"Come give this kid a taste of his own medicine."
"Be a pleasure," the scar-faced man said, then stomped his boot heel down on top of Kenny's hand.
Kenny's mind was awash with pain, and he flailed about with his free arm, trying in vain to free his hand from underneath the man's boot.
"Oh, we ain't done yet. You got some pain more coming." The scar-faced man said. The man drew his leg back and delivered a kick to Kenny's ribcage.
Kenny wanted to scream, but the kick had knocked the wind out of him. His heart pounded in his chest, looking around, desperate for help that wouldn't arrive.
The brute released his arm, and then kicked him in the ribs, too. The man stomped his boot down on Kenny’s other hand, grinding the fingers beneath the hard sole.
Kenny nearly blacked out from the pain. His stomach revolted, sick with terror and agony. Kenny sprayed vomit, covering the brutish man’s boots.
"Damn it! Look what he did!" The brute grabbed a handful of Kenny's hair and dragged him to his feet, then punched him in the face with a wide-armed haymaker.
Kenny went flying across the deck and collided with the riverboat's guardrail. Stars appeared in his eyes as he struggled for breath. The big man's boots were coming towards him. Filled with guilt, he knew he had to escape. He wanted to fight, to get up and kill the men, but there was no strength left in his body. If he lay here and let the man continue to beat him, he would die. He would be no good to his mother and Sarah if he were dead.
Summoning the last of his energy, Kenny got to his feet, took a deep breath, and threw himself over the guardrail.
"Shit, grab him!" the scar-faced man yelled.
Kenny splashed head first into the water. It was muddy and dark. He couldn't see anything in the brown water. Confused and tossed about by the river's current, he couldn't get his bearings. He kicked his feet, unsure if he was heading towards the surface or the river's bottom.
Just as his lungs felt like they would explode, Kenny surfaced, gasping for breath. His arms were nearly useless as he struggled to swim against the Ohio River's powerful current. Kenny leaned back and tried to float on his back down the river. His arms and legs grew weaker by the moment, drained from the fight.
The King's Archer was a hundred yards downstream and pulling away fast. Kenny looked around and found that he was in the middle of the river, a half-mile to the shore in either direction. His arms cramping up, Kenny struggled to keep his head above water and watched as the riverboat carried Sarah and Amy around a sharp bend in the river, slowly disappearing from his sight.
Chapter 19
Chief Howell scrabbled up the side of a steep slope, limped across the gravel road that snaked up the mountain, and then collapsed behind a heavy thicket of undergrowth, exhausted from the strenuous climb as he escaped from Bachman Detention Facility. He stripped his shirt off and wrung the sweat out of it, grateful to have made it to the top alive. He unfastened the Velcro straps of his bulletproof vest and pulled it over his head, wincing at the pain it caused his chest.
An angry red bruise radiated out from where the guard's bullet had hit him. It hurt like hell, but he would live to see another day. Bulletproof vests were hot, sticky, and nearly unbearable in the heat of a West Virginia summer. Considering the alternative, he wasn't about to complain.
Howell's stomach gurgled in complaint. He wasn't sure if it was from the bullet wound, an upset stomach from the moonshine, or the disturbing sights in the prison camp. His hands clenched into fists as he thought about what he'd seen.
Three years after the United States had weathered the worst catastrophe in its history, Tweed was taking advantage of the situation, monopolizing every industry in West Virginia. As if that wasn't bad enough, he'd turned those prisoners into drug addicted slave laborers.
What he knew now was enough to shut down Tweed for good, but what could he do with the information? If he took his story to the state capital, he could try to convince people of the truth, but it sounded too crazy to be true. Besides, he had no way of knowing who was in Tweed's pocket. Howell was one man, and all of the evidence hearsay. Tweed could have one of his thugs put a bullet in him and silence all accusations.
