Legion

by Robert Swartwood

  Gritting my own teeth, I kick one last time with my other foot, my free foot, right at the man’s face.

  The satisfying crunch of bone, and at once he lets go of me.

  Scrambling away, I run straight for the truck. The door is still open, and I jump up inside. Pressing the clutch again, turning the key, the engine rumbles to life once more and I steer the truck toward sunlight.

  seventy-two

  Zach lay on the concrete floor, staring at the ceiling, choking on his own blood. Somewhere beyond him, the truck’s engine faded as it headed up the drive, John Smith taking the children to safety—assuming, of course, the state trooper wasn’t waiting for them out by the highway, or someone else Tyson called as a second line of defense.

  His nose was broken. His ribs were cracked. He was feeling weak. Might as well give up now. Just lay here and wait for the end. It would come in less than four minutes. It would be quick. A drone somewhere in the area, one with a missile locked on this building’s coordinates. That’s all it would take. One second the missile would be in the air, the next it would be in the building, and boom: goodbye, world.

  But no—fuck that. He wasn’t ready to die just yet.

  Tilting his head, coughing up blood, Zach attempted to sit up. It wasn’t easy, but he had learned long ago that nothing in life was easy. He turned his wrist, just enough to see the face of the watch. One hundred twenty seconds left. He could do this. He could. Zach knew he could. He just had to ... move.

  He clenched his teeth against the pain, just as he had been taught. He reminded himself that there was no pain, because there wasn’t any pain. No, of course there wasn’t. No pain, no pain at all, and he managed to sit up, bring up his knees, climb to his feet. Before he knew it, then, he was stumbling toward the garage door, holding his ribs, shuffling forward and trying not to close his eyes. Seconds later sunlight hit him and he smelled smoke and gasoline.

  Someone was shouting his name.

  Pausing, turning, he saw Matheson’s car flipped over onto its roof, still on fire. Hogan was halfway through the broken passenger window, trying to climb out.

  Zach glanced at the wristwatch.

  One hundred seconds left.

  Ninety-nine seconds.

  Ninety-eight seconds.

  Zach started toward Hogan. He fell to his knees beside the car, all too aware that the flames might cause the car to explode at any moment.

  “My leg,” Hogan said, his face scrunched up in pain. “It’s stuck on something.”

  Zach lowered his head and peered inside. The driver—Matheson’s driver—was dead, secured behind the steering wheel, already half charred. Hogan’s pants had also caught on fire, but most of the fire had died out.

  Hogan’s foot was secured in the webbing of the safety belt. In Hogan’s mad rush to escape the fire and possible explosion, he had managed to tangle himself.

  “Hold still,” Zach shouted. He leaned in, pushing past Hogan’s bulk, and loosened the safety belt holding Hogan in place. Then he was leaning out, just as Hogan was crawling out, climbing to his feet, and then they were running, away from the building, heading toward the trees, and Zach glanced at his watch at the same moment the numbers turned to all zeros and the building behind them exploded.

  The blast, even at over two hundred yards away, was enough to send them both sprawling forward. Hogan went right into the trunk of a tree. Zach tripped over a root and hit the ground. They didn’t move for the longest time. Then, slowly, they turned back to see the flames and the black smoke billowing toward the sky.

  Hogan groaned in pain, touching his forehead that was wet with blood. “Wonder how they’re going to cover this up.”

  Zach used the support of a low-hanging branch to pull himself to his feet. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone. The screen was cracked. He tried powering it on anyway but it wouldn’t respond.

  “Your phone working?”

  Hogan dug in his pocket. Then he dug in his other pocket. “Shit,” he said, struggling to his feet, “I must have lost it when the RPG hit us.”

  “RPG?”

  Hogan shrugged.

  Zach said, “Let’s move.”

