam me, no man made gadget can stop me. I am God. And it’s time to unleash my wrath.”

  Holding his brother in a bear hug, Bronco put his lips next to Jack’s ear.

  “You can stop this madness, Jack. I love you. Mother still loved you. Please, you have the power to disband this hate group, stop the madness—”

  “Stop? No, I’m going to go faster, my dear brother. You will pay.” Shoving Bronco away, Jack sneered. “You and all your friends who don’t see the real world. Did you really think you could love someone back to a so-called normal life?”

  “Yes, I do. My brother is in there, somewhere. I want him back.”

  Jack raised his hands and an electromagnetic pulse threw Bronco across the room. His head slammed into the metal wall. He slid to the floor and tried to catch his breath. Head throbbing, vision blurry, his brother’s voice came from the end of a dark, echoing well. He rolled to his side just as a drone hummed to life. “Hate rules, love drools, Brandon. Too bad you won’t live to see my reign of terror.”

  Another drone started, then another and another, until all twelve vibrated.

  For over two decades, Bronco had clung to his memories of childhood—ones colored and shaped by his love for his mother and brother. Once Jack had been the big brother everyone envied. No one messed with Brandon, or they’d have to deal with Jack. He’d been his best friend, confidant, and retreat from the horrors of his father’s tailspin into the cesspool of hate. When he found his brother, he hoped, no prayed, the void in his life left by losing Jack would be filled with the joy of their unexpected reunion. Instead, the hole in his heart was now an abyss of grief and despair. It wasn’t bad enough he’d lost his brother once. No, this was worse. Once the man before him had been a little boy full of fun and mischievousness. Now, he was a monster filled with evil.

  I must stop him. Bronco slid his hand down his leg to his ankle holster and his Glock 27. A wave of vertigo washed over him, and he closed his eyes.

  “I am the God of Hate,” Ja
ck shrieked and raised his hands. “And everyone will pay.”

  As if one hive unit, the drones began to roll toward the open bay door.

  “Go, my darlings, wipe out the seat of what passes for government in this state.” He clapped his hands and burst into maniacal laughter. “Spread your fire and brimstone, fill the streets with bullets and flames. Rain chaos, death, and destruction on my enemies!”

  I have to move. Can’t just sit here while he kills people.

  Grasping the hand grip, Bronco withdrew the gun from its hiding place and paused. Normally the weapon felt like a part of his hand—but now, it felt as if he was trying to lift a cinderblock with one finger. He dragged the Glock alongside his leg, keeping the weapon hidden. Even though Jack couldn’t see him, one of his loyal followers could pop in at any moment. Another wave of dizziness struck and he paused. The madman who had replaced his brother wavered in his vision, becoming two men, then merging back into one. A black aura with long oily tentacles stretched around Jack’s body, pulsing, growing larger with each moment.

  Focus.

  Lifting the weapon with both hands. Bronco exhaled a deep, slow breath, aimed down the sights of the barrel at the center of the dark mass, squeezed the trigger—and prayed.

  Jack flew backward into a drone, then slid down its side onto the concrete floor.

  Bronco pulled himself up on a metal work table and using his upper body strength rose from the floor with caution. The room wobbled and his legs shook. Was Jack dead? He hadn’t aimed to kill.

  “No, no, no,” he cried, “Jack, please, don’t die on me.” Staggering across the space, he threaded his way through the idling mechanical birds. A red blossom spread on his twin’s chest. Bronco fell to his knees. “No, God, no!” He pressed on the wound, hoping to staunch the bleeding. “Don’t leave me, Jack, please don’t leave me.”

  His brother didn’t move. Feeling for a pulse, he couldn’t believe Jack was gone. He hadn’t meant to kill him—just wound him, stop him from doing the unthinkable, attacking the capitol of Montana—and worse. He slid back on the cold concrete floor, covered his face with his hands and sobbed.