He didn't have any substantial evidence beyond his testimony, just the leather-bound notebook he lifted from Warden Metz's office and the stack of letters from missing prisoner's families. He needed hard proof of what was going on in the camp. There wasn't enough time to get it, though. The guard's body would be found, that much was for sure, but since no one else had seen the shootout, it would remain a mystery to Martin Hale staff. Would they shut the prison down for fear that their activities could be exposed? It was doubtful. With the prisoner's free labor, they were making money hand over fist. It would take more than one dead guard for them to shut down the operation.
He had the letters in the notebook. The inquiries from the prisoner’s families. An idea started to take shape in his head. They might be his only hope.
All of their addresses were on the envelopes. He could reach out to each and every one of them and spread the story of Tweed and his misdeeds far and wide, so everyone knew what had happened. And if he could urge those families into action he would have a sizable posse that he could bring to bear.
Roy and his scavenger crew were due back in town soon. They could split up the stack of letters and travel to each home. Together they could convince relatives of prisoners that had gone missing to form an alliance and put a stop to this. Each family he convinced could then contact another, spreading the information like a virus, redoubling the effort with each retelling.
A frightening thought occurred to him. This might not be the only Martin Hale work camp. There was little government oversight since the EMP. Tweed could have work camps set up all over the state hidden in remote locations just like this one.
Howell fetched his horse and then led the animal to the portly Martin Hale guard he'd taken hostage. The man couldn't be released, and under normal circumstances Howell would keep him tied up and throw him over the horse. But Wheeler was a long way off, and Howell was in no shape to walk that far with the wound to his chest.
"Well friend, I've got some good news and some bad news. The good news is that you're going to live to see another day. The bad news is that I'm going to make you walk so far today that you'll wish you were dead by the end of it."
Chapter 20
The King's Archer disappeared around the bend in the river, the thickly forested shore hiding her completely from view. Feeling the last of his energy being drained from his arms and legs, Kenny knew he had to find a way to float if he couldn't swim. Floating on his back wasn't going to cut it for much longer. An illustration from one of his dad's old sea survival manuals popped into his head. He'd found the book in the bathroom reading rack at their home in Baltimore. At the time, he'd come out of the bathroom with the book, laughing at his dad, who was terrified of boats and open water, asking him why he needed a sea survival manual. Now, though, he wished he'd read even more of it.
Kenny kicked off his shoes, letting them float away with the current, then stripped his pants off and brought them up to his chest level and began to back float again, his feet pointed downstream. He knotted the end of each pant leg tightly, then flipped the pants over in the water, catching a large bubble of air in the sealed off legs. The pants formed a V shape, and he cinched the open waist together and pulled the improvised float close to his body. He stuck his head under the water and blew air into the pants, inflating them fully. The float wasn't perfect, but it greatly reduced the amount of energy he had to expend to keep his head above water. Every few minutes, he had to add air to the pants until they completely re-inflated and cinch them shut again.
Drifting along in the muddy water, completely lacking the energy to swim to shore, Kenny clung to his floatation device and fought to hold back his tears.
The hopelessness of the situation washed over him. Sarah and his mother were gone. Even if he could swim t
o shore and find a rowboat or canoe, The King’s Archer would be long gone by then. There was no craft on the river that could match the speed of a steam-powered riverboat. They were gone for good and there was nothing he could do about it.
Kenny wrestled with his guilt. Should he have waited for another opportunity? Should he have tried to get help? Alternate versions of events ran through his mind as he struggled to come up with a different solution for something he knew he had no power to change: the past.
How would he tell his father when he returned home? What would he tell him?
Hey, Dad. Not much happened while you were gone. Oh yeah, I forgot. I lost Mom and Sarah.
How could he tell his Dad that he'd tried and failed to get his mother back? Kenny knew that his father wouldn't blame him, but that only made it worse. His father would have died trying to get Sarah and Amy back. He wouldn't give up, no matter what. He could almost hear Wyatt's voice in his head, counseling patience while they hunted deer. Strike when the time is right, not before. Wait for the perfect moment. Kenny knew he should have waited for a better opportunity instead of tackling the guard when he did. Instead of grasping at straws, he should have waited and gone for a sure thing. He got it now. He really understood. He was lucky to be alive. Not that it mattered, because his mother and Sarah were gone.
