Storm Horizon

by Brian Switzer

  They stopped again, and Magnus’ voice spoke close to his ear. "You and I are going to step into a room, and I’ll take the hood off. Just in case you get any ideas, I want you to be aware of three things. One, I'm armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons. Two, you couldn't take me one-on-one if you had weapons and I didn't. So don't try me. And three, you're on the third floor of a large building. The building sits on a mighty big piece of land. Both the building and the land are full of my people. So, if by some miracle you got by me, you'd also have to get by hundreds of my men to get out of here. One more thing- if Jesus Christ himself descended from the sky, lifted you out here, and sat you down outside the area I control… you wouldn't have the first God damn idea where you are or how to get home. So behave yourself."

  "You could've just said 'don't try anything' and skipped the speech. We’d be in there by now."

  There were a few beats of silence, and Coy imagined Magnus glaring at him with those icy blue eyes. Then the man chortled. "This fucking kid. I love this kid."

  Sixty-Three

  * * *

  A door latch clicked open. Magnus guided Coy forward a few feet and told him to stop; the door clapped shut behind them. The pillowcase slid up and off Coy’s head, and he found himself in a small room with Magnus, just as he’d said.

  An expensive-looking desk took up one side of the room. Magnus leaned against it, grinning. A bolt of anger surged through Coy. He pointed a finger at the man, his lips pulled back in a snarl. “I hope you’re wearing that smile when I give you payback for all this.”

  Magnus’ smile grew wider.

  Coy’s face grew warm; talking shit wasn’t one of his strong suits. Danny could toss out threats and insults that made his opponent laugh and piss himself with fear at the same time. And Coy’s Dad was just plain scary when he got mad; he didn’t need to speak to frighten most men. Coy lagged behind both when it came to intimidation and it bothered him.

  Why do you think you’ll want payback? What makes you so sure we didn’t bring your here for something positive? Something that will make you happy?"

  "I don’t think you would have ambushed me in the middle of a soybean field to tell me I'd won the lottery."

  Magnus scratched his cheek. "Good point."

  "Something has been bothering me. You guys sure were organized back there. How did you know I'd be in that exact spot at that exact time?"

  Magnus beamed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Good question, but not one I’ll answer. Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

  Coy's mind whirled. Magnus was treating him like an honored guest, not a kidnapping victim. He decided to stop trying to figure things out and instead to go with the flow. "Yes, to both."

  Magnus was in mid-yawn when Coy answered. He held up a finger on one hand and covered his mouth with the other. "Shit," he said as he finished his yawn. "Water and juice are in the fridge behind you, and old chips and shit in the cabinet."

  Coy turned. A small refrigerator sat against the wall, butted up against an even smaller countertop with a sink on the end. A pair of kitchen cabinets hung from the wall on either side of the sink. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and chose a package of day-glow orange crackers with peanut butter in the middle. Snack in hand, he turned back to Magnus.

  The man looked at him like he was appraising a horse for sale while Coy munched on his crackers. After he swallowed the last crumb and washed it down with a draught of water, Magnus spoke.

  "You play high school sports?"

  "Is that why you brought me here- you guys need a quarterback?"

  Magnus smiled, but it was a ghost of his usual grin. "Seriously."

  "Yes, sir."

  Magnus clasped his hands together and pointed a thick, gnarled index finger at Coy. "That right there- that's the point I was making."

  "What point?"

  "Your manners. Yes sir, no sir, please and thank you. Shit like that. Your generation only says ‘yes sir’ if the person was a jock in high school and the coaches trained them to say it, or if they came from a military family."

  Coy drained the rest of the bottled water and tried to figure out Magnus’ point.

  "I tell you this because it's important you be polite when you get in there."

  Coy felt like Alice in the rabbit hole. "I don't have the first damn clue what you're talking about."

  "I know. Just remember what I said." With that, Magnus sauntered to a doorway opposite the side of the room they'd entered from. He pulled the door open and gave Coy a magnanimous wave to the other side. "Go on in there, kid."

