by S. Ison
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
San Gabriel Mountains, California
Charmain’s internal clock was telling her it was near midnight. They’d been following the trail for hours. Several times they’d had to backtrack, having lost it, with Harley picking up the scent again each time.
It was agonizingly slow. Those who had them, wore their NVGs. Hubbard and Woody didn’t, and they trailed behind, making their way slowly and clumsily through the forest.
A soft wind blew over her heated face. It had been a long day, and she was feeling it. They’d have to stop soon. Going on could be both dangerous and a waste of their energies. This would be faster in daylight.
For now, everyone stood motionless, gathering their breaths. They’d been climbing steadily for a good while. The cry of a mountain lion pierced the silence. It was far away, to her relief. She reckoned it was looking for its mate. Spring was coming.
Jack walked back toward her.
“I think we should stop,” Jack said softly.
Charmain could hear the frustration in the man’s voice, along with something else. Defeat. This was hard for him, especially since he’d lost his wife and sons. Jewel was all he had left.
“I think you’re right, Jack,” Charmain said. “We fuck this up and we won’t find them. Let’s rest, and begin again at daybreak. We’ll have a better time of it then. They had more than a two-hour head start on us, and more daylight travel time.”
“That’s what I was thinking. I’m thinking that’s why we’ve not caught up,” Jack said, the relief in his voice evident.
Charmain placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “We’ll find ’em, don’t you worry. They aren’t going to hurt her. They want her healthy.”
“I know, but it’s hard,” Jack said simply.
“We stopping for the night?” Rubin asked softly, coming up behind Charmain.
“Yeah,” Charmain said, taking Rubin’s hand and holding it. “We’re going nowhere fast. Might as well get some sack time.”
Slowly, the group set up a fireless camp. They wouldn’t unpack. All were tired. Charmain settled down, spooning with Rubin. Grunts, groans, and popping farts sounded as the men relaxed.
Silent laughter rumbled in Rubin’s chest against her back. She smiled softly and let a fart rip, hitting Rubin in the crotch. She sniggered when she heard him giggle. His arm about her middle squeezed tight, then relaxed.
She let her mind wander as soft snores gathered around her. It always amazed her the speed at which men could fall asleep. Sometimes it took her hours to find that sweet respite.
More popping farts mixed with intermittent snores before Charmain finally slipped away to slumber.
Bridgman, Michigan
The raucous calls of a murder of crows brought Mike out of sleep, his heart pounding. He lay motionless, trying to figure out what had woken him. The crows called once more, this time from farther away, and he let his body relax.
Jada was snugged up against him, her warmth soothing. Beyond the blanket, the damp chill of dawn had settled in, though it was still dark outside. Mike shifted his body and eased Jada down onto the floor. Climbing out of the warmth, he moved to the window. On the eastern horizon, the sky was just beginning to turn blue.
The bodies of the four men lay below, where they had been slain. Mike snorted. So much for a brotherhood. He stayed low, watching for any kind of movement. Nothing moved. He wondered where the rest of the men had gone. There should only be four left, unless there were some he and Jada were unaware of. He hoped not.
Jada moved. He suspected she was starting to wake. He quickly stood, unzipped, and took a long piss out the open window. He’d held it all night. He’d wanted to go out last night to take a piss, but had known it was too dangerous.
As he pissed, he looked cautiously over his shoulder. She was still asleep. He looked back out the window and started bouncing on his feet. It was still coming out. Mortification start to build as he contemplated being caught taking a piss three feet from her head.
It finally came to an end. It felt wonderful. There was nothing like an empty bladder. He shook himself to make sure, then zipped up. He turned to look straight into Jada’s grinning face. Shit. He’d been caught.
She started giggling softly, holding an arm over her mouth to stifle the sound. Mike felt his own mouth quiver with laughter, but bit down on it. He gave it up and sat down beside her.
“Had a wicked piss, as they say up north?” she asked.
