Made in the U.S.A.: The 10th Anniversary Edition

by Jack X. McCallum

  The cop pulled the headset off the kid and tore the sleeves off of his tan shirt, wrapping them around Carlos’ elbow. He jerked the bandage tight and the young guy stifled a cry. “Hurts like a sonofabitch, I bet. You okay to walk?” He was afraid that the kid’s pallor indicated shock, but Carlos nodded and struggled to his feet. Al retrieved a small automatic from the tangle of dead and gave it to Carlos. He collected extra magazines for their handguns and for the machine pistol. “Pretty good shooting, son,” he said, nodding at the guy with the third nostril.

  “Hey man,” Carlos said through clenched teeth, making sure his weapon’s safety was on before he tucked it into his pants, “It’s just like playing Duke Nukem.”

  Al didn’t know what the hell the kid was talking about, but he nodded anyway.

  * * *

  “Know how to use one of these?” Will was holding a Glock.

  Brief introductions had been made. Will had released Brian and Ravi from the cage and Brian had used the cutters to free Will’s wrists. Will had tucked the tool into a rear pocket of his jeans and collected his sneakers. Now they were standing by the newsvan. The rear doors were open and Ravi was rooting around in his equipment. He called out. “They made a real mess in here, but most of my cameras look okay.”

  Brian hardly heard. He was looking at the big handgun Will was holding out to him, and the extra magazine, a greasy-looking blue-black metal rectangle. Both items looked very dangerous. “Hmmm,” he said.

  Will grinned. “It’s just like jerking off. Point, and shoot.”

  Will took Brian’s right hand and wrapped his fingers around the Glock’s molded plastic grip. Brian felt one finger slipped into the trigger guard. His arm was extended and raised. He seemed to be pointing the gun toward a light bulb in a metal cage. Will held his hand steady and put his finger over Brian’s finger. Together they squeezed the trigger and the light bulb exploded. Will showed Brian how to change magazines and cock the gun.

  “There you go.” Will said, clapping Brian on the back. “Anyone shows up who isn’t with me, kill him. Unless it’s a big sheriff. Or a kid dressed like a fry cook. Sit tight in the van. Give me fifteen minutes or so. I have to go find someone. A few someones, actually.”

  Before Brian could reply, Will was gone.

  “Who was that masked man?” Ravi asked.

  “You got me,” Brian said. “Let’s get a few quick shots of this place, the bodies, and then get inside the van.”

  * * *

  Jeannie and Betsy were being escorted down a nondescript hallway by two burly female guards when they heard a noise far down the hall. The guards stowed their stun guns and drew automatic pistols. One guard went ahead while the other stayed and kept an eye on Jeannie and her daughter.

  They were still wearing the hospital gowns, their asses swinging in the wind. Jeannie was almost too numb to care. Betsy was so furious with this final indignity that she was sure she could punch a hole in one of the poured concrete walls.

  Betsy wasted no time trying to break or cut the strong plastic ties that bound them together like handcuffs. Jeannie thought the plastic strip that encircled her left wrist and Betsy’s right looked like a garbage bag tie, but she had tugged on it and found it strong enough.

  The guard who had gone ahead was a large woman with hair like tarnished brass. She gestured to the black-garbed woman who had stayed behind, a sinewy, mean-looking redhead, and then turned a corner out of their view.

  Jeannie was wondering if there wasn’t something she could say to make Betsy feel better and was trying to decide if this was the right time, when Betsy’s left hand clamped down on her throat and squeezed. Jeannie felt tears spill down her cheeks. She could hardly see and she certainly couldn’t breathe. Her compassion for Betsy vanished, replaced by a fury that was rising up out of her like a whirlwind. Jeannie’s right hand flailed about, finding Betsy’s long hair. Jeannie grabbed a length of her daughter’s black locks and wound them around her fist like a length of rope, and then she jerked her hand down as hard as she could. She heard Betsy yelp. The grip on her throat loosened just for a moment, long enough for Jeannie to take in some air. She wrenched her daughter’s hair again and felt the hand leave her throat.