Kenny turned his anger inward. He would never let emotion dictate his actions again. He would be cold and hard, and then once his mind was set on a plan, only then he would allow emotion to fuel him and see him through the course of action.
Kenny stared downstream, blowing air into his makeshift life vest periodically. The only sound was the rush of river water.
He snapped out of his self-loathing as he noticed the sound of rushing water growing louder. In a panic, he wondered if there were any waterfalls on the Ohio River. He didn't know anything about the river or what lay ahead. A few more seconds of listening made him realize there was nothing ahead making the noise. The rush of water came from directly behind him.
He turned to see that a large riverboat had somehow steamed up right next to him and caught him by surprise. Kenny barely had time to register any details of the boat before a net was thrown from the ship, entangling him in its grip. He fought to free himself from the net, but he was being dragged into the boat. It was all he could do to keep his head above water. Hauled from the river, he was unceremoniously dumped onto the ship's deck, aggravating his wounded hands and rib cage.
Kenny heaved all of the water he'd swallowed back up onto the deck and then looked up to face his captors. They were hard looking men with stern eyes. They stared at him, clubs and pistols gripped tightly, as if daring him to make a move.
Who were these men? They looked no different than the Martin Hale guards that had just tossed him off the other riverboat. Did they work for Tweed, too? Kenny wondered if he should jump back into the water and escape, but that idea was dashed. His improvised float was long gone, lost in the struggle to be free of the net. Exhausted as he was, he'd have no way to keep himself afloat.
Something was strange about this ship. The other crew, the ones not encircling him, worked furiously, repairing damage to the front of the ship. The ship had run into something. Something huge, at least as massive as itself. Eight of the crewmen carried a two-foot wide long section of the log to the bow. It was easily thirty feet in length. They looped ropes and began to fasten it to the front of the ship so that it stuck out twenty feet from the bow, dipping down towards the waterline at the end, skimming the water. Curiosity filled him, but he had more pressing issues.
The crew stared him down, their ill intent visible on their faces. Facing such a pitiless crew, Wyatt's words echoed through his head. Strike when the time is right, not before. Wait for the perfect moment. He was powerless against these men. He had to try a different angle than useless, angry posturing. It would be wiser to wait and see how they treated him and find out who they were before he leapt to conclusions, or leapt back into the river.
"Thanks for fishing me out of the river. I appreciate it," Kenny said, self-consciously standing there in only a shirt and his boxers.
"Who are you? What were you doing out there floating in the river?" one of the men asked.
"I fell off of a boat," Kenny said. He didn't want to say too much more. If he mentioned the ship's name and they were Tweed's men, he would be in deep trouble.
"What boat? What was the name of the ship you were on?"
"I don't know. I can't remember the name of it," Kenny said.
The man sneered and cocked his head towards the river. "If you don't like our company, we can put you back in the river where we found you. I don't know who you are or what you're up to, but you smell like trouble to me. Boys, toss him back in," the man said.
Strong arms grabbed Kenny and he was nearly over the rail again when a woman's voice called out.
"Put him down," she said with authority.
The crewmen set him down on his feet, but kept a firm grip on his arms.
"Answer me truthfully or I'll let them toss you in," the woman said. She kept Kenny fixed in her unforgiving gaze. "Tell me the truth. Who are you? Why were you in the river?"
Kenny weighed his options, but knew there was no other choice but to tell her the truth and hope for the best. Whoever she was, this woman was no fool. She looked like she would spot a lie in an instant, and she didn't look like she made idle threats. He would be tossed back in the river, this time with nothing to use as a float, and he'd be as good as dead. If she worked for Tweed, he was as good as dead anyway.
