Last Freedom

by Kevin Partner

  Devon cursed. "Gert!" he hissed.

  "Put your weapon down or we shoot!" one of the figures called. All three had assault rifles trained on where Gert must have been. What was he doing?

  Devon glanced behind him at Jade. She was holding a pistol and her eyes were clear. He nodded at her, brought his Glock up and stepped around the edge of the building.

  His first shot took out the leader. The others swung around to him and Jade's pistol felled one before, with a final crack, the last of them dropped to the ground.

  Devon barked at Jade to stay where she was as he ran to the fallen figures. Gert was there, dagger drawn. The leader was lying on the ground, legs writhing, as he held his hand over a wound to his shoulder that was bleeding freely.

  Gert kneeled beside him and pulled off the mask to reveal a white man with red hair whose face twisted with pain. "Does it hurt, my friend?"

  The man nodded.

  "Good," Gert said. "Luckily for you, I don't have time to kill you slowly." He pulled the dagger across the stricken man's throat.

  Devon turned away from the spurting blood and the gurgling agony of the red-haired man. Jade was standing there, mouth open. He stood up and hugged her. "I told you to stay out of the way."

  The dying man finally went still and Gert got up. "We have to go now. Backup will come."

  Devon helped Jade into the back of the Land Rover and jumped into the driver's seat. With Gert in that kind of murderous mood, he didn't want to be a passenger. He stabbed his foot down, and the car lurched past the three dead bodies as they headed past the safehouse toward the western road that would lead them back along the route they'd taken to Ezra only the day before.

  #

  Leader Crawford slumped into his office chair and finally allowed his body to unwind a little. He'd been like an unexploded bomb ever since he'd heard the first bang. Bad news piled on top of bad news, with only the death of the mayor's daughter to brighten the day.

  How was he going to explain this to his superiors? His mind flicked unwillingly to an image of the Supreme Leader. Oh how funny they had thought it was to give the head of their organization a name that was straight out of Daleks: Invasion Earth. But that was back before what had been a campaigning group of impassioned dreamers and academics had been taken over by people with seemingly similar aims, but much more radical methods to achieve them. And they'd dared to actually do it.

  Crawford himself was nominally only one level below Supreme, but, in fact, there was a definite hierarchy within the hierarchy and Crawford knew that he was near the bottom of it. That still gave him great power, especially while the other members of The Committee were each concerned with their own territories, but when things went wrong, Supreme would learn of it sooner or later. There had been that trouble in Pennsylvania where an Amish community had risen against the Sons. Crawford chuckled to himself. However bad things might look for him, at least he had been opposed by hardened terrorists with guns—or, at least, that would be how he'd describe Libby Hawkins and her gang. His good mood vanished, however, as he recalled what had happened to the commander in that town when Supreme found out.

  He sat back and tried to concoct a positive spin on the day's events. He had to take Hope. That was the only way he'd rescue his reputation. But he'd lost the vehicles he was going to use to do it. He had enough people, though a few of those who'd been killed at the compound were fully trained and would be hard to replace. But the population of Ezra had been growing over the past months and he reckoned he could put uniforms on three hundred of them if needed, and decent weapons in the hands of most of those. That would be enough. This time, he just had to be less soft. More prepared to deliver the killing blow without the theatrics. But they would have to find vehicles, and quickly.

  He heard footsteps outside his door. "Come in," he said at the gentle knock.

  A middle-aged woman entered carrying a tray with tea-making paraphernalia and a sandwich. "You wanted to try the new bread recipe, Leader," she said.

  "Thank you, Maud," he said, smiling as he watched her exit. She was a good-looking woman. Late forties with a backside to die for and an extremely open mind.

  "Oh, there's a man waiting for you," she said, turning at the door and perfectly well aware of the effect she had on him. "Says he's from Hope."

  All thoughts of carnal pleasures disappeared in an instant. "Show him in."

  "Ah, it's you. Sit down."

  The young man sat with his legs apart, doing his best to exude confidence.