  They moved. It would be another half hour before they made it out to the other side of the woods. It would be another ten minutes before they found a phone and Zach got in contact with Tyson. It would be another minute before he learned the aggravating news that John Smith had managed to slip their surveillance; even satellites had lost them. That the state trooper Tyson had sent as a second line of defense had even been shot and killed. But all of that was in the future. For now, the two men walked through the woods, away from the destruction, neither one speaking, until finally Zach couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

  “So,” he said, spitting a gob of blood at the ground, “tell me more about this FBI agent.”

  epilogue

  They arrived in two minivans, John driving the one, Ashley the other. It had taken them a full day of driving, after having abandoned the U-Haul back in the city. They had already planned ahead for such a crisis, knowing that there was a very good chance they would be watched from the sky. And so they took the U-Haul into a parking garage, where the two minivans were waiting, and it was into these that they made their escape, leaving from two separate exits, making one circuitous route after another before they were convinced they weren’t being followed. And so then it was time to stop, get the children food, and continue on their way, through Maryland, through Pennsylvania, to a town just outside of Erie.

  The house itself wasn’t so much a house as it was a mansion. Three stories tall, over fifty rooms, made completely of stone, perched on nearly twenty acres of woodland. A sign beside the drive leading back to the mansion exclaimed ST. NICHOLAS HOME FOR CHILDREN.

  They parked in front of the main entrance. Off in the distance, children in gray uniforms played a game, two nuns in habits watching them.

  Ashley told the children to wait. They just stared back at her. She wasn’t sure if any of them could understand her. Hardly any of them had spoken this entire time. It was almost like they didn’t know how.

  Up ahead, John exited his van. Ashley opened her door and stepped out. The air was fresh and smelled of pine trees.

  John forced a smile. “Ready for this?”

  “I could go for a cigarette.”

  “That’s probably not a good idea. The nuns might frown on smoking.”

  “I’m not even Catholic.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Are you sure this will work?”

  “This is where Eli told me to bring the surrogates. I figure it’ll work just as well for the kids. Didn’t you see the sign out along the road?”

  The main entrance doors opened then, and two nuns stepped outside and descended the steps. One looked to be in her fifties, the other in her thirties. It was the older one who spoke.

  “May we help you?”

  “Yes, hi,” John said, clasping his hands behind his back. “My name is John Smith. This is Ashley Walker. We were hoping to speak with Sister Catherine.”

  At once, the expressions the women wore—natural smiles—faded, and their eyes turned sorrowful.

  “Regrettably,” the older nun said, “Sister Catherine passed away three years ago. I’m Sister Sara. This is Sister Anne. How may we help you?”

  Ashley watched John from the corner of her eye, as he assessed the situation. This certainly threw a wrench into the plan.

  When the silence ensued for more than a few seconds, Sister Sara asked, “How did you know Sister Catherine?”

  “I didn’t,” John said. “But I knew someone who did. His name was Eli Craig.”

  The younger nun’s expression didn’t change, but the older one’s did. Ashley watched her eyes, waiting to see a reaction, and there one was, first alarm before quickly becoming guarded.

  “Sister Anne,” the older nun said, “please give us a minute.”

  The younger nun didn’t
look like she wanted to leave, but she nodded without a word and headed up the steps, disappearing inside.

  “Eli Craig,” Sister Sara said slowly. “Has he”—her gaze drifted momentarily to the vans—“sent us something?”

  “You could say that. The thing is, the situation we’re in, it’s not exactly ideal.”

  John had brought his hands out from behind his back, and Sister Sara immediately spotted the bruising on his knuckles.

  “I’m sure it’s not,” she said simply.

  John exchanged an uneasy glance with Ashley. He asked, “Did we make a mistake in coming here?”

  The nun didn’t answer for a long time. Then she sighed. “No, you did not. I met Eli once, nearly twenty years ago. It was the last time he came here. He brought us four babies. After he left, Sister Catherine told me about him. She was vague about many of the details, but she made it sound like it was a ... dangerous situation.”