  Fear curdled in Coy's belly. "Tell me the truth- you owe me that much. Am I going to die in there?"

  "The first thing I told you is we aren’t here to hurt you. That hasn't changed." Magnus gestured at the door again. “Now get in there."

  Coy blew out a breath, squared his shoulders, and walked through the doorway.

  Sixty-Four

  * * *

  Will leaned against a wall, his shoulders drooped and his arms crossed over his chest. He was in one of the big cleared spaces the miners had dug off the main shafts. In the middle of the room, Cyrus and a pair of assistants bustled about in the middle of the room. They took measurements, made adjustments to the still, checked and rechecked the dank-smelling liquid collecting in the outflow tank.

  Cyrus's located his lab in what used to be the quality control department of a company that bought lumber, treated it, and resold it. Even now, more than two years after the outbreak, the faint smell of pine was noticeable beneath the odors of chemicals and decomposing plants that Cyrus's efforts produced.

  Danny and Jiri loitered around the lab's entrance; they’d been giving Will a wide berth all day. Coy's abduction followed by his very audible disagreement with Becky the evening before had his team walking on eggshells today.

  For the hundredth time Will relived the fight, looking for something he could have said differently or words he might have used to produce a different outcome, but nothing came. He was in an impossible situation and for the first time in their marriage, Becky didn't have his back.

  Cyrus's high-pitched and reedy voice interrupted his thoughts. "We're ready to give it a try."

  Will nodded his understanding. An assistant produced a red plastic gas can. He opened the valve on the tank and filled the can to half-full, craning his neck away and wincing at the odor.

  They left the lab, crossed a small production floor, and exited through the manufacturer’s reception area. They’d parked a bright red Chevy truck in the tunnel; it gleaned in the light produced by a bank of lanterns. The other assistant unscrewed its gas cap and emptied the contents of the can. Will peered over his shoulder, listening to the glug-glug sound as the tank filled. He stood straight and caught Cyrus's eye. "Are you positive the tank was empty?"

  The pear-shaped little man rolled his eyes. "No. I thought I'd work my ass off on this project for a month and then forget to drain the tank before we tested the ethanol." He gave an exaggerated sigh and turned to a pile of notes on a nearby table.

  It was only a few days since he’d moved his lab and so far he showed no sign of suffering Will quietly. He complained, kvetched, and argued, just as he had before with the Judge. Will appreciated the fact that the little troll felt comfortable enough to be himself.

  The last bit of ethanol trickled from the can and the assistant set it aside. This one's name was Mark. He was a tall and gangly seventeen-year-old with Coke-bottle glasses and an overbite. He'd shown up with his mother and younger brother a few months after the outbreak, terrified and starving. Cyrus told Will that he'd heard Mark was a high school science wonk. He stopped the boy one day not long after he showed up and gave him an impromptu quiz. The questions started at the college level and got harder; Mark got every one correct and had worked with Cyrus ever since.

  Cyrus dangled the keys toward Will, who looked at him like he was offering up a pile of dead bugs. "I ain't starting it. When that pretty red th
ing explodes, I plan on being well back away from it."

  Cyrus shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, resigned to always have to work for idiots. "It won’t explode." He waddled over to the truck and pulled the door open. It was a normal-sized half ton, but Cyrus's short, wide stature made it difficult for him to get in. After a good ten seconds of pulling, kicking, and grunting with effort, he got himself positioned behind the wheel. He turned the key; the solenoid clicked and clicked again and the starter produced a slow grinding sound. It continued to grind, picking up speed until it sounded like it had run out of gas. Cyrus let the starter turn over for fifteen seconds and then turned the truck off. He waited a moment, gave Will a thumbs-up, and turned the ignition again. This time, it took about five seconds and then the engine fired once, blew a plume of black smoke out of the tailpipe, and roared to life.

