Storm Horizon

by Brian Switzer

  The man with the ice blue eyes crossed over to Coy's side of the fence. He looked down with another of those creepy smiles that didn't touch his eyes. "We need to put Sally in the crate now, Coy. Will she go when for me or do you need to tell her?"

  "Dude, I've only had her for six months. I don't know if she's ever even been in a crate. I assume we are going on a trip, so just lift her up and put her in the van with me. She won't cause any trouble."

  The man's smile didn't change a but his eyes grew colder than they were. "Not answering a question when it's posed is a good way to get a check mark, Coy."

  Coy shrugged his shoulders. "Open it up." One of the men pulled open the door in the front of the crate. A bolt of anger surged through Coy and he glared at the man in charge. "This would be a lot easier if I had my hands."

  He didn't respond and his smile didn't change.

  Coy ground his teeth together and shook his head. He took a deep breath, then called the dog over. "Move away from it," he said to the guy standing over the crate. It took three tries spread out over two minutes and a good deal of prancing and whining from Sally, but she finally went inside.

  The man in charge clapped his hands together "All right, that's it. Let's get him in the van and get back."

  * * *

  Coy’s stomach rolled when they spoke of putting him in the van instead of them in the van. He craned his neck to keep an eye on the dog crate while two men, a short fireplug with bad teeth and a tall, toned bald guy, braced him on each side and pulled him to his feet. They walked him toward the van, holding his biceps with grips of steel. In front of him, others hurried to clean up; soon, the only signs an incident occurred here were the downed creeper and the cut fence. And no one was going back for the crate.

  With no warning, he let his knees buckle so he was dead weight to the men guiding him. As they tried to correct their grip, he threw himself backward with as much force as he could muster and broke their holds on his arms. He hit the ground, sprang to his feet, and ran toward his dog.

  One of the central casting bad guys trailed behind them and tried to get his weapon up, but Coy was too close. He lowered his shoulder and plowed into the bad guy's gut. He made a noise like oof, and flew backward, his rifle spinning in the grass. Coy took two more steps before a gun boomed behind him and a bullet whizzed past his ear.

  "The next ones coming right in the back of your head, Coy."

  He froze. Sally looked at him from between the bars of the crate and pawed at them with her big yellow feet. Three men ran up and grabbed him with rough hands, turning him and trying to walk him to the van again. He resisted, bucking and kicking with all his strength. He twisted out of their arms and the four of them tumbled to the ground. A hand on the back of his neck pushed his face into the grass and somebody punched him twice in the back of the head. An arm snaked around his throat; he tried to drop his chin to his chest to block it but was too slow. The hold tightened and cut off his air.

  He quit struggling and went limp.

  Someone grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back. He rolled his eyes upward and met the gaze of the man in charge.

  He bent over until their foreheads almost touched. "What the fuck are you doing? I'm trying to get you out of here unharmed."

  The anger that Coy kept tamped down to this point exploded. He spat curses at everyone around him. "Fuck you, motherfucker. If you want to kill my dog, you have to kill me first." He was panting and could feel a string of drool hanging over his lip and against his chin.

  "Let me explain something," the man said, but Coy barely heard him. A remarkable calm overtook him, the same calm he had during wrestling matches. The man’s voice was a distant drone that he ignored. His senses were in tune with the hands holding his body. After a few moments, as the man droned on, they relaxed. He struck.

  His left leg was bent at the knee; he pistoned it out, catching fireplug square in the thigh. Fireplug bellowed in pain and Coy twisted his body into the two men on his right. Taken by surprise, the other bad guy fell and ponytail stumbled backward. He lifted his leg up and over ponytail’s head, laying it on his shoulder. He swung his hips and pulled down as hard as he could with his leg, dragging ponytail off his feet and placing a scissor hold around his neck. A flex of his thigh muscles cut off ponytail’s oxygen. His mind flew through the options of what to do next but skidded to a stop when he felt the cold steel of a gun barrel in his ear.