  "What do you have to tell me?"

  In heavily accented English, Remik told Crawford the news he'd been yearning to hear. "Paul Hickman is dead."

  "What? Are you sure?" Maud was back on the menu again. This was an occasion to celebrate.

  "Ja. I see the wreckage of his car. No one survive that."

  Crawford leaned forward. "But did you see a body?"

  "No body. He gone, boss. Boom." Remik spread his fingers to suggest an explosion.

  "When did this happen?"

  "Yesterday. Whole town gone quiet."

  John Crawford put his hands to his cheeks and regarded the young man. He could hardly bring himself to believe it. Today was improving by the moment.

  "Thank you for reporting this. Now, you'd better get back before anyone becomes suspicious."

  Remik got up and gave a lazy salute. "Thank you, boss. And you not forget our agreement? When you come up highway, you kill farmer but leave daughter and wife to me. Then I run farm. Work for you."

  Crawford waved him away. What did he care about some redneck and his family? Let the boy have who he wanted—to begin with, at least. Then we would see if he was worthy of joining the brotherhood.

  He waited for Remik to leave, half listening to the staccato of the motorbike as it drove away, then he allowed the ritual of pouring the tea to give his mind room to contemplate. Hickman had been the only thing holding the town together. A quick strike now and he could be in charge within a couple of days, if he could find a way to transport his forces.

  The door opened and Maud came in. "Would you like me to clear the tea things away, Leader?"

  He smiled. "Yes, please. When you've done that, would you come back? And lock the door."

  Crawford sat at his desk later that evening feeling that the day had turned out alright in the end. He was on his second brandy and contemplating making his way home when the radio in the corner of the room squawked. It was just as well he'd almost finished his drink as his arm shot up in surprise and he twisted in his seat and rolled across to the set.

  "Jeremiah, this is Samson. Are you receiving?"

  He grabbed the handset in trembling hands. "This is Jeremiah."

  "Jeremiah, verification code 28/11/2."

  Crawford reached up to find the book. "Page twenty-eight," he said to himself, "paragraph eleven, word two."

  He clicked the button on the handset "Spirit."

  "Acknowledged. I have become aware of an incident at your location today. Report."

  How had he known? Who had been spying on him?

  "It was a minor act of terrorism. The threat has now been eliminated."

  "My report states that your entire fleet of vehicles has been destroyed."

  Crawford's heart was thudding against the inside of his chest. "That is incorrect."

  "My source is unimpeachable."

  "I can assure you that I have everything under control here."

  "I do not share your confidence. You have failed before, and now, through poor management of your resources, you have allowed terrorists to cripple you."

  "But Leader, I am readying my attack. At my command, the mayor of Hope has been killed. They are leaderless. Ripe for the taking."

  There was a momentary pause before the voice resumed. "That is good. But Hope is no longer your concern…"

  "Leader!"

  "Hope is no longer your concern. Secure what you have and be grateful that I have larger matters to deal with th
an your incompetence. Out."

  The line went dead. John Crawford sat at the radio for a few moments as the shadows lengthened outside. Then he poured himself another brandy. A big one.

  Chapter 10: They Come

  Sam Hickman sat on the bed and pulled the comforter around her body to cover her nakedness. She was a strong young woman, and it wasn't as if she was exactly an innocent, but she trembled as she waited for Said. If she allowed him, and his father, to use her like an object, then she would lose a piece of her soul to them. She would never be the same again. She would carry it around like a blemish on her heart.

  But there was no way out. Jay wouldn't want her to submit, but if she didn't, he would certainly die. On the other hand, she wasn't fool enough to imagine that Azari was likely to let him live anyway. But there was a gap between faint possibility and certain death. And she wouldn't be the excuse for Jay's execution.

  In truth, she didn't know what she was going to do when it came down to it. She didn't submit willingly to anyone for anything, and even the prospect of being forced into intimacy left her disgusted with herself. She wondered whether she'd be able to look herself in the mirror afterward.