  “You whore,” Betsy rasped, “I’ll kill you!”

  The redheaded guard had seen enough. Her leg swept out and then one woman was sprawling on her ass, her fist clenching a hank of dark hair and pulling the younger woman to her knees. The guard stepped close, planning to give the younger one a boot in the gut to shut her up and the last thing she saw was the edge of a slender white hand chopping at her throat.

  Jeannie watched the guard collapse and thrash, clawing at her throat while her skin changed color. She looked up at Betsy. “What did you do to her?”

  “I crushed her larynx,” Betsy said, standing and hauling Jeannie to her feet and delighting in her mother’s wince as the plastic binders cut into her wrist. “Look at that,” Betsy said, watching the guard suffocate. “Ugly way to go, huh?” Betsy stooped and reached for the guard’s gun, but a foot in a sneaker kicked the gun out of her reach.

  “Hey girls!” Will said, beaming at them.

  Jeannie gave him a sunny smile. Betsy saw the joy on her mother’s face and it made her sick with anger.

  “What are you doing here?” Betsy asked.

  Will ignored her completely. “You okay?” he asked Jeannie. She nodded. “I took care of one of these women in black. Any others with you besides this one?” Jeannie shook her head.

  Betsy was disgusted. Her mother was already pretty useless, and with this pretty-boy around she was a mute idiot.

  Will took the cutters from his pocket and removed the binders from their wrists.

  Jeannie leaped at Will and hugged him. “I thought you were dead.”

  “It was close,” he replied.

  Betsy fumed, hatred and longing swirling inside her and making her feel sick and light-headed. She had never been hugged like that! Why hadn’t her mother embraced her when she first saw her? Because she didn’t care. All she cared about was this thin guy with the scarred face and the pretty mouth. Again she thought of killing Will. It would really fuck up the bitch-mother. And it would be fun. There was something about the guy that really bugged her. “So,” she said to Will, “What’s the plan, hot-shot?”

  Will shrugged. “We get back up to ground level. Grab a car and disappear. But before we do that I guess we have to find some decent clothes for you two. And a razor blade, or something equally sharp.”

  “For what?” Jeannie asked.

  Will looked serious for a change. “For a little impromptu surgery.”

  Will picked up the body of the redheaded guard and carried her around the corner to a utility closet. Further back in the small room between a water main and a junction box was the other female guard. Will had disposed of her with a quick twist of the neck. He looked at the damage Betsy had done to the redhead and made a mental note not to get on her bad side.

  He went down the hall with Jeannie and Betsy behind him. Jeannie wondered aloud why there weren’t any guards looking for them, and why there weren’t any alarms going off.

  “Are you kidding?” Betsy asked. “Last night was the biggest party in the history of modern civilization. People are probably fucking off all over the country.”

  “Hey, that’s right,” Will said with a smile. He kissed Jeannie on the cheek. “I forgot to wish you a Happy New Year.”

  Jeannie still looked worried. “But why isn’t everybody in this place after us by now?”

  “’Cause they don’t know how bad things are yet,” Will said. “I killed the top dog in security. As far as they know, their detainees are accounted for. Remember, this place is extremely secure, but they’re usually more worried about people getting in than getting out.”

  “Doesn’t seem very secure to me,” Betsy said.

  “That’s because we’re seeing it from the inside. Most of the illusion of security they ha
ve here comes from the fact that this place is virtually undetectable from the outside. It’s kind of like the world’s first stealth building. Finding it and getting in are the hardest parts.”

  As they walked down the hall Will checked doors to either side, peering into any unlocked rooms. Many of the locked doors required either a key or a security card. He opened one door, said, “Crap,” and slipped inside, gesturing to the women to stay put. They heard some muffled thuds and then Will stepped out again.

  “What was that?” Jeannie asked.

  “Couple of security guys watching camera feeds. I took care of them. I saw the Sheriff and your pal Carlos creeping down a hallway. They both look like shit, but at least they’re still standing. If we’re lucky we’ll come across them. Oh, and I got this.”

  Will held up a keycard.

