Inception_The Bern Project

by M James Conway

  “Oh, c’mon, John. It all makes sense now. I was just in your room. I saw the pictures.” He turned to Morgan. “And I saw the cast. Just like the video showed of you guys leaving in the white car, most likely stolen, I’m assuming. Cute disguises, I might add.” He shook his head. “You guys murdered Ali Bugunolov and who knows who else? If the pictures are any indication, it’s quite a few, no?”

  “Now is not the time, Russell.” Morgan had his hands spread out and was inching forward, closing the distance between him and Russell.

  Russell shook his head. “Don’t even think about it, Morgan. Or –”

  “Or what?” Morgan interrupted. “You’re going to kill us?”

  Russell shook his head. “I’m not a killer.”

  “The Crush disagrees,” Morgan said.

  “Russell, he wasn’t innocent. I’m assuming you found out what he did?” John said.

  Russell nodded. “That still doesn’t excuse it.”

  “I’m sorry. Didn’t you shoot at The Crush? You’re obviously very capable of killing innocent people,” Morgan said.

  Russell looked at Morgan. “That’s different. They were trying to kill me!”

  Morgan laughed. “Oh, c’mon, Russell. Bugunolov was a child molester. You found that out, didn’t you?” Russell nodded.

  “Yeah, so we’re contract killers…”

  John interrupted. “Morgan! Shut it!”

  Morgan looked at John. “Why? What are they going to do, take us to jail? Read us our rights?” Morgan turned to Russell. “You better make a decision fast because time is wasting for us.”

  Russell didn’t move, but kept alternating the gun between each man.

  “Dad, what the hell are you doing?” Kat had walked out to the workshop, followed by Frankie and Helen.

  Russell looked to Kat and said, “Kat, get your things. We’re not staying.”

  “Why, what the hell is going on?” Helen asked.

  Russell nodded towards Morgan and John and said, “These two guys are cold-blooded killers.”

  “Well, we were being attacked, Russell. Those men on the bridge were trying to kill us!” Frankie said.

  “No, before that. Sims and I were investigating a murder that these men committed before all this went down. I found pictures in John’s room of the victim.”

  Frankie looked between John and Morgan, then said to Russell, “These guys? John and Morgan? Not possible, Russell.” He looked at John and Morgan. “Right?”

  John and Morgan remained quiet.

  “What happened to those guys that…” Kat had walked to the front of the workshop and looked in. “Oh, god…” She bent down and retched on the ground.

  Helen walked over to Kat and looked inside. She saw what was left of Redmond and Nitro. She put her hands to her mouth and gasped. “Dear god…” She turned to John and Morgan. “What the hell did you do?”

  “We got answers, is what the hell we did,” John said.

  Russell shook his head. “No. There is no we anymore.” He lowered his gun, a look of disgust on his face. “Sims, Kat, let’s go.”

  “Jesus, you guys are animals,” Kat said, and started following Sims to Frankie’s house. Russell started backing up, keeping John and Morgan in view, the gun resting at his side.

  “Frankie…Helen…I wish you luck with these two. Don’t trust them. I made that mistake.” Finally, Russell turned and followed Sims and Kat.

  Helen looked between John and Morgan and said, “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Where’s Boogie, Helen?” Morgan asked.

  “Why? Are you going to kill him too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Morgan!” John said, then turned to Helen. “Helen. Please. Think what you want, but we got what we needed from those men.” He nodded his head toward the workshop. “Boogie is one of them. That’s how they found out about us and how they found us here. We need to find him.”

  Frankie said, “Well, I have to admit I’m feeling a bit weird about all this, but considering all the shit that’s happened, I’m going to put that aside. Boogie was getting antsy and looked bored, so…I gave him a few rifles and sent him out hunting.” Frankie shook his head. “Christ, Cindy went with him. Is she in trouble? Did I just put her life in danger?”

  “They left? Where?” Morgan asked.

  “I have no idea. I’m assuming they went up that ways on those service roads to the east.”