  "Let go of him," the man in charge said.

  He loosened his legs; ponytail rolled out from between them, coughing and gasping.

  The man in charge spoke to his team. "Get off." The hands holding him pulled away, including the one holding this hair. He lay on his back, sneering up at four of them as they glared back down at him with angry faces.

  The man in charge burst out in loud, booming laughter. "Holy shit, this kid. Coy, you are something else. You take out my guys and almost get away- twice. I can't say I don't appreciate the effort, but I don't understand it. Why are you fighting? I've told you, the first thing I said to you, is that you won’t… get… hurt. So what gives? Why are you trying to make me kill you?"

  Hot tears filled Coy's eyes. He spoke with a note of desperation in his voice. "Please don't leave her in that box. Please. If you have to put her down, then I won’t fight you anymore- go ahead and do it. But shoot her. Please don't starve my dog."

  The man's smile disappeared; he looked at Coy with his mouth open and his eyebrows drawn together. "Starve your… what kind of monster do you think I am? Did you hear anything I said?" Without waiting for an answer he turned to nose ring. "Gary, show him the timer." He glared down at Coy with an angry expression and gave him a swift kick in the thigh. "Sit up," he said, his voice cold.

  Gary walked to the box and ignored Sally, who was doing her best to jump up against him from inside. At the top of the crate sat a box with a dial on it. "This is a timer. I’ll set it for a minute, that's the smallest amount of time it recognizes." He made a small adjustment to the dial and stepped back a few paces.

  Coy sat on the hard ground of the old soybean pasture and stared at Sally while a minute passed. A mechanical whir came from the crate, followed by a metallic click, and the front swung open. Gary blocked Sally's escape, scratched her between the ears for a moment, and gently pushed her back in, swinging the door shut behind her.

  The man in charge fixed his grin on Coy. "It's on a timer, you see. You can set it open anywhere between a minute and twelve hours after you put your dog in there." He strolled over to where Coy sat and squatted beside him. "Now, here's the million-bullet question. (I used to say million-dollar, but that just doesn't have the correct gravitas now that dollars are worthless. So now I say million-bullet.)" He rubbed his hands together. "Can Wonder Dog find it home from here?"

  Coy cocked his head and studied him. "What's your name?"

  "What's that?"

  "Your name. It looks like we will be spending some time together. What do I call you?"

  The man chuckled. "You can call me the King of the Apocalypse, the Destroyer of the Dead, or the Master of the Universe. But my name is Magnus."

  "I'll stick with that last one if that's okay with you."

  Magnus slapped his knee and looked over at bad guy number two. "This fucking kid. He slays me." He turned his attention back to Coy. "So, anyway. Dog- home- can she make it?"

  "From two-and-a-half miles out? Probably."

  "How close do we have to get to turn that probably into a sure thing? My boss really wants your people to see that note."

  "If you get her within a mile of the house, she’ll be able to find it."

  "House?"

  Coy looked at Magnus as if he were dumb. "Yeah, house. The house I live in with my family."

  Magnus snickered. "That's pretty slick, kid. But let me ask you- do you think we don't already know you live in the quarry tunnels? That we just happened upon you out here in the soybeans? That would be a mighty big coincidence
."

  Coy pulled his mouth to the side and shrugged his shoulders.

  "And on that note, I will ask you a question. But before I do, understand this- I know almost as much about your operation down there in those tunnels as you do. Anytime I ask you a question about how things operate back in those caves, there's a good chance I know the answer and I'm testing you. And kid, if I catch you in a lie, that's a black mark. So, the question is- if we get within a mile of the quarry to let the dog out, will we run into any patrols, set off any alarms, any other sort of potential trouble?"

  Coy answered without hesitation. "No. We don't have anything like that."

  Magnus placed a hand that almost seemed affectionate on his shoulder. "If you make it through this alive, you should really think about putting some in place."