  She heard voices at the door, and it swung open, light flooding from the living room beyond. Azari stood there, holding the door open while his son entered.

  Said looked nervous, but determined. He smiled at his father.

  "Thank you," he said, and slipped inside. He was wearing a dressing gown and, Sam suspected, nothing beneath. He turned to the door. "You can leave us now, Father. I know what to do."

  Azari shook his head. "Oh no, my son. I will see it done."

  "But Father, can't I have a little privacy?"

  "Next time, perhaps. I promise that I take no pleasure in this. I am no degenerate. But I must be certain."

  Said's shoulders dropped and he turned back to Sam. She shrank away from him and she could see fear in his expression as he moved closer. He went around to the other side of the bed, pulled back the comforter and slid under it while the dressing gown fell to the floor.

  He moved across to her side and put his hand on her shoulder. A cold, cold hand that pulled back on her to turn her around.

  "No," she said. "I can't."

  Azari spoke from the threshold. "Resist and your friend dies. You have lain with him many times, have you not? Harlot. Whore of Babylon. This is just one more job. Where is the harm to you? Now, my son, take her, or I will come over there and hold her down."

  Tears ran down Sam's cheeks as she allowed herself to fall backward onto the cotton sheets and a duck-feather pillow that rustled under her head. Then he was beside her, hands around her and instinct took over. She pushed at him, legs kicking out, but he climbed on top of her, his skin cold against hers. He forced his legs between hers and still she struggled. He grabbed her wrists and then his mouth was on her face, before his full weight fell upon her. She cried out.

  He whispered. "Play along, if you wish to live."

  She froze for a moment. Then his hips began to move up and down, but there was no pain, no corruption, no invasion. He groaned as if he were in the throes of deepest passion.

  "Please," he hissed. "Help me."

  Help him? What the hell was going on? But whatever it was had to be better than what she thought was going to happen, so she began moving as if he had overcome her resistance and she was giving in to him. What would Azari want to see? The ultimate misogynist fantasy was for a woman to submit and find she enjoyed it. So she gave the pervert what he wanted. She wrapped her arms around Said's back, her legs around his hips and moaned. It wouldn't be the first time she'd pretended to enjoy it, after all. The difference was that Said was also faking it. She felt no arousal from him, but he put on a performance worthy of an Oscar. She almost believed it herself as his skin finally warmed and he approached his simulated climax. She echoed him so they cried out together and, as he fell onto her, his body suddenly relaxed, the room went dark and they were finally alone.

  He rolled off her immediately. "Well done."

  "What the hell was that all about?"

  She felt him move away, and then the room lit up as a candle on the bedside table came alive. He rolled back again to face her, eyes glinting. "We must be quiet. I think he has gone, but he might be listening at the door."

  Sam laid on her side. "So? Are you going to explain?"

  "He would not leave until he was convinced that his son was a man. You were my first. Well, you weren't. But you should have been."

  "You've … you've never …"

  "No."

  "So, how did you … I mean … I know I'm not exactly irresistible … but …"

  He slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud. "Sam Hickman, you are a beautiful young woman. But I do not desire you."

  "Oh, you're gay?"

  She could see his shoulders move as he shrugged, the bandage wrinkling. "I don't know. I think it's more that I am not interested. I have yet to meet anyone I would wish to be intimate with in that way. My father was concerned, so he sought reassurance that I am … normal."

  "What would he do if he decided you don't like women?"

  "He would not understand. Then he would conclude that I was an aberration and he would have me killed."

  "What? Your own father?"

  "He's a monster, Sam. And you must get away from him. You and Jay."

  Sam rolled onto her back again. "How are we going to do that?"

  "I've got a plan. I know where Jay is, and I've hidden the keys to a vehicle. We've got a chance of getting away. It's risky, but better than staying here. He'll kill Jay tomorrow and, though I don't know what he has planned for you, it will not be pleasant. I fear he desires you for himself."

  Sam shuddered, and then said, "What do we do now?"