  “Frankie, Helen, I’ll explain later, but right now we have to get out of here. More men are coming and we won’t be able to fight them off. There’s about twenty of them and they’ll have more firepower than us.”

  Helen closed her eyes and shook her head. “God, I’m so sick of this! Why did all this have to happen?” She started crying.

  John went to go put his arms around her, but she shrugged him off. “No! Don’t you touch me, John! You either, Morgan! God, I’m so disgusted with all this.” She turned and walked back to the house, sobbing.

  “Frankie…” John began to say.

  Frankie held up his hands. “Don’t, John. We’ll figure this out later. Let’s just…what, you said we have to go? What should we do?”

  John saw Sims, Russell and Kat walking away down the driveway away from them, the detectives with rifles slung over their shoulders. Good question. Where would they go? “I don’t know, but…the Scout is drivable. We should head as far east as possible.”

  Frankie shrugged and said, “Uh, yeah, I guess. I’ll uh…go get some stuff packed.” He turned and walked back towards his house without saying anything else, leaving John and Morgan by themselves.

  “Well, that went south quickly,” Morgan said.

  John didn’t answer. Instead, he just stared at the backs of the three as they walked down the driveway.

  * * *

  Boogie had no idea how far they had driven. He knew they’d been driving for a bit over an hour, having filled up the tank with gas from one of the gas cans. The road turned from pavement to gravel to dirt the farther they drove up the mountainside and started narrowing the further up they went.

  “Explain to me again why we have to do this now, babe?” Cindy asked.

  Boogie shrugged. “I don’t know. I just…felt like getting out of there. All the shit that’s been going on with Seattle, the zombies, the bridge, the tension with everyone. I just needed to clear my head and we need more food. I figure, let’s go hunting or fishing and see if we can’t find something. Besides, it’s beautiful country out here, isn’t it?”

  “God damned thick brush, though. Can’t see shit through the trees.”

  This was true. But the underbrush seemed to be thinning out the further up they went. Boogie continued driving and came up to a bend in the road. He navigated his Charger as best he could over the ever-increasing frequency of potholes. They came to a turnoff on the left with a sign telling them that it was the Middle Fork Campground.

  He took the turn and drove about a quarter of a mile before reaching a bare parking lot. He pulled into one of the slots in front a small rambler-like building, turned the car off and just sat there.

  “What are we doing, Boogie?”

  Boogie didn’t answer at first. He was contemplating all that had happened since they got to Seattle. What was supposed to be a fun road trip had turned into a hell he never would have imagined. Not to mention, he had helped to save lives on the freeway and was treated with distrust from the very men he helped save. But then again, he understood why. He was an outsider, an unknown. He couldn’t fault them for it, but since he’d done nothing since meeting them to warrant such treatment, he wondered why they were still here. Of course, he had reasons for staying and not wanting to go back to Texas, but that was a moot point. Finally, he turned to Cindy and said, “Tell ya what, baby. Let’s go for a hike and see if we can’t find ourselves a deer or something. Anything. Maybe go fishing? I know the river is just over the road to our right. Maybe we could get lucky?”

  Cindy shrugg
ed. “Okay. But it’s getting late and the sun will be down in a bit. How long do we want to be out here? I mean, I was helping Helen get ready for dinner when you came barging in, wanting to go all Davy Crockett on us.”

  Boogie opened the door and got out. “Why don’t I grab the poles out of the back seat? You get the rifles out of the trunk.”

  Boogie got out and grabbed the tackle box from behind his seat. He set it down and walked to the trunk to help Cindy. She handed him a .308 bolt action rifle and kept one for herself. She then grabbed her bag and patted the bulge on her waist. The Glock 19 was secured to her hip.

  They walked to the trailhead and took the trail eastbound under a natural canopy formed by several evergreen trees and ferns at the base, creating thick underbrush.

  “Such beautiful country out here, you know?” Boogie said.

  Cindy didn’t respond, but Boogie could hear her footsteps behind him.

