by Nobody, Joe
“What?” the Texan asked.
“What do you want us to do now?”
“Go protect your families… or take the camp… or whatever you feel is right. I’m done with this. I’m going to get my wife and kid out of here. The rest is up to you.”
At first, they didn’t move or utter another word. A woman’s scream carried from the camp, the fear and agony snapping the men out of their trance.
“Come on,” one of the older guys called. “Let’s go down there and end this whole mess.”
Bishop watched the group head out, listening as the same man barked instructions on their way into the camp. Smiling, he turned for the parking lot, but then paused. He had an idea.
Terri had barricaded Pastor Pearson in a storage closet filled with a mop bucket and brooms. Using one of the handles to wedge the door shut, she felt fairly confident that the preacher wouldn’t escape without her knowing.
She’d then found a metal desk in an empty office and huddled there with Hunter, cooing softly to calm the infant. She listened to the gunfire coming from the camp, praying Bishop wouldn’t be hurt or killed. Unable to assist her husband, she occupied her time by mentally playing out the steps necessary for Hunter and her to escape if Bishop couldn’t come back. It was an unpleasant exercise fueled by instinct to keep her child alive.
She heard footsteps in the hall and thought for a moment Pearson had managed to escape. Her grip tightened on the pistol, thumb hovering on the safety.
“Terri?” Bishop’s voice called out. “Terri, where are you?”
Such was her rush to climb out from under the desk, she banged her head in the process. She didn’t care, moving quickly to see her husband walking down the hall, sweeping every doorway with his rifle.
“Here,” she called, and then ran to his arms.
It wasn’t the time for a lengthy reunion. “You okay?” Bishop asked, checking Terri and the baby up and down.
“We’re good. Can we go?”
“Let’s roll.”
More and more gunfire sounded in the village as they made for the truck. Neither parent breathed until Hunter was secure in his seat. Bishop scanned the area with the thermal one last time, and then they were driving across the parking area toward the mountain lane and freedom. Darkness was just falling.
“What took you so long?” Terri finally asked from the backseat.
“I had to pick up some ammo on the way,” Bishop replied. “I borrowed three thousand rounds from the camp and a bucket of food. I don’t think they’ll miss it anytime soon.”
Bishop was concerned with the lookout at the Gibraltar-rock. He stopped the truck well short of where the sentry would be able to spot them. “I’m going to make sure that patrol doesn’t ruin our day with a lucky shot,” he announced.
Exiting the cab, he hustled ahead keeping to the trees lining the path.
It seemed like he was only gone a few minutes when Terri saw him jogging back. “I can’t see anybody,” he reported. “I bet the sound of gunfire back at the camp drew him off. Maybe he’s got family back there and wanted to make sure they were okay.”
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled onto the New Mexico highway and headed west.
After putting a few miles behind them, Terri spoke up from the backseat. “I’m glad we got out of there safely, but now I’m feeling a little down, wondering if we’ll ever find a home again.”
“I hear ya,” her husband replied. “I was just sitting here thinking the same thing. I miss the ranch… not because of the ranch, but because it was ours. It was a home. A place to settle. The American dream.”
Terri considered his words for a few moments before replying. “I think the American dream might be dead.”
“Let’s hope not. We’ve got to maintain hope, without it we’re as lost as a lot of those people were back there.”
Chapter 14
The Circus
Memphis, Tennessee
August 1
Grim took his usual place at the end of the bar under the big top. In the past few weeks, he’d fallen into the routine required for his new employment, essentially a bouncer for a very large, often rowdy club.
Most of the people who frequented the Circus just wanted to have a good time and get away from the daily presentation of misery and decay displayed in the world beyond. Most, but not all.
Occasionally there was trouble, and despite his broken arm and restrictive sling, he’d earned his keep. Alcohol, women, and music were ageless ingredients for a recipe of both fun and conflict. Mix in a healthy batch of testosterone, stir in type-A personalities trying to blow off a little steam, and encounters were unavoidable.