"My name is Kenny Miller. I'm trying to find my fiancée and mother--"
"I told you not to lie to me, boy. You were floating down the river looking for your fiancée and mother. Are you crazy or an idiot? You'll need a better story than that." She turned to the crew and commanded, "Toss him over."
Halfway over the railing, Kenny reached out and latched onto the rail with both hands, clutching at the railing in a death grip. He hooked his leg through the railing, using all of his strength to resist the men trying to toss him over.
"It's true!" Kenny shouted, the words spilling from his mouth frantically. "My fiancée was kidnapped and her family was killed. My mother and I tracked her to Huntington and we tried to rescue her but my mother got caught. I tried to get help from a cop there but he turned me over to Tweed--"
"Who? What name did you say?" she asked.
"The cop called him Tweed."
The woman glared at him for a moment longer and then motioned to the crew. "Bring him back on board, boys. Let's hear what he has to say." She turned her gaze to Kenny and her voice softened a bit. "Tell me what happened to you, Kenny."
"The cop handed me over to some Martin Hale security men and they put me in a prisoner car... a railroad car. There were two other guys there with me. The guards were going to ship us to a prison camp, but me and the other prisoners killed the guards and escaped. I went back to Huntington and tried to find Sarah and--"
"Who is Sarah?"
"Sarah is my fiancée. I tried to find her and my mother and got on a boat that was leaving Huntington. I didn't know if they would be on the boat or not, but it was leaving and I didn't have any time to make a decision."
"That still doesn't answer why you were in the river."
"I found my mother and Sarah, and a bunch of other women being kept prisoner on the ship. I tried to kill one of the guards and take his keys, but he made too much noise and help came. Tweed had his men beat me. They were going to kill me but I jumped overboard--"
"What was the name of the boat? Did you see any markings on the side of the boat?" she asked.
"The King's Archer."
"The King's Archer? And Tweed was onboard? Are you sure?"
"Yes. I saw him--"
"How long ago?" the woman demanded.
"I don't know. Maybe fifteen minutes ago."
"All hands to your stations!" The woman yelled. "Feed the boilers, get her red
hot!"
The crew leapt into action, scurrying every which way as they moved to carry out her orders. Two men remained next to Kenny, gripping him by the arms.
"Let him go," she said to the two holding him. "Kenny, I don't know what quirk of fate brought you here today, but I'm inclined to believe it was divine providence. When we saw you floating in the river I thought you were one of Tweed's crew. We sunk one of his riverboats less than five miles up the river. Most of them jumped overboard and swam to shore." The woman extended her hand, and shook his hand with a surprisingly strong grip. "I'm Captain Patty O'Donnell, and this is my ship. Most of the crew are my sons and nephews. Come to the wheelhouse with me and we'll talk more."
"But what are you going to do?" Kenny asked, still uncertain.
Captain O'Donnell paused on the stairwell, turning back to address him. "We're going to catch up to The King’s Archer, and I’m going to make Tweed pay for what he’s done to my family."
Her eyes blazed with such an intense anger that Kenny was convinced she meant what she said. She ran up the flight of steps leading from the main deck to the wheelhouse, and Kenny dashed up after her. She threw a lever all the way forward, and the riverboat's paddlewheel churned faster, propelling them down the river in pursuit of The King’s Archer.
"Tweed sunk one of my boats, beat my brother nearly to death, and then burned our family business to the ground. I want payback," she growled. "Tell me more about this business with the kidnapping. How did you know your fiancée was taken to the warehouse?"
Kenny relayed the story of tracking down the highwayman to the bar, and then the trail that led to the warehouse. Captain O'Donnell ground her teeth together as she listened to his story, scanning the river ahead like a hawk for any sign of The King’s Archer.
"That son of a bitch. I knew Tweed was pushing people out of the shipping business and railroads for the last couple of years. Recently he's become even more aggressive, sinking ships and destroying property. But kidnapping? Slavery? That's a new low even for him," Captain O'Donnell said.
EMP Aftermath Series (Book 3): Retribution Page 13