  Boogie went to turn to her and felt it before he heard it. He was thrown forward and stretched his arms out to catch his fall, finding his hands were clawing at the air as he looked up. The air left his lungs and he tried to cry out, with just a small whimper escaping his lips. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and he found that he was choking. He struggled to turn to his right so he could cough and felt a glob of fluid leave his mouth.

  Blood.

  He looked back and saw a smoke trail leaving the barrel of a handgun held by Cindy.

  “I’m sorry, baby. Really, I am.” Cindy said it without emotion, her accent all but gone, startling Boogie.

  He tried to speak but that all he could do was move his mouth like a fish out of water. He held his hand up to her, his eyes wide open.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

  Boogie stared, his movements becoming slower, as his eyes remained open. He saw Cindy standing there, not moving. “Why? Please, help me!” He tried to talk but couldn’t find the energy. He saw a bright glow cloud his view, Cindy at the forefront. The glow became more intense, enveloping Cindy, until all he saw was bright light everywhere.

  Then everything went black.

  * * *

  “You go get Frankie and Helen, get them packed. Bare essentials. Don’t worry about water right now. We have the river and filtration packs. Grab medical supplies, some dried food, things that are needed and light in weight. We need –”

  “I know, John. You forget I lived in the Hindu Kush for months on end,” Morgan said.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Morgan trotted off to Frankie’s while John walked into his house. He entered his den and saw his desk in disarray, Morgan’s cast and the pictures of their contracts laid out on the surface of the desk like a tornado had flown through. His desk drawer was open and his keys lay right in the middle of the tray.

  That’s how they knew.

  Not a big deal now, with them gone.

  He grabbed the keys and ran to the floor door, unlocked it and took the steps down. He turned the light on, but there was no power.

  He snatched an LED flashlight and turned it on. He scanned the room and found his mountaineering packs on the floor. He scooped one up and threw a bunch of MREs and other dried foods inside. Next, he seized three AR-15s, an IWI Tavor, two .308 Winchester rifles and several Glocks and Springfield handguns – all nine millimeters – and threw them in another bag. Before closing it up, he threw in several spare mags for each gun and some ammo cans.

  He carried his bags up and set them on the den room floor and went back down. In his last two bags he loaded various small tools, the drugs they got from Bartell Drug, and medical kits, and threw the full backpacks up the steps onto the floor.

  John climbed out and stood in his den, looking for anything else they could use. He couldn’t find anything, so he left the room.

  Then he heard the faint and distant sound of engines coming from outside.

  He ran outside and saw Morgan, Frankie and Helen running as fast as Helen would let them toward his house. Each was carrying one full bag – though smaller than John’s – on their shoulders or back. Morgan had his rifle up and was pointing at the sky to the west, yelling, but John couldn’t hear him.

  “Get inside, now! They’re here!” Morgan was now within earshot. Frankie got to the porch, out of breath, and walked inside. Morgan stopped about twenty yards out and turned around. He walked backwards with his rifle up, scanning it left and right, covering Helen as she ran to the porch. She made it, and like Frankie, was out of breath. She staggered inside.

  Morgan got to the porch. John looked past him. He saw a growing light envelop the trees.

  Morgan grabbed John and pushed him back, but he kept looking over Morgan’s shoulder. The headlights had grown in intensity and several different beams of light hit the trees.

  Multiple vehicles.

  They sounded like SUVs or Humvees and were coming around the bend in their driveway, just visible through the trees.

  Just then, a loud chopping sound passed low overhead as a Blackhawk helicopter with red running lights flew over his house, kicking up dirt and gravel. The helicopter swung to the left and headed toward Frankie’s house. John was expecting it to land, but instead, it hovered about fifty feet in the air and the gunner let loose with a barrage of rounds from the fifty-caliber mounted machine gun onto their house.

  Sounds of rounds slapping into wood and windows breaking echoed across the field. Then three dark Humvees came down the driveway and headed to Frankie’s house while two more came barreling down the driveway towards John’s house, each loaded with men inside and one at each of the fifty-caliber mounted turrets.