“God, yes. I’ve needed to go since last night. Just didn’t want to leave and fumble my way around to find a place,” Mike said, still smiling. “If you need to take care of business, it’s all quiet outside.”
“I think I will. My eyeballs are floating too. It doesn’t seem like anyone has fouled up the bathroom in this apartment,” Jada said and sat up, kicking the covers off her legs.
Grunting, she got up and made her way to the door, unlocked it and made her way down the hall quietly. Mike heard the soft click of the bathroom door, and then the sound of soft urination in an empty toilet. Oddly, he expected to hear the obligatory flush, but of course did not.
Jada returned to the bedroom, closed the door softly and relocked it. As she crossed the room, she grabbed one of the backpacks. She sat down beside him and pulled the cover over her shoulders, suppressing a small shiver.
Mike moved to grab another blanket, but stopped when she shook her head. “I’m fine.” she said, unzipping the pack. “Just morning shivers.”
She reached in, pulled out a bottle of water, and handed it to Mike. He opened it and took a long drink. When he was done, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and passed it back to Jada. She placed it beside her and kept digging into the bag. Finally, she came up with the wrapped granola, and sighed happily.
They ate in companionable silence. Mike wondered if they would end it and be able to head back. Or would either of them be hurt or even killed? And what of Zack, if he didn’t come home? He knew Janet would take care of the boy, but Janet was in her late seventies, and though he didn’t want to be morbid, she could die at any time.
His own parents had died in their early sixties, but that had been by accident. Anything could happen, as he’d learned, even if he made it back. Life was more uncertain now than before. There was no medical treatment now beyond than the superficial. Any level of trauma could lead to death, whether by injury or infection.
“How do we go at them today?” Jada asked, breaking into his dour thoughts.
“I think we need to draw them out. I don’t think they’ll come out willingly,” Mike said.
“How do we do that?” she asked.
He could see her face more clearly now, with the dawn light gathering strength. It was softened by the light, its normally hard edges suffused in the glow. Starvation and malnutrition had been hard on her body.
“I was thinking about making a car bomb of sorts,” Mike said, smiling.
“What?!” Jada whispered loudly, then looked toward the window with a guilty expression on her face.
“I was thinking we could take that sheet and tear it into long strips, tie something small and heavy at one end, then find a few cars, and dip the pieces down into the gas tanks. I’m hoping there’ll still be gas in some of their tanks. If we do it right, they should smolder and produce a lot of smoke. We can also set the insides of one of the vehicles on fire.” Mike held out a handful of ammo.
“So you’ll set off a few explosions? You might be seen,” Jada said, worry creasing the skin between her eyes.
“I’ll break open a few bullets and pour out some powder, then mix some ammo with the powder, . I’ll take the ammo and powder, along with some debris, and pile it inside the vehicle. I’ll put a long strip of fabric in the pile, once I’ve soaked it, and set it on fire. That should give me a few minutes to get out before the ammo goes off, and the smoke will give us some cover,” Mike said, his hand rasping over his unshaven jaw. He got up
off the floor.
Pulling the top sheet off the bed, he pulled out his knife and began cutting long strips. Looking around the room, he went to the chest and rummaged around in the drawers.
“What are you looking for?” Jada asked, putting the food supplies back into the bag.
“Something to weigh the strips down with,” Mike said.
“I’ll look in the kitchen. Maybe there’s something there,” Jada said.
“Look for some pliers too. I need something to open the shells.” Mike called after her.
A short time later, Jada returned with a small heavy bell, its innards ripped out for silence, a pressure cooker rocker, pliers and a small bottle of tangerine nail polish, unused. Mike looked at the objects in her hand and smiled. He held up a keychain with a small heavy silver Asian temple. A good luck charm.
Taking each object, he tied them securely into the end of each long strip of sheet. He then rolled them up separately and put them in his jacket pocket.
