Storm Horizon

by Brian Switzer

  Jiri pulled a chair close. "Let's make sure you understand your situation." He leaned forward and spoke with an earnest tone. "Your friends are dead. You are the only survivor. So you’re here, all alone amid two hundred people who hate your guts."

  The man squeezed his eyes shut.

  “That's right. You guys killed three of our own, and a fourth may die as we speak. Now, my entire group has fixated you on you as the sole responsible party for those deaths. And they want their retribution."

  A long, drawn-out silence ensued. Jiri didn't speak, curious to see how the man would respond.

  After thirty seconds, the prisoner turned and met his gaze. "I didn't even want to come here. It was all Scott and Terry's idea. I came along so I wouldn't have to be alone out there."

  Jiri shook his head slowly and bit his bottom lip. "That is a sad story. And I can relate that to my people for you, maybe get folks to back off. But to do that, I'd have to know your name." He rose from his chair with a start and walked behind the prisoner. He put a hand on each of his shoulders and spoke in his ear. "I don't understand the problem. If I wanted to put two in the back of your skull,"- he tapped the man's head twice for emphasis- "I’d have done it already, and been on the way to supper. Or I could have thrown you to the mob out there. Let them pull you apart. I'd like to think not doing those things earns me some goodwill. After all- you attacked us. So, who am I talking to?"

  The man paused and let out a heavy sigh. "My name is Hayden Boggs. Are you the leader here?"

  Jiri clapped his hands with delight. "See, that wasn't so hard. As for my position here, we’ll discuss that later." He sat back down, this time sitting in the chair closest to his satchel. He didn't look at or mention it, but simply stroked it as he spoke. "This is what we’re going to do now. I'll to tell you my story, and then you'll tell me yours. I'll have some questions, and that'll be all. With luck, by the time it's done we can be friends." He gave Hayden a confident smile and eased back in his chair.

  "Back when college degrees mattered, I had a Doctorate in French Literature. It took me six years of college and two years in the doctoral program to achieve. Because France hasn’t produced a readable novel in 150 years, much of my study was about times long past. Medieval times, the Dark Ages, the Middle Ages.” As he spoke, he drew back the cover on the satchel and revealed a thick roll of felt. "Over the course of those eight years, I took three classes that taught, among other things, the torture methods used during the French Revolution, and the darker centuries before that great event. Did you know, there would have been no American Declaration of Independence had the French Revolution not occurred. The more you study history the more you see our past as links in a grand chain." He unfurled the role of felt slowly and with loving care.

  When Hayden saw what he had uncovered, he froze and sucked in his breath.

  "You see, Mr. Boggs, humans have an infinite capacity to make their fellow man suffer. This capacity is nothing new. It's as old as time." The felt, fully unrolled, stretched for six feet; large pockets were sewn onto its surface from end to end. Each pocket contained an ancient-looking torture device. He pulled a knife from a pocket in the middle and inspected it. The blade was honed to an exquisite edge; it gleamed mute malevolence under the bright light.

  "This is a Portuguese canivete. It’s designed to make hundreds of small, delicate incisions in a person's skin. The blade is so sharp and thin that unless you go too deep, the wound won't even bleed. Isn't that something?"

  He returned the canivete to its pouch and searched the other devices until he found the one he wanted. It resembled a pair of tongs, a V-shaped piece of metal with a spring at the junction. The legs of the V were eight inches long and ended in a pair of nasty looking barbs that curved to a keen point. When you closed the V, the barbs came together to form a square.

  The prisoner stared at the device wide-eyed, then looked away.

  Jiri tapped a knuckle on top of the table. "Look at me, Mr. Boggs."

  He didn't turn or reply, his eyes fixed on the far wall instead.

  For the first time since he walked in, Jiri's voice took a tone that wasn't warm and friendly. "Mr. Boggs. If you don't look at me, I will cut off the pinky finger on your right hand, and keep chopping off fingers until you do as I say."

  He turned and gazed at Jiri with equal parts resentment and fear.