  “Inside, John!” John was pulled back by Morgan, who slammed the door behind him. Morgan pushed and ran John into his den. “We have to go out the back!”

  John grabbed Frankie and Helen from the kitchen, and, with Morgan behind them, ran to the back door. As they got to the door, several smaller beams from flashlights circled into the backyard from both sides. Light was also shining over their shoulders as the men from outside ran towards the front, their lights coming through the windows.

  “We’re trapped, John. We have to fight this out! Take Frankie and Helen to the den and grab a rifle!” Morgan got down on one knee in the middle of the hallway and took aim at the front door. Odds were, the men at the back were a backup team while the men in front were the primary team. They weren’t stupid enough to both enter the house at the same time, find a threat in the middle, and start shooting toward each other.

  Crossfire was a killer.

  “No, I have a better idea. Follow me.” John followed Frankie and Helen inside with Morgan at their back. Morgan went to close the den door, but John said, “No. Leave it open. If they didn’t see us in here, they might not know where we are. Closing that door will make them think we’re hiding in here.”

  “Well, we kind of are, no?” Morgan had walked to the bedroom window and was looking out. “I count two armored Humvees, turrets manned. All four doors on both vehicles opened and empty. Possibly eight men. We can take them, I think.”

  John still had the floor door open. He threw the bags back down. “Inside, let’s go.” Frankie and Helen, both with flashlights, scurried down the stairs and disappeared. “Morgan, let’s – ”

  John was cut off by the sound of glass breaking in the living room, followed by the thumping sound of two small objects hitting the ground and rolling.

  “Flashbang!” Morgan yelled and John slammed the floor door shut to protect Frankie and Helen, then covered his ears, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth.

  The concussive explosion rattled John’s head. He shuffled his feet to keep his balance. He opened his eyes and saw Morgan running to him, miming for him to open the floor door. He did.

  John ran down and turned back to go close the door, but Morgan stopped and ran back up, grabbed a throw rug and draped it over the top of the door like a tarp. He walked down and let the door fall, with the rug resting on top.
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br />   “Good thinking,” John whispered. He used the light from Frankie’s LED flashlight to grab another one off the shelf. He flicked it on and turned it to the red light setting to minimize the light pollution. He motioned with his hand for Frankie and Helen to do the same, which they did.

  John held his finger up to his lips, telling everyone to be quiet. Frankie and Helen acknowledged by sitting down on one of the now bare benches. They held each other and Helen tried to take in deep breaths while Frankie rubbed her back, resting his head against hers.

  It broke John’s heart to see Helen this way, but nothing could be done about it right now. As long as they were quiet, they may survive this.

  Morgan stood with his head held askew so he could rest his ear against the bottom of the door, listening. He made eye contact with John and pointed to his ear.

  The creaking of wood could be heard, along with the breathing one hears from an adrenaline rush. A forced wheezing fueled by excitement came from the rooms and hallway above them.

  John joined Morgan and listened as best he could. He could make out the voices and the barely-audible dialogue going on between them.

  “Clear!”

  “Clear!”

  “Clear!”

  Each acknowledgment was given at a different volume, depending on which room they were in.

  “Check this shit out!” A man’s voice came from the area of John’s desk.

  “What the hell is all this?”

  “Dude thinks he’s some martial artist, huh?”

  “And a biker. Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of these guys. The Crush MC. Some wannabe Hell’s Angels or something. My brother was a member of Forasteros MC. Hated these guys.”

  “Forest Heroes? What, that some tree hugging shit?”

  “No, For-a-ster-os. Spanish for Outsiders. Anyways. Give our status.”

  There was some rustling heard and a man spoke. “Tango Four, green.”

  A mechanical voice sounded but was too faint to make out. One of the men continued, “Copy that. Hey, what’s up?”

  There was the sound of more footsteps coming into the room. Whoever it was didn’t respond, but John heard the sound of splashing coming from various parts of the room and other parts of the house.