  John said, “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “We don’t want trouble here, you realize.”

  “We understand.”

  Another sigh. “So what have you brought us?”

  “Children. Ten of them.”

  “And where did they come from?”

  “It’s best if you don’t know, Sister.”

  The nun’s lips became a tight line. “Don’t these children have parents?’

  “They might. But there’s a very good chance that their parents are dead, and if they’re not, it’s probably even better these children never see them again.”

  Sister Sara studied John’s face for a long time, before briefly studying Ashley’s. “I’m afraid I’m not following.”

  “My friend and I saved these children from a terrible fate. We’re not quite sure what that fate is, exactly, but we know it’s bad.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “Because bad people were holding them captive. Bad people who killed my entire family.”

  Sister Sara let this soak in for a beat. Finally she turned to Ashley. “And you?”

  “That’s a much longer story,” she said.

  John said, “Sister Sara, I understand if you don’t want to take on the responsibility like this. If it’s a money issue, we have money to give you. A lot of money.”

  Along with the weapons in the Town Car had been a briefcase filled with nearly a half million dollars in cash.

  Sister Sara shook her head. “That isn’t necessary. Marta has donated a generous amount of money nearly every year for the past two decades.” She caught John’s expression and asked, “Did I say something wrong?”

  “You knew Marta?”

  “She grew up here. I did not know her myself, but Sister Catherine told me stories before she passed away. She always said Marta was very bright, and she was so proud of her when she eventually attended MIT. As you can imagine, not many of the children who pass through here manage such an impressive feat. Tell me, do you know what’s happened to her?”

  John looked away, looked down, finally looked back up. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

  “She’s dead.”

  Sister Sara covered her mouth with a hand. “I’m so sorry. What about Eli?”

  “He’s dead, too.”

  The nun’s eyes glistened. “How did they die?”

  “Not well. They died helping protect these children. That’s why we brought them here.”

  The nun began nodding. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’m just ... I’m not sure how Evelyn will take the news.”

  Ashley and John glanced at each other.

  John asked, “Who’s Evelyn?”

  Sister Sara was trying to compose herself, wiping at her eyes, attempting a calm face. She took a deep breath.

  “Hmm? What’s that? Oh, Evelyn. Well, she hasn’t seen or heard from Eli since he was last here, and she’ll just be devastated.” When neither John nor Ashley spoke, understanding filled the nun’s face, and she said, “Oh, I see. He didn’t tell you about her, did he? Why, Mr. Smith, Evelyn is Eli’s sister.”

  • • •

  Sister Sara consults the other nuns, briefly explains the situation, then has them bring the children inside from the minivans. You’d think the children would be leery of their new surroundings, but they’re eerily complacent.

  Sister Sara shakes her head sadly. “These children’s souls have been broken. We will do what we can to fix them.”

  She takes us inside and leads us through the hallway.

  “How many children do you have here?” Ashley asks.

  “We currently have sixty-three children. Well, now seventy-three.”

  We turn the corner and head down another hallway. Here the windows look out over a large field leading down to a pond and gazebo. A few ducks float around on the water.

  “Typically, if a child has not been adopted by the age of eighteen, they are released from our care. With Evelyn, however, we knew it was best to keep her here. Of course, we made it her choice, and she was happy to stay. In fact, she’s been a great asset to us and the children.”

  “Is she a nun, too?” I ask.

  Sister Sara pauses in front of a closed door to think about it. The corners of her lips rise in a smile. “An honorary nun, you might say.”

  She opens the door.

  Inside a group of children and two nuns are sitting at tables, playing board games, a few others putting together a gigantic puzzle. They all look up and smile at Sister Sara as she enters the room.

  “I believe it’s time for dinner,” Sister Sara says. “Why don’t you head to the dining room?”

  The children push away from their tables and file past us into the hallway. The two nuns begin to make their way, too, when Sister Sara says, “You can stay here for a bit, Evelyn. These kind people would like to speak with you.”