  Jiri held the V-shaped stainless steel in front of the prisoner so he couldn't help but see it. "Something like this, it doesn't have a fancy European name. They called these ball-rippers. The priests- because more often than not, the church administered the torture- take a man's pants off and hold him down with his legs spread." He clanged the ends of the rippers together three or four times. The metal-on-metal clap reverberated in the quiet room and the intruder flinched each time. "After that, it was a small matter to fish around down there until you had a nut in the little square. Then you press the legs together… and pull."

  Hayden's face whitened and his breath quickened. Rivulets of sweat ran down his face and neck despite the cool temperature beneath the earth’s crust.

  Jiri returned to a friendly and concerned tone. "You seem parched. Would you like some water?"

  "Sure I want some water," his voice dripped with sarcasm. "Is it poisoned?"

  Jiri laughed and slapped his leg. "There you go, thinking I mean to kill you again. Let me repeat myself. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead." He grew somber. “But I do need to ask you some questions," he said while running his thumb up and down the middle barb of a hand-held triton.

  Hayden blew out his cheeks and exhaled a great breath of air. He met Jiri's gaze, then looked down at his shoes. "I’ll tell you whatever you want to know."

  "Outstanding. I didn't look forward to using this stuff." He gestured at the long line of torture devices. "But, I have a responsibility, and I will do whatever is necessary to protect the people here."

  "I understand." Hayden looked at him with a face full of expectation. "I'll take that water, too, if that was a sincere offer. And maybe untie me?"

  "The water is not a problem." He pulled a canteen from the box that held the lanterns. "But I'm afraid we need to leave you bound while we talk."

  "Come on. I bet you have at least five guys outside that door. Even if tried something, which I won’t, and I got past you, I won’t get past a small army out there."

  "Can't do it, Mr. Boggs.” He unscrewed the canteen cap and held the jug to the prisoner's lips. He gulped greedily, ignoring the water that spilled down his chin and onto his shirt. When he was done, Jiri used his shirt sleeve to wipe the excess water from around the man's mouth.

  He set the canteen aside and took a seat. He pulled a spiral notebook and pen from his jacket pocket and gazed at Hayden with expectation.

  "Let's begin."

  Thirty-Two

  * * *

  Jiri was about to begin, but before he got out the first word the door swung open and Will strode in.

  "Have you started yet?" he asked.

  Jiri spoke in a clipped tone. "I was just about to ask my first question."

  Will jerked a thumb toward the back of the room. "I'll sit back here, out of the way. Pretend like I'm not here and do what you do." A small table covered with coffee mugs and an array of magazines sat against the back wall. He dragged a chair over to the table and sat down.

  A flash of anger welled up inside Jiri at the interruption and the breach of the basic rules of interrogation. During the long walk through the tunnel he had weaved a careful script and so far Hayden had followed it beautifully. A guy barging in out of the blue wasn't part of the script, and Jiri would bet he lost ground. In addition, he followed the camp of professional interrogators who believe when the subject concludes that his safety and security are in the hands of his questioner and no one else it speeds up the creation of the bond that prevents the subject from lying.

  He shook it off, leaned back in his chair, and gazed at Hayden. He said nothing for a
long time; Hayden fidgeted beneath his bonds. He waited until the man opened his mouth to speak, held up a hand to keep him silent, and began.

  "The reason we’re here, Mr. Boggs, is you and your group attacked us without provocation or reason. This community has suffered a string of attacks too well-organized to be random. What I want to ascertain is if your attack is part of that string, and if so, who sent you."

  "It’s not. Part of the string, I mean. No one sent us."

  Jiri threw his head back and laughed. "Well that was easy. Thanks for straightening things out for us, Mr. Boggs."

  Hayden gave him an uncertain smile, the grin of a man who can’t tell if he heard the magic words or is being fucked with.

  "Unfortunately, I'll need a little more reassurance."

  He nodded and looked at the table, crestfallen.

  "You knew our numbers?"

  "I don't…" Hayden shrugged his confusion.