Even one-handed, Grim could easily handle most of the troublemakers. Inebriation dulled the senses and slowed reactions, a fact that played to his advantage if the patrons decided to challenge his authority. Few did.
Glancing over at the bartender, he ordered his usual iced tea and leaned back against the stool to survey the crowd. He thought he caught sight of a familiar face, but the big top was thick with people, and he couldn’t find the same man again. He had already verified his wife and daughter were safe, working behind the scenes in the kitchen. Perhaps it was an old Army buddy. It would be the first time he’d run across a past acquaintance in the questionable establishment.
Grim inhaled sharply when the cold steel of the knife touched his throat, granite-like muscles of a very strong arm across his shoulder and pressing the blade against his carotid artery. His heart practically stopped when the hot breath of the wielder whispered in his ear, “Infidel.”
The blade was removed, and he turned to see Moses standing behind him, a grin so large it was difficult to see the man’s ears. “Gotcha!”
The transition from fear to relief to joy flashed quickly across Grim’s face. “Moses! You scared the shit out of me, you son of a bitch! How the hell are ya? What are you doing here?”
The two men shared a backslapping embrace. When Grim peered over his friend’s shoulder, he spied Nick for the first time. “Nick!” he shouted, and the greeting was repeated.
Grim had a thousand questions, as did his visitors, so the trio decided on a corner table. A waitress appeared momentarily, quickly taking their order and rushing off.
The ex-Green Beret looked around, taking it all in. “I gotta hand it to whoever this major is, he sure knows how to market.” Strings of Christmas lights provided a festive atmosphere, the sound of music adding to the genre. Occasionally, warm scents of chicken wings and French fries drifted by.
While the aroma wasn’t indicative of a culinary masterpiece, Moses inhaled deeply and announced, “I’m hungry.”
There was an aura of excitement flowing through the place, an abundance of mostly military personnel sitting, standing, and talking. The big top was packed, hundreds of customers partaking of the goods and services being offered. “This takes the term ‘camp followers’ to an entirely new level,” Nick observed.
“They sure as shit didn’t have anything like this when I served Mother Green,” Moses added. He then nodded toward Grim and commented, “No wonder you decided to stay here. The food alone is probably the best paycheck you ever earned.”
The small talk continued until the waitress had returned with their drinks. Immediately upon her departure, things got serious.
“How did you guys get to Memphis, and what are you doing here?” Grim inquired with pressing curiosity.
“We landed at Memphis International a while ago,” explained Moses. “Nick here has won friends and influenced people at the highest levels. He managed to get some general to issue orders for us to be ‘escorted and supported as consultants.’”
“The local command is treating us like first class citizens,” Moses continued. “We’ve got a young specialist as a chauffeur and a Humvee as a limo.”
Nick laughed, “I think the last time I had a chauffeur, I was getting into a stretch limo with a leggy date on the way to my high school prom.”<
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Moses grinned and shook his head, “Our young soldier wasn’t so happy when Nick made him hand over the 5-gallon can of diesel fuel from the back of the Humvee, but we needed something to barter with… to get in here.”
Nick looked at Moses and smiled slyly. “He’s probably sitting out in the parking lot right now trying to figure out how to note that in his report. I thought he was going to cry.”
They all laughed at the specialist’s predicament, and then Grim became serious. “Did Bishop make it back in time to thwart the attack?”
Nick and Moses exchanged glances. “There wasn’t any attack. It was a false flag… a setup.”
Grim’s face showed he was puzzled by Nick’s words. “What do you mean? A setup how?”
“Bishop made it back, but he found a platoon of National Guardsmen… a medical unit,” Nick explained. “He left them alone, and then someone murdered the entire unit once he left. They pinned the massacre on Bishop. It has shaken the Alliance’s leadership to the core, and Bishop and his family are now on the run.”