  "We have to wait until we're certain the household is asleep. We have several hours."

  They remained in silence for a while, each looking up at the dancing shadows on the ceiling.

  She felt Said move until he was on his side facing her. "Sam?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Will you hold me?"

  She turned her head to face him.

  "Yeah, I will." She lifted her arm and he folded himself eagerly into her embrace, his head against her neck, his chin on her chest. She felt the tears running from his cheeks and onto her skin.

  #

  Hick was waiting for Remik when he crept back into the Millers' farmhouse. It was like a scene out of Hercule Poirot. Elwood and Mary Miller, and Rusty Kaminski were sitting on a couch in the darkness with Hick behind the door, ready to swing it shut and confine the suspect when he got home.

  Deputy Hogg had mentioned to Rusty that Cassie and a man he didn't know had come to Hick's house late the previous night.

  "It just gnawed away at me, Sheriff," he'd said. "That he was so keen that I didn't write down his name. I should've, I know that. But I'd rather you tore me another one than find out I didn't report somethin' that turned out to be important."

  Rusty had told Hick, who had immediately eliminated Cassie as a suspect, which left Remik. So, he and the sheriff had traveled to the farm to tackle him. But he wasn't there. Elwood said their young farm worker had asked for the afternoon off and had ridden away on his motorbike.

  And now he was back.

  He crept in. He felt cold metal against his head and the voice of Paul Hickman in his ear. "Well lookie here. We got ourselves a traitor."

  #

  Devon, Gert and Jade had traveled in almost complete silence as they took the roundabout route back to Hope. From Ezra, they'd headed west and then taken the highway north until they reached the intersection with the road to Springs. They took the southeast turn and drove through the dark toward the fork where the road from Springs met the major highway from Salt Lake City.

  "What's that?" Devon said as the car emerged from a gully to reveal the dark sierra below them. Except it wasn't entirely dark. Lights followed e
ach other and, with a gasp, he realized that he was seeing vehicles move. It was as if they'd been in a time machine and were looking down on a highway before the fall.

  Gert jerked awake. "Verdomme. There are hundreds of them. And they are heading …"

  "Toward Hope."

  "Gadverdamme. While we are looking to the south …"

  "They are coming from the north."

  "Can we get ahead of them?"

  "We can try."

  Devon stabbed his foot on the gas pedal and the car lurched forward, causing Jade to wake up with a cry. "What's going on?"

  "Out of the frying pan, into the fire," Devon said.

  #

  Remik gazed back at Hick with undisguised hatred in his swollen eyes. Things would have gone even worse for him if he'd been alone with Hick, but Kaminski, at least, wouldn't have allowed Hick to go as far as he'd like in extracting information and vengeance.

  Hick left Remik tied to the chair and settled into the sofa. "So, Mayor Hawkins is dead, and so is Libby." Though she'd betrayed him, Hick couldn't help feeling sad at the news. He didn't care two hoots for the mother, but he'd believed, for a time, that he and Libby had something going on. At least she'd gone out with a bang, it seemed.

  Remik had spent his time waiting for Crawford finding out all he could about Ezra and he'd known as soon as he'd arrived that something was going on. Crawford, it seemed, had been jubilant at hearing of Hick's demise, and was planning another attack. Once he'd found enough vehicles. Well, Hick was now determined to go south and put a bullet in his head. A promise was a promise, after all. But Libby had been Hope's savior, at least for now. Hick would put the nail in that particular coffin.

  Remik knew nothing about whether Gert and Devon had been involved, but Crawford had claimed that all the rebels had been killed. It would be a pity if that turned out to be true. He liked Gert.

  #

  Devon turned the headlights off and sped along the road running parallel to the highway before they connected. Vehicle after vehicle moved along the main road as the Land Rover slipped invisibly by. They said nothing to each other. There was nothing to say. Most of the vehicles were trucks, including some eighteen-wheelers, and they were almost certainly carrying troops. The Sons of Solomon had come in overwhelming force.