  A few minutes later they discovered a locker room; two toilet stalls, two shower stalls, two sinks, and a half dozen lockers for personal items.

  Will opened a few lockers, sliding the pins out of the hinges with the cutter tool. “Looks like guy and girl stuff. Maybe you two can find something to wear. We can spare a minute.”

  “That’s all I need,” Jeannie said. She pulled off her hospital gown and stepped into a shower stall. She was scared, wanted to get out of here more than anything, but she felt filthy. “I’ve been groped by more strangers than I care to remember. It’s making me feel physically ill. I need some soap and water.”

  Will grinned as she slid the frosted glass door of the stall closed. He checked a few lockers, throwing aside all the disposable razors he found and whispering a silent thank you when he found an old safety razor. He opened it and took out the Wilkinson Sword blade. Then he turned to the mirror over one sink, watching Jeannie’s silhouette as she quickly washed. There’s your anesthetic, he thought, as he cut into his forearm with the razor blade.

  He was done in a moment, holding a fold of toilet paper against the incision until it stopped bleeding. He said to Jeannie, “If we’re here much longer we’re going to get caught. And if we get caught, we could be killed.”

  “At least I’ll die clean,” she replied. “But I’ll be quick.”

  Will wished he had time to climb in there with her.

  Betsy had found a pair of gray drawstring sweatpants, a baggy black T-shirt, and sneakers that would fit. She looked over her shoulder and saw Will watching her mother with an almost boyish look of wonder on his face. She knew that no guy had ever looked at her like that. With desire, yes, and trouser-splitting, rock-hard-cock lust, but never with the tender, loving, curious and awed look on Will’s face right now. She wondered why that was. All her life she’d been twisting men into tortured knots. How would Mommie Dearest react if little Betsy did that to the cherished William Hill?

  Will was watching Jeannie’s ghostly figure through the frosted glass and keeping one ear cocked toward the door. He loved the way Jeannie moved, and for a moment he had the strangest feeling that he was like every other player in this bizarre game, all of them as insubstantial as dust motes swirling in her wake. Jeannie was like a whirlpool, drawing everybody toward her with an unconscious and irresistible force. And she looked damn fine doing it. He leaned back against a locker and looked at Betsy.

  Jesus!

  Betsy pretended to be unaware that Will was close by. She turned so her best side was to him. Make this good, she thought. She sucked in her stomach and stuck out her tits and her ass. She pulled the hospital gown up over her head in a slow, sensual movement, letting it lift her hair momentarily before its length cascaded down in shining black waves. Let him see it all and eat his heart out, she told herself. Better yet, get him up, and then run to mother and tell her that the horrible man was watching her undress with a big bulge in his pants and . . .

  Will was watching Jeannie again. The kid had a lot of what her mom had, but that was just the point, wasn’t it? She was just a fucking kid! Will felt ashamed for having seen her naked, although his ghosts had whooped it up and suggested that Betsy had everything her mom had once had and damn boy, weren’t those just the firmest titties you’ve ever laid eyes on? But in the end she was only a kid, and Jeannie’s kid at that. He had quickly looked away, feeling his cheeks redden with guilt. And she may be a cutie, but she wasn’t Jeannie. She may have had Jeannie’s body, and both bodies were spectacular regardless of age, but it wasn’t just Jeannie’s body he was attracted to. It was her smile. The way her head unconsciously raised a little, her nose poking up into the air with a little sniff of disdain when she found something disagreeable. Her laughter was often accompanied by a tiny snort, which he could tell she was self-conscious of and tried to stop, but he thought it was cute. It was these little things and many more intangibles that bewildered and entranced him, attitudes and mannerisms and lines of thought that Betsy did not possess. No, he was in love with Jeannie and that was that. No one will ever come between us, he thought with a grin. Till death do us part, if even then.

  Betsy tugged her clothes on, her teeth grinding together as she tried to control her fury. When was the last time someone had looked away from her? How dare he! Look at him, totally drooling over that wrinkled, droopy-titted, saggy-assed, potbellied bitch. If I get the chance I’ll kill him. He’ll die for this insult to me and for the pain it will cause her!