  Sixty-Two

  * * *

  Two of the guys loaded the crate with Sally inside in the back of the van while another pair, fireplug and ponytail, pulled Coy to his feet and guided him to the rear seat. Gary climbed into the driver’s seat. Magnus rode shotgun; ponytail and fireplug sat on either side of Coy and the two bad guys piled in the cargo box with Sally’s crate. The air inside stunk of cigarette smoke. Underneath it, Coy detected the slight but unmistakable odor of fish.

  Gary guided the van out of the field and onto a nearby road; he turned right, toward the quarry. A few minutes passed before he stopped and Magnus turned to face Coy. "Is this close enough?"

  Coy peered at the road ahead and nodded. He knew where they were; a half-mile up the road there was a curve, then another quarter-mile got you to the quarry entrance. "Yeah, she'll have no trouble from here." He took a deep breath and willed his voice not to tremble as he spoke. "Can I talk her real quick before you let her go?"

  Magnus turned back and faced the front. "Absolutely not. Behave yourself and you'll see her in a few days."

  Coy squeezed his eyes shut and tried to empty his mind as he listened to them offload his dog. The door slammed shut and one of the bad guys spoke. “We're done.” Gary conducted a perfect three-point turn and headed back in the direction they came from.

  Magnus spun around to face him. "You won’t like this, but I have to do it." He bobbed his head at fireplug who nodded back and produced a black pillowcase. "We're going to put this hood on you; my boss isn't too keen on you seeing where we’re going."

  He resisted when they pulled the pillowcase over his head, but it was for appearance's sake. If they wanted him to wear a hood, then he would wear a hood. If they wanted him to dance the funky chicken in a pink tutu he’d do that as well; he didn’t have any options at the moment.

  He sat between the two men, unable to see and breathing in his own warm exhale. He thought about the books he'd read and movies he'd seen where the bad guys take people against their will. One thing the smart people did was use the senses available to them to detect information about their surroundings. He tapped his boot heel on the floor and made a metallic click. A hard surface, not carpeting or fabric- a base model. He wiggled his fingers against the seat cover behind his back. Vinyl. No question it was a base model van.

  He sensed they weren't moving very fast, and his seatmates jostled him several times. Once, they bounced hard enough to toss him into fireplug. The short, stout man mumbled and shoved Coy back to his seat. Up front, Magnus cursed and told Gary to be more careful.

  The county roads were getting worse. Harsh weather, tree roots, and periodic flooding combined with a lack of maintenance took their toll. Driving them meant enduring potholes, ruts, uneven fractures, and sometimes whole chunks of missing road.

  They headed east for a time. Gary turned right then made a left-hand turn a short time later. Every move after that had been swerving and lane changes, presumably to avoid abandoned vehicles and road damage.

  He put it all together in his head. They were driving south on a county road at a little less than twenty miles an hour. He sat up straight, proud of himself. The amount of time they spent on the road would tell him how far they traveled from camp. His mind filled with thoughts of leading a team back to the place where his abductors were, and the savagery with which he would take his revenge.

  The vinyl in Magnus’ seat rustled as he turned to Coy. "What are you doing, kid- trying to keep track of where we are so you can find your way back?"

  Coy's shoulders jerked with surprise and his face grew hot under his hood.

  "Holy shit!" Magnus slapped the back of his seat. "I was kidding, but you really were trying to monitor our progress." His booming laugh filled the cab. "Gary, take some extra turns to throw the kid off." He chortled. "This fucking kid."

  Coy fell back in his seat, closed his eyes, and stopped paying attention to where they were. Instead, he focused on his hands and arms, which had become quite uncomfortable. His biceps and shoulders ached from being locked in an unnatural position. For a while rolling his shoulders brought them relief, but nothing helped his biceps. His fingers tingled and fell asleep shortly after he got in the van; now when he wiggled them he felt nothing.

  Plus, a growing pressure from his bladder was getting uncomfortable. If he didn’t go pee in the next half-hour he would have a situation on his hands.