  "Your team did its due diligence and reconnaissance, and you knew you were attacking 217 people?"

  "We knew a lot of people lived here. I mean, we didn’t have an exact number, but it was clear you had a good-sized group." He paused and took a deep breath. “Hey, could you untie me now, since two of you are here? I’m uncomfortable as hell.” He waggled his fingers as if to prove his discomfort.”

  “I’m afraid until you’ve done more to help me out, I’ll need you…”

  Will interrupted from the back of the room. “Hell, untie the bastard. I’ve got three weapons on me. If his ass comes off that chair, I’ll blow him into next week.”

  Jiri dipped his head. He sucked air through his teeth and slapped his palm on the tabletop. “By all means. Do me a favor though- don’t get up. He really will shoot you, and I’d like to finish our conversation.”

  “Hey, whatever you guys say. I want to get through this alive. You say don’t get up, I’m not getting up.”

  Jiri rose, withdrew a short and savage looking knife from one of the felt pockets, and paced to the head of the table. The knife sliced through the binds like butter and he returned to his seat, thinking black thoughts about Will. “Okay, so where were we? You know the group you’re attacking is much larger than yours. And that didn't dissuade you?"

  Boggs blew out his cheeks. "I guess you get so used to things being a certain way you assume they’ll always be that way."

  "What's that mean?"

  "Tiller came up with- do you mind if I smoke?" Hayden raked his fingers through his hair. "I could really use a smoke."

  Jiri closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek. With the whole set-up behind the interrogation blown, he figured what the hell. "That's fine. Slow and easy coming out of your pockets. We're getting along fine- let's not mess it up."

  Hayden nodded, reached into a pocket on his coverall bib, and in the front pocket on his jeans. His hands moved with slow caution as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the bid and a lighter from his jeans. He lit the cigarette and drew on it for a long time. He blew out a huge cloud of blue smoke and took another drag.

  Jiri waved the smoke away and made a steeple of his fingers. He looked at Hayden with pursed lips. "You were saying?"

  Hayden nodded. "Tiller's came up with the idea. He was the boss. He called it 'moving up'. That’s what happened to us. We were getting by in a nice little farmhouse when a bigger group ambushed us one day- killed three of our guys and drove the rest of us out.

  "We wandered from place to place, living on the road, fighting the biters like everybody else. We found the uniforms and the vests one day in a police station. We spent another day finding four matching Suburbans. Two days later, we moved on a smaller group living in a car dealership. Tiller thought it would make us a good spot."

  Jiri rubbed his eyes. “Hold up. You gave up a police station for a car dealership? Why not stay at the station? What’s safer than a place with bars and cells?”

  “Somebody blew the station up. Nothing but a pile of rubble with one wall standing.” A smile played on his lips. “We found some good equipment in that rubble, though.”

  Jiri nodded. "If you had a good spot at a dealership, why leave?"

  Hayden shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out to his sides. "For Tiller and some of the guys, nothing was ever good enough. They’d get bored, and to be honest, they were a little bloodthirsty. Every few months he'd say, ‘it’s time for us to move up in the world’. We’d sent scouts out, they’d decide on a place, and we'd go take it over."

  For a long moment, Jiri didn't speak. He rubbed his forehead and looked at the ground. "You're saying that you guys would leave a place of shelter, - not because there was anything wrong with it, but because you were bored - find an innocent group trying to survive this madness, and you would drive them out and take what was theirs. For the fun of it." The longer he talked, the faster his words came and he clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

  Hayden crushed out his cigarette out and shifted with discomfort. He looked up and spoke in a plaintive tone. "Because of Tiller and a couple of the other guys- it became a game to them." He raised his hands before him in a supplicating gesture. "The rest of us did what we had to do to get by. To not end up a biter. I'm not proud of it, man. I was trying to survive."

  Jiri took a deep breath, paused, and scratched his top lip. When he spoke again, the anger had left his voice. "What led you to attack us?"