  Evelyn wears a gray skirt and white blouse. It’s clear by the softness of her face, the oval eyes, that she has Down’s syndrome. She smiles and nods and takes a seat at the nearest table.

  Sister Sara turns to us then, her voice low. “Despite her disability, she’s smart, sweet, and hardworking. This news will crush her, I’m sure.”

  “We don’t have to tell her,” I say.

  “No, I think you should. She needs to know. Otherwise she’ll always wonder.”

  Sister Sara leads us to the table where we take a seat. Pieces of the puzzle are scattered in front of us. Judging by the pieces already put together, the picture shows a red covered bridge.

  “Hello,” Evelyn says. She looks to be in her late-forties, brown hair going gray.

  “Hi,” Ashley and I say at the same time.

  There’s a beat of silence.

  Sister Sara clears her throat. “Evelyn, this is John and Ashley. They’re friends of Eli’s.”

  Her face lights up at once. She leans forward, smiling, and it breaks my heart that I have to tell her something that will wipe the smile from her face.

  “How is he?” she asks, eager. “Can I talk to him? Will he visit me soon?”

  I swallow. Glance at Ashley. Ashley’s watching me, waiting for me to continue. Because it’s my job, isn’t it? Of course it is.

  Before I can speak, though, Sister Sara takes pity on me and clears her throat again.

  “Evelyn, I’m sorry to tell you that Eli has passed away.”

  Just as I feared, the light goes out of her eyes and the smile starts to fade. But that’s it. She doesn’t burst into tears. She just takes a deep breath and says to me and Ashley, “What about Marta?”

  I nod, my voice cracking. “She passed away, too.”

  “Was it ... the bad people?”

  “Yes.”

  For the first time, fear fills her face. “They won’t find me here, will they?”

  “No,” I tell her, though the truth is I have no clue. Ashley and I have done our best so far at watching our backs, but so did Eli and Marta, and look how it turned out for them. Still, we are being as careful as possible, and we have bro
ught the children here because there was nowhere else to take them, and now we are here, in this recreational room, sitting at this table with Eli’s sister, and I’ve just told her her brother is dead.

  “How did you know Eli?”

  The question catches me off guard. I’m not sure why, but I wasn’t expecting this. I glance at Ashley, as if asking for help, but she just stares back at me. She nods, slightly, and I know what I have to do next.

  “Eli,” I say, and my voice cracks again. “Eli ... was my father.”

  The light in Evelyn’s eyes returns. She says to Ashley, “And you?”

  “No,” Ashley says. “I’m just a friend.”

  Evelyn turns back to me. “So if Eli was your father, that makes you”—her eyes drift up to the ceiling as she works it out in her head—“my nephew.”

  The smile growing on her face is so contagious I find myself smiling, too. Then her smile fades, and she stares off past me.

  “I miss him,” she says softly. “He was such a good big brother. He always looked out for me. He always looked out for everyone.”

  I think of the man I’ve hated for the past ten years. The man whose funeral I nearly skipped out of spite. The man who I threw up against the hood of a car out of frustration. The man who, when all is said and done, saved my life.

  Nodding distantly, I say, “He was a good man.”

  “We played games when I was little. He taught me how to play checkers and chess. I’m okay at chess, but I’ve always loved checkers. We played the last time he visited me. I always”—her voice breaks—“I always wanted to play one more game with him. But now ... now that will never happen.”

  Tears finally fill her eyes. She wipes at them, begins sniffling. Sister Sara retrieves a box of tissues and hands it to Evelyn.

  “Thank you,” Evelyn says, and takes one of the tissues and dabs at her eyes and then blows her nose.

  I look around the room, wanting to leave, wanting to escape, hating myself for bringing this terrible news to this woman, news that has caused her to cry, when something catches my eye a few tables over. A red and black checkered board. Stacks of red and black plastic pieces.