“Ok. I’m going to head down now. I want you back up on the roof. Once I’ve set them all, I’ll head up to the roof of the building across the street.” Mike said. He grabbed a pillowcase. “I’ll fill this with paper garbage for the ‘bomb’.”
“How do you know you can even get up on that roof?” Jada asked.
“I was in that building before, when I first got here. Before I met you.”
“Oh, okay.” She smiled.
“There’s a high chimney where I can set up and have a clear line of sight down the street. There’ll be a lot of smoke – at least, I hope so – which should mask our shots. It’s light enough that they shouldn’t see our muzzles flash.”
“Do you think we can get the rest of them?” Jada asked, and took a long drink of water. Mike watched her Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“If we’re lucky, yes, but chances are we may not. Shoot to kill, no matter what. Even the rat-faced bastard with the scratches. We can’t take a chance on not killing them.” He pursed his lips. “You head up to the roof. Be ready. Don’t shoot until you see me across the street. Keep your head down, and aim for the center mass. We want ’em dead.”
Jada stepped up and gave Mike a hug. His invisible brows arched up in surprise. He’d not known Jada long, but he knew she wasn’t very demonstrative.
Her face reddened prettily. “For luck,” she mumbled.
He watched her exit the bedroom, but caught up with her to move the chairs and couch quietly away from the door. They went their separate ways in the hall, she up to the roof and he down to the street.
Mike quietly made his way through the alley. All was quiet, and the cold damp seemed to keep things muted. Once again, he heard the crows calling in the distance. It made the gooseflesh rise on his arms. A primordial reaction, he told himself, not a bad omen. He hoped. He gathered up bits of paper and leaves as he went, stuffing them into the pillowcase.
Rounding the corner of the brownstone, Mike went from vehicle to vehicle, making his way up the street and beyond the four dead men. He reached a car that was parked sideways, giving him some cover on the gas cap side.
Quietly, he opened the small door and unscrewed the cap. Taking out his knife, he pushed the gas flap down, then took out a strip of weighted sheet. Slowly, he fed the sheet down into the tank, then pulled it back out. He smiled. It was saturated with gas, the vapors hitting him. He watched as the gas spread to the end of the sheet. Taking a smaller square of fabric, he soaked it with gas, then wrapped four shells and gun powder in it. Opening the side door, he placed it on the seat of the vehicle and piled the rubbish on top. He then dribbled gas from the strip onto the seat. Good, he thought. With the damp air, it would be difficult to ignite the sheet.
He duck-walked to the next vehicle and then the next, his knees making soft popping noises as he went.
The process took time. Two of the cars were bone dry. But finally, all four strips hung out of abandoned vehicles, and four bundles of ammo were set. He took his lighter and lit the one farthest from the brownstone, then backtracked quickly and lit the others. Once everything was alight, he crossed the street, making his way to the building across from the brownstone.
Going toward the back of the three-story structure, he slipped silently into the darkness and made his way through the maze of hallways, dead ends, and stairwells. He finally reached the rooftop and made his way to the chimney stack. He looked across and saw the top of Jada’s head.
He raised a hand. She nodded and shifted her AR15, aiming for the vehicles. Mike didn’t know how long it would take for the fabric to burn through, and hoped they wouldn’t just fizzle out in the damp air, or burn apart and drop to the ground.
The waiting was nerve-wracking, and he nearly shat himself when the first vehicle began billowing black acrid smoke. It was the second one he’d lit. The explosion from the ammo reverberated down the street, blowing out the window of the shop the vehicle had been parked by. Debris spread across the street, and the smoke rose into the air like a volcano erupting, roiling into the dim sky.
Another vehicle blew; the last one he’d lit. It was spectacular, and Mike heard the boom ricochet off the buildings. Plumes of black smoke joined those from the first vehicle, clouding the street.