  "One of the guys knew about this place. He read about it on the Internet, back before. He talked about it all the time, how this was the safest place to be, outside of a prison or lockup.

  "So Tiller sent a crew to investigate. To find out if it was the real deal and see if it looked like a place we could take. They reported back that it looked perfect and ripe for the picking. Tiller and Beaumont, his number two, put a plan together for the attack that day."

  Until now, Will sat motionless and silent, listening to the conversation. But something Hayden said provoked him. He jumped up and strode to the table, pulling out a chair on the opposite end of the intruder. He sat down and spoke. "Here's where you lose me. You say no one directed you, and we were just one in a succession of attacks your crew committed, for a place to stay. And you say your guys scouted us out. It doesn't compute, Hayden. I don't believe you."

  Boggs' shoulders sagged and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I'm really sorry to hear that. I don't have any incentive to lie. You guys won. My crew is dead and I will probably be dead soon, too." He looked first to Jiri, then Will, and put his right hand over his heart. "I swear to God, man, every word of my mouth has been the God's honest truth. What do you think I'm making up?"

  "It doesn’t make sense. It's like Jiri said early on- 200 against thirteen. Why would you pick that fight?"

  Boggs gave a mirthless chuckle and leaned back in his chair. "Because it always worked in the past.” He held up his palms and shrugged his shoulders. “Every place we went after, we took. He didn't matter if we went up against ten people or a hundred. We'd roll up with no warning in the matching Suburbans, with our AK's and Uzis and RPG's. Standard procedure said blow the shit out of something right off the bat, to demoralize the poor bastards. If we faced any resistance at all, it came from a few deer rifles and shotguns. If our target was lucky, they’d have a couple of M4's that they found.

  "Part of the scout team's job was to figure out who the leaders were before we attacked, and Tiller always had us try to take them out first. Usually, about the time we switched out our first magazine, our targets-"

  "Your victims," Jiri interrupted.

  Boggs gazed at him for several seconds without comment. He let out a breath of air and his shoulders drooped. He looked down at the floor and replied. "Our victims. Our victims rushed out with their hands up, begging us to let them leave."

  "What happened then?"

  "We let them leave," Hayden said in a defeated voice.

  Jiri paused and seemed lost in thought. He nodded his head and focused
his attention back on Hayden.

  "So. Nobody sent you to kill us- it was a random event. You didn't mind being out-manned because it had never mattered in the past, and your crew didn’t expect much resistance. Is that the sum of it?"

  Hayden gave Jiri a slight smile. "If you call blowing us to shit with a fifty cal 'resistance', then yeah, that sounds right."

  Jiri turned to Will. He propped his elbow on the tabletop and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. "Does that sound all right to you?"

  Will closed his eyes and sat in silence for several seconds, then his eyes snapped open. He smacked the tabletop with his hand; the report made Hayden jump in his seat. “I’ve got a question.” He took his feet and walked the length of the table, pacing the floor behind Hayden as he talked. “How come you guys never used the RPGs? Firing a few of those into a contained space like the tunnels would have been a game changer. Might have killed us all. Why’d you leave that bullet in the chamber?”

  “Tiller’s orders. We didn’t know what was in the shafts. He said it could be a fuel or natural gas depository for all we know. He was afraid a grenade going off in the wrong place might blow the whole bluff down on us. Some of the guys tried to fire one at whoever you had shooting at us from up on the ridgeline, but he kept shooting them before they could get a shot off. Guy’s a hell of a shot.”

  Jiri hid a smile behind his hand and caught Will’s eye. "Well, I guess answers all our questions."

  There was a pause in the conversation; Hayden sat with his head bowed and his hands clasped in his lap. He looked up and caught Jiri‘s eye. "What's that mean for me?"

  "What's what mean for you?"

  "That there are no more questions."

  Jiri spread his hands wide and gave the man a bitter grin. "What you think it means, Mr. Boggs? You are responsible for the murder of three of our people. Six more injured, two mortally, perhaps. I'm afraid we can't give you a gilt-edged invitation to join our community."