  Twenty minutes went by and he was about to say something when they slowed and made a series of turns. They stopped twice and he smelled fresh air, indicating a rolled-down window. Both times, voices outside spoke words he couldn't make out, then they rolled on. He assumed they were checkpoints or guard stations.

  They rolled to a stop again, and this time the engine quit rumbling and he heard the sounds of doors opening. His seat bounced as fireplug exited the van; seconds later, he pulled Coy out the door as well. Once again, rough hands grasped each of his biceps in a crushing grip. "Hold still," Gary said. He froze and his hands were free- someone had cut the zip tie. He let his wrists hang limp and shook his hands, trying to help the blood flow hurry back into his fingers.

  Magnus spoke into his ear. "We need to keep this hood on. But don't worry, we'll guide you and tell you when you need to turn and when you have steps to navigate."

  "Okay. But if you don't give me to a bathroom soon, somebody's gonna be cleaning up a mess."

  Magnus chuckled. "I guarantee you are that person. Point taken about the bathroom though."

  They led him across a short stretch of soft and uneven terrain before stepping on a hard surface like a sidewalk.

  Someone was performing heavy duty work nearby; the growling and gnashing of several big pieces of equipment like tractors or earth movers rang through the air. For a minute he wondered if they kidnapped him for forced labor on a farm of some sort- after all, planting season had arrived. He brushed the thought aside. There were easier ways to your hands on slave labor in the apocalypse.

  They helped him up three steps and over more concrete, then paused. When they resumed, he could tell they had passed through a doorway and were inside now. The wind no longer wafted around him and the noise from the machinery had a muffled quality to it.

  Their footfalls echoed as they marched him down a corridor, and then they stopped again. Magnus’ voice booming to his left startled him. "You can use the bathroom now.” Fireplug, ponytail, and bad guy one stood in a row next to him. Magnus pointed at the trio. “These guys will go with you. Inside, they’ll take off your hood, let you do your business, and put the hood back on. They are pretty tired of your shenanigans. Do not misbehave."

  "You better let me go in by myself. I have performance anxiety and may not be able to go." Coy wasn't sure why he said that; he didn't know he was until the words tumbled from his mouth. He wondered if it was a bit of rebellion against being ordered around for the last three hours.

  Magnus didn't bat an eye. "You may as well piss your pants then, because you're not going alone."

  A short time later, his hood in place, Coy resumed his march. If he had to guess, he was in a church. Will and Becky weren't church-going folks, but Coy had been to his share of weddings
and funerals in houses of worship and he'd attended vacation Bible school every summer when he was a kid. This building had that unidentifiable church odor- a pleasant mix of candles, incense, and cleaning supplies mixed with a residue of cologne, perfume, and hairspray.

  They stopped, waited a moment, and moved forward a few feet before stopping again. They crowded together in a small space and Coy was just about to guess elevator when the familiar lurch sent his stomach dropping to his knees for a moment. A handful of seconds passed and the elevator car eased to a stop. An electronic chime sounded, and a recorded voice spoke in an elegant English accent. "Third floor; passengers must show badge to exit the car."

  Coy had an understandable sense of foreboding since he was taken. Now, though, worry slipped away, replaced by a gnawing curiosity. Where the hell was he, and what the hell was going on?

  They stepped forward and a new voice spoke. "Morning, gents." Greetings passed between the new voice and the men from the van. When the newcomer spoke again, his voice carried an apologetic tone. "I need to see your badges, gentlemen."

  "No problem," Magnus said. "Carl there doesn't have one yet; he's still working his way up."

  The man guarding the elevator took on a very officious tone. "Then I'm afraid Carl will have to go back and wait for the rest of you gentlemen downstairs."

  Apparently, Carl didn't move fast enough because Magnus spoke in an irritated tone. "You heard the man. Get downstairs."

  Everyone else must have passed muster because after a few pleasantries they were moving again, down what felt like a long, skinny corridor.