  Jeannie turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and stepped out, demurely covered.

  “That was quick,” Will said. Christ, she sure makes a bath-towel look sexy!

  Jeannie nodded, passing by Betsy and opening a few lockers. She found a man’s crisp white shirt and a pair of jeans that were well-worn, but they smelled clean. She dropped the towel and wiggled into the jeans.

  All Will could see was Jeannie’s back; that deliciously round ass disappearing under a layer of faded denim, the rounded half of one breast shifting and bouncing as Jeannie tugged the jeans on. The way she moved with such inherent unselfconscious femininity made her short and unintended display one of the most erotic moments of his life. Which was weird, he thought, considering the circumstances.

  Jeannie buttoned and tucked the shirt, zipped and buttoned the jeans, and looked for some shoes. They were either too big or too impractical, until she looked in the locker Betsy had raided. There was a pair of Gung Fu slippers, the inexpensive, sturdy footwear sold in almost every American Chinatown. She slipped them on and said, “I’m ready,” raking her damp hair away from her face with her fingertips.

  Will rolled up her sleeves nice and neat, and then before she could react he gripped her arm fiercely, whispered, “This is gonna sting,” and jabbed at her flesh with something shiny. She yelped. Blood oozed and he squeezed the wound, reaching into it to pluck out a tiny black bead, which he tossed away. Then he was holding some toilet tissue against cut he had made, which didn’t seem half as big as the pain it had caused.

  “Tracking device,” he said simply. “We’ve had them in us since we were kids. Remember our booster shots?”

  Jeannie nodded, feeling a sense of wonder. Now she knew what had been making her arm itch, and how these people had been able to find her. She was glad it was out of her.

  “Okay?” he asked, giving her a quick kiss.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Good,” he said, stepping into one of the stalls. ”Watch the door. I gotta take a piss.”

  He didn’t close the stall door, and as she tied her hair back again with the faded ribbon from Will’s pocket Jeannie realized she found him unbearably cute. With his broad shoulders and unruly hair and tight, squeezable ass, he was cute even when he was peeing. She turned to Betsy and gave her daughter a soft smile. “So. What did you two talk about?”

  Betsy gave Jeannie an icy glare. “Nothing,” she snapped. “Nothing at all.”

  * * *

  Both Al and Carlos lost track of how long they had been wandering down hall after hall. The installation was like an anthill, with so many corridors branching off in so many directions that it was a wonder the
whole complex didn’t just collapse in on itself. Whenever they entered what looked like a main thoroughfare, and there were quite a few, some as wide as a city street, they searched until they found a secondary branch. So far they had scared the hell out of three female clerks and one old custodian. They had also come across a lone guard in black, stepping out of a men’s room and zipping up his fly. Al dispatched the guard quickly.

  The big cop was worried about Carlos. The youngster might have been tough, but he was still little more than a kid. Blood loss and fatigue had taken their toll, and Al knew that he’d soon be carrying the boy. He cursed at their predicament. Whenever he felt anger brewing as he paused and waited for Carlos to catch up, Al reminded himself of what it felt like to get shot. Alabaster Johnson didn’t have quite as many scars as Will did, but he had a good number. Some of them were puckered entrance and exit wounds. When Al saw a sign for an infirmary he decided to take a chance. If he could find a side door and slip inside for some bandages they’d be okay.

  He leaned against a swinging door, eased it open and peered inside. For thirty feet or so the room was narrow, and he saw a few gurneys, a desk, some chairs, and cabinets along the wall. Beyond the narrow area the room opened up to something more like a hospital ward. There were beds, a few of them containing prone figures. Near him were two old men. One, wearing an expensive suit, was lying on the floor. The other was wearing pale green scrubs, standing straight and holding, what, a club? The guy on the floor was quite obviously dead, the upper third of his head having been reduced to a pulpy mass that resembled pink oatmeal. The elderly man still standing was gripping a wooden walking stick by the foot while pounding the heavy haft into the mealy mess. Al blinked a few times. This just kept getting weirder and weirder.