The skin on Grim’s face grew ashen, eyes growing dark as his brain sorted it all out. Memories came rushing back into his head. He recalled Bishop saving his life in the graveyard. He thought about the sacrifice the guy had made leaving his family behind in Texas… to help someone he didn’t really know all that well reunite with his family. Why would someone want to set him up as a mass murderer?
Then Grim connected the dots. The warning issued by the major that night. The offer to stay here at the circus with his family – a proposal that hadn’t made much sense and seemed out of character. He had asked himself a hundred times why the major had been so kind. There wasn’t any shortage of security men. Major Beckworth had wanted Bishop to rush off alone… so there wouldn’t be any witnesses.
Anger swelled in Grim’s core. Beckworth had used him! Played him like a pawn! It all made so much sense now, pieces of the puzzle falling into place as fast as he could put them together.
“Grim?” Moses broke the trance. “Grim? You okay, buddy?”
The operator stood abruptly, bumping the table and almost spilling their drinks. With a look of pure hatred, he said, “Come on, guys. I know exactly who the fucker is that set Bishop up. I can’t tell you why, but I know who sent him off in a panic to that valley.”
The trio left the big top, moving briskly toward the VIP area where the major’s class-A motorhome resided. They were met by the always-present ring of security.
“What’s up, Grim?” the guard asked, recognizing his co-worker.
“Is the major in? I’ve just run across these guys. They’re old teammates of mine and are looking for work.”
“You just missed him,” responded the sentry. “He left not more than two minutes ago, heading for the Army headquarters downtown. The boss wasn’t too happy about it either. He was mumbling something about some ass wipe summoning him on short notice. You might want to give him a bit to cool down when he gets back. Might help the job interview go a little smoother.”
Keeping in character, Grim put his good arm on the man’s shoulder. “Thanks, dude. We’ll be back later then. Keep frosty.”
After walking out of the guard’s earshot, Nick turned and said, “This might actually be a break. It would be nice to catch our friend the major away from his element… he might be more cooperative without all his hired goons around.”
Moses agreed. “There’s not much traffic on the road. Maybe our young specialist can catch up with the major’s ride. Maybe we can have a little chat with the man before he enters the HQ building.”
And with that, the trio hustled for the exit. On the way, Grim detoured briefly at the weapon’s locker, spewing a lie concerning a just-uncovered assassination plot against the major’s life. Convincing the man in charge of the Circus’s firepower that they were mounting a rescue, the trio continued for the parking lot brandishing three M4 carbines and pockets full of magazines.
They found the specialist reading a novel, rattling the young man when they all piled into the Humvee yelling, “Go! Go! Go!”
He eyed the weapons and asked, “You guys didn’t just rob the Circus, did you?”
There was only one road leading from the Circus into metropolitan Memphis. Major Beckworth, having made the trip numerous times, occupied himself by staring out the window and trying for the hundredth time to figure out why he was being beckoned to the regional HQ.
“Tank, are you sure there haven’t been any incidents involving senior officers in the past few weeks?” he asked his head of security.
The broad shouldered, muscular man adjusted his body, his girth such that the driver’s seat seemed tiny behind his frame. “No, sir. The last issue we had with anyone over the rank of captain was several months ago,” he replied with confidence.
A light sprinkle of rain showed in the SUV’s headlights, Tank flicking on the wipers to clear the windshield. “Great. Rain. That will slow things down back at the shop,” Beckworth noted. “This whole day just keeps getting worse and worse.”
Beckworth glanced at the two security men in the back seat, noting their attention was focused outside the SUV, each gripping a short-barreled carbine and constantly scanning out the windows. Their alert presence made him feel a little better, but not much. The major didn’t like traveling through the post-apocalyptic countryside. He really didn’t care for being ordered to appear at the HQ building without any explanation.
Beckworth and his security team weren’t the only ones displeased over the rain. Alastair and Eris, waiting for the major’s SUV to arrive, didn’t appreciate the precipitation either.