He waited, but there were no more explosions. Two was better than none, though. He brought his AR15 up and waited for his targets.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Topsfield, Maine
The wind was picking up, biting into Tim’s face. Paul and he were just outside the kitchen window of the next farmhouse. From inside came loud laughter. Chum. He sat at the kitchen table with his son, three other men, and a woman.
Chum’s son had an arm around the woman, and he was squeezing her breast while he laughed, his mouth full of food. The woman was clearly afraid. Though their voices were muffled, the men were clearly enjoying themselves.
Tim heard a growl from beside him, and looked over to Paul.
“I know her,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
“We’ll get her out of there safe,” Tim promised, feeling his jaw harden with determination. Blood pounded behind his ears, and he smelled its coppery scent. He’d heard the expression of seeing red, but the visceral scent of blood was new to him.
He wondered if they treated Kelly like this. If they had raped her. Pack that shit down. Stay frosty, he told himself. He didn’t need that kind of mental distraction.
It was only a matter of time. These men were dead.
They moved to another window silently. It was darkened. He looked in through his NVGs, and saw a small shape huddled in the bed. The little girl. He motioned for Paul to take a look, and took note of the location.
They moved around the house and found another darkened window. Two women slept in that room, spooned in the bed for warmth. Blankets were heaped up over them. The anger once again tried to raise its head. These women didn’t have a fire to keep them warm.
He wondered about Kelly, pregnant and freezing. Once more he swallowed the rage, a living wriggling scorpion, as it threatened to send him on a murdering rampage.
The pair moved around toward the back. They found more rooms there, but they were empty. Backing away from the farmhouse, they took care to not trip over the debris that cluttered the yard.
Once away, Tim stood. “Let’s go back and get Rob and John. We’ll bring them back and see if we can’t break in to one of the empty rooms and make our way around the house.”
“Sounds like a plan. I want that little shit with the girl. He’s mine,” Paul said, his voice low and vicious.
When they arrived back at the other dilapidated farmhouse, they found Rob and John squatting over two dead men. Both men had had their throats slit, and even through his NVGs, he could see their faces frozen in surprise and horror. Wolfe’s thin face held an animation that hadn’t been there in life.
Looking at the erstwhile killers, Tim shook his head. Not a drop of blood on them. He could smell the metallic
bite of copper, though, and loosened bowel. Blood had its own unique tang.
“Have you gone in?” he asked quietly.
He got a negative shake of the head. “Figured we’d wait for you, in case they’s more of ’em,” Rob said softly.
Tim nodded his head. “Stay out here and keep an eye out for anyone coming from the other house. I don’t think they will – they seemed pretty happy to stay where they were.”
Only he and Paul had NVGs, and he didn’t want the other men bumping into things and making a noise. It was going to be noisy enough with him and Paul moving around.
He made his way first into the kitchen, and then to the room where he’d seen what he thought was a woman. He tried the door, and it was locked.
“Go see if either of those dead men have a key,” Tim said softly.
He watched Paul’s retreating form as he made his way down the hall. Soft creaking noises followed the tall man. Time held no meaning in the dark and silence of the house. Tim took in the scent of old and musty house, along with dust and cold air. There was a faint hint of decay, perhaps a rodent, long dead, hidden in the worn walls.
Footsteps squeaked, and he tensed until he saw Paul’s lanky form making its way down the hall. He held a skeleton key in his hand. Stepping aside, he let Paul unlock the door. Silently, he made his way in.
He walked to the lumpy form, supine in the bed, and pulled the blankets back. A woman lay asleep. He knelt by the bed and shook her. He knew she wouldn’t be able to see him, so he kept his hand ready to clamp over her mouth should she try to scream.
“Mam? Wake up, Miss,” he said softly, shaking her gently.
“We’re here to rescue you,” he whispered as soon as he saw her eyes open. A confused look came over her face. She looked ghastly through the NVGs, her face depicted in shades of green and gray.
“Be quiet. We’re taking you out of this place.”
She nodded her head in acknowledgement.