  Will allowed himself a small smile. The Chevy’s driver’s window rolled down and Cyrus leaned out as far as his short body would allow, clutching a fist in triumph. He wore a grin from ear to ear, pointed an index finger at Will, and bleated out a toneless melody with the horn.

  The door swung open and Cyrus slid out. He waddled toward Will with his shoulders pulled back and his saggy chest puffed out. Danny and Jiri had walked over and stood next to Will when the truck started; the three of them laughed and shook their heads at the sight. If Cyrus minded, he didn’t show it- he wore a victorious smirk and his eyes gleamed with happiness.

  When he got to Will, he gave him an exaggerated bow and gestured toward the still-running truck. "Your fuel, sir."

  "Nice work, Cyrus. I knew you could do it."

  Sixty-Five

  * * *

  Kayla beamed at Magnus. "You did it," she said, fixing him with a radiant smile.

  "Easier than gettin’ a blow job on prom night, my lady."

  Kayla laughed with joy. When Magnus spoke to her like that and looked at her in the steamy way he had, she could imagine a day when they ruled the land together as equals. Later when her pussy juice dried and common sense returned, she realized that would never be possible. Magnus was a pirate who would cut her throat in a second if it meant gaining power over the whole operation. She needed him subservient and willing to take on any job she asked. In other words, things would remain unchanged.

  She realized with a start that she was woolgathering in front of him. She cleared her throat and put on the face a woman dying from boredom, but he still gazed at her with gleeful eyes and a toothy, open-mouthed grin. He knew what she had been thinking.

  They sat in an anteroom off of her office. Coy waited for her inside, and the two of them met in the small room with sound-deadened baffles in the walls to discuss his mission.

  The anteroom was simple. Two high-backed chairs placed across from one another with a mahogany coffee table in between. A lamp sat in one corner; in another, a service table. Coffee, water, and an assortment of muffins from the kitchen covered the table. Magnus stood ramrod straight in front of the table, both hands behind his back. He wore his usual attire- blue jeans and a flannel shirt buttoned to the top. His only accessory was a Patek Philippe watch he kept polished to a shine.

  She asked him about it once. It was one of those times he had flustered her with his wanton sexuality and unbridled lust.

  "Why must you always wear that ridiculous watch?" she asked to hide her discomfort. "Nobody knows what day it is, much less the time, and you walk through the apocalypse wearing a $30,000 watch."

  "What this old thing?" He held his wrist up, turning it from left to right so that the timepiece reflected the light from the lamp. "I took this off a biter two weeks into the outbreak."

  She arched her eyebrows and said nothing.

  "I was at my home on Table Rock Lake, gathering supplies. I owned a thirty-two foot Zodiac with all the trimmings-a galley, room to sleep three, state-of-the-art electronics and navigation system. The idea to ride out whatever this thing was out on the lake grabbed me." He flashed Kayla an exaggerated wink. "This is before I knew the dead fuckers could walk around underwater for days and then pop up and rip your throat out."

  He got a bottle of water off the table and offered her one. She refused and gave him a gesture to continue.

  "I was carrying a couple of bags of groceries to the dock when my neighbor to the west passed by. He had turned and was a mess. Blood from head to toe, he had a bullet wound in his shoulder and a god damn yield sign stuck through his chest. Could you imagine that shit? Going through eternity with a yield sign stuck in you? Not the sign itself, but the pole?

  "I see this guy and I figure he's having a bad enough day. The last thing he needs is me shooting him in the head. So I swerved out of the guy’s way and went about my business.

  "Fast forward to later that night. I don't have everything I need to survive for months on the water yet. But I'd been at it for almost twenty hours, and I was pretty fucking tired. So I set an alarm and racked out for a two-hour nap.

  "I hadn't been asleep long when the sound of somebody banging around on my boat woke me up. I grabbed my thirty-two from underneath my pillow and investigated. And of course, the neighbor who I didn't put down earlier had found his way onto my boat. If he found me instead of waking me up, I wouldn’t be here today.