“The driver will probably slow down a bit,” Eris commented, noting the pavement was glistening with moisture.
“I can run the math in my head,” his partner responded. “You just be ready with the blocks.”
They had arrived a few hours earlier, scouting the known route their target would travel, easily identifying the perfect spot to spring their ambush.
Alastair had gotten to work immediately, running a series of measurements using a laser tape measure while his partner had busied himself with setting up the Claymore mines. There was no room for error. Timing was critical to their plan.
They had struggled a bit to get the relic vehicle into place. Abandoned long ago due to lack of fuel, the minivan had been left alongside a road intersecting with the major’s route. They found it sitting almost in the perfect spot, atop a small rise – a hill that would allow it to gain significant speed as it rolled onto the main road below.
Busting out the driver’s side window, they had shifted the old Ford into neutral and pushed it several feet so it would be primed for its intended role as a battering ram. A block of wood had been placed in front of a tire to hold it steady until just the right moment.
The Claymores were a secondary precaution. While both men assumed their target would travel in a single vehicle, there was no guarantee. If there were lead or follow-on escorts, they would have to invoke the backup plan and detonate the mines. Mr. White’s instructions had been clear, capture the major if at all possible, but make damn sure he didn’t get to Memphis. The military-issued anti-personnel mines would do just that.
Each the size of a shoebox top with a concave shape, the Claymore was a staple of US infantry units dating back to the Vietnam War. A simple device, the body was packed with high explosive designed to propel 700 small steel balls at similar velocities as a rifle bullet. Any target within 20 meters was typically shredded, including unarmored cars. If the major had escorts, the string of mines would make short work of them.
Earlier in the day, Alastair had placed a small magnetic transmitter under the bumper of the major’s SUV. The two operatives weren’t familiar with the volume of traffic in the area and decided the precaution was necessary to avoid misidentification. The two men were just donning their ponchos when a beeping indicated their target was approaching.
Eris glanced to the north, seei
ng a single pair of headlights approaching. “We’ve got a lone target,” he informed his partner. Alastair nodded, setting the Claymore’s detonator aside. They could handle a single carload without the messy devices.
Eris continued to monitor the SUV’s approach. He pulled a stopwatch from his pocket, and when the headlights disappeared behind the supports of a large billboard, the operative’s thumb pushed down to start the timepiece.
A few seconds later, the headlights again were blocked by an obstacle, and Eris stopped the timer. Glancing at the readout, he looked at his partner and said, “Three point zero four seconds.”
Alastair’s lips moved as he did the math. He whispered, “They’re traveling at 36 mph. We push the van at the second marker.”
Eris nodded, gripping the rope leading to the block of wood in front of the driver’s side tire. Alastair began counting down… “Three… two… one… go!”
Eris jerked the wood free, and then both men put their shoulders to the van. The sound of crunching gravel sounded as the wheels began to turn. Gravity soon took over, and their battering ram gained speed as it rolled down the hill toward the unwary SUV approaching from the north.
Despite their precise measurements and timing, the minivan didn’t produce the desired effect. Instead of striking the front fender of the SUV, it T-boned the rear quarter panel at the same moment one of the security men in the back seat yelled, “Shit!”
The driver, completely taken by surprise, overcompensated his correction of the now swerving SUV. The heavy vehicle’s center of gravity shifted rapidly, and for a brief time it rolled on two wheels before turning over and eventually skidding to a halt resting on its roof.
All four men inside were suspended upside down by their seat belts, unable to react due to shock and the awkward position of their landing. Their inability to protect the major was further degraded by the flash-bang grenade Eris rolled next to the upside down transport.
Igniting with a blinding flash of light, the otherwise harmless explosion blinded all of the men inside the SUV. No sooner had the resounding thunder echoed into the otherwise quiet countryside, two flashlight beams illuminated the cabin, each focusing on the face of an upside down occupant.