  "This time, no mercy. I put the guy (I think his name was Bob) I put Bob down. I stood there while this asshole bled all over my pride and joy and I realized my error. I showed mercy.

  "As I dragged Bob's corpse off my boat, I noticed this watch on his wrist. I took it, I put it on, and I've worn it every day since. As a reminder to never again show mercy to the dead." He gave her that wide, sexy smile, chuckled, and took another swig of water. "Not to change the subject, dear, but you’ve had the boy cooling his heels in your office for some time now. He's had time to rifle through your desk and find the keys to the Queendom.”

  Kayla frowned, angry with herself. She was so enraptured with Magnus' storytelling she forgot the young man in her office. See, she scolded herself, this is why you can never get involved with this man. The final leg of a complicated and expensive plan and she took her eyes off the ball on account of him. What's more, he had the gall to stand over there with that knowing expression as if he knew what happened. She played it off. "I want him waiting for a while. To spend some time by himself, imagining the terrible things that could be about to befall him."

  The corners of Magnus' mouth twitched. "I'm not certain that approach will work with this young man."

  "Why ever not? What is he like, anyway?"

  He pursed his lips and tilted his head. "I think I’ll not answer that question. I don't want to color your perception of him with my opinion. Although I will say if you forced me to give you a one-word definition that summed him up, I would pick self-possessed."

  She laughed. "The boy impressed the great Magnus."

  He shrugged his shoulders. "See what you think. And then we'll go get a malted and compare notes. I'll pretend like I'm leaning over to see at your paper better, but I’ll really be staring at your titties."

  She glared at him for a long while and then walked to the door that opened into her office. Before opening it she turned to him. "Be careful, Magnus. You go too far. Do not mistake my appreciation for your abilities and my willingness to endure your crude charm as blanket permission to say anything you choose."

  Magnus gave her an exaggerated curtsy. "My apologies, your highness. I do not mean to offend. Do you want me to wait?"

  "No." Her tone was curt. "The boy and I will be together for at least a day, and possibly a night. When your presence is needed, I shall send for you." She didn't look at him as she left the room.

  Sixty-Six

  * * *

  The door Kayla entered through was placed at the midway point of her long expanse of office. The forty-five-foot walk gave her plenty of time to observe Coy and develop an impression. She was a big believer in gut feelings, impulsive actions, and first impressions. Hers were rarely wrong. The
knowledge that her initial opinion was usually correct gave her the opportunity to get a leg up on someone before they even spoke.

  She took him in as she walked in his direction and realized that in this case, her expectations were wrong. She expected a strapping farm boy weak-kneed with nervousness about the situation he found himself in and what might become of him.

  Instead, a tall and wiry young man gazed at her with curiosity and looked her in the eye. His attractive features bordered on girlish. He had long eyelashes, high cheekbones, and a clear, well-tanned complexion. His tousled hair rested on the border between dark blonde and light brown, and his wide-set eyes were piercing and intelligent. He stood straight and tall with his arms crossed in front of him; a hint of a smile played on his thin lips.

  Kayla approached him with her most welcoming smile while her eyes searched him for any sign of weakness. She extended her hand and he accepted, swallowing it with his in a firm yet gentle shake.

  "Coy!" she exclaimed, like a long lost friend, “It is wonderful to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you."

  He gave her a warm smile; if he was terrorized he did a great job of hiding it. "Thank you, ma'am. From whom, ma'am?"

  She tilted her head and wrinkled her brow. "From who…?"

  "From whom have you heard so much about me?"

  She waved his question off with a coy smile. "We have time for all that later. For now, tell me- can I get you anything to eat or drink?"

  "No thank you, ma'am. Mr. Magnus was kind enough to give me some water and a snack, and that will tide me over for a while."

  "Are you sure? My chef makes a wonderful lasagna, and we have fresh steaks we can grill up in a flash."