by Justin Bell
Melinda smiled and nodded.
“Good girl.”
Jackson reached into the back of the truck, pulling out his backpack, the hilt of his sword clattering on the metal floor. He shot a look toward Javier and a swift wave.
“Take care of yourself, okay buckshot?”
Javier laughed. “Will do, amigo, you too, okay?”
Jackson walked back around toward the front, somewhat surprised to see Clark standing outside of the truck. The big man stepped toward him and wrapped his large arms around Jackson’s shoulders, squeezing hard.
“Be careful, Crossfit, got it?”
Jackson nodded. “I’ll be alright, Jarhead, you stay safe, too, okay?”
Clark pulled away, nodding himself, then slapped Jackson one more time on the shoulder. The young man peered into the truck and saluted Broderick briefly, and the soldier nodded back toward him, but didn’t say anything.
Without another word, Jackson turned away from the pickup and walked toward the trees, already picturing the Martin family farm in his head, leaving his friends watching his back as it was swallowed by the tree line.
***
“So, he’s going to be okay?” Melinda asked, tightening her grip on Javier’s fingers and looking up at Priscilla, who had rested back on her haunches slightly. Her dark hair was matted to her head and draped over her narrow shoulders as she bent over the prone form of Javier. Not the best atmosphere for improvised surgery, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. The truck had been moving again for only a few minutes, and Javier had groaned as it picked back up to speed, causing Priscilla a bit of worry.
She leaned further forward, running her hands over his left shoulder, then picking him up slightly and checking the rough flesh at his back.
“He had a little buckshot in him,” Priscilla replied, flashing an honest smile at the little girl. “But I think I got it all out. He should be fine.”
“Thank you,” Mel said, almost inaudible against the bruising wind slamming against the thin cab covering the bed of the truck. Priscilla found herself exceptionally thankful for the limited protection it offered, even if it was still freezing and loud back there, it would have been infinitely worse if there was no cab at all. The truck seemed to lurch slightly as it picked up speed again, and she could feel it going faster, the road humming beneath them as they screamed toward this strange small town. She peered out a side window of the cap, hoping that maybe she might get one more look at Jackson, but he was already deep into the trees and out of sight.
“I’ll be okay, niña,” Javier said, turning slightly to look at Melinda. “This woman, she takes good care of me.”
Melinda smiled broadly.
“Though it would have been nice to have some pain killers at least.”
“Yeah,” Priscilla said. “Sorry about that. At least they were all pretty shallow.”
“Small favors.”
Priscilla smiled at him and turned toward the small bag, starting to sort her tools back in it. They’d found a very rudimentary first aid kit in the cabin, which she’d brought along, though most of the work she’d done had been with a regular set of pliers. She’d sterilized them as much as possible with rubbing alcohol that had been in the first aid kit, and she’d surprised herself with how quickly and effectively she’d gotten the chunks of metal removed from Javier’s skin. Several band-aids, gauze, and medical tape had done the job of patching up the tiny incisions and already the patient was in good spirits.
She’d had regular patients who had given her a bigger hassle.
“You were a great patient,” Priscilla said with a smirk.
“So, are you coming down to Maryland with the rest of us?” Javier asked, looking at the doctor.
“I guess so?” she replied. “I hadn’t thought much beyond getting out of town, to be honest with you. I don’t know where I expected to end up.”
“I heard Jackson tell the boys up there before he left that they can pick up the highway right in downtown Aldrich. I think we’ll be there pretty soon.”
“Is that a smart move?” Priscilla asked. “Main roads feel like something we might want to avoid these days.”
“Broderick’s putting a priority on speed over safety, I think,” Javier replied.
Priscilla pushed herself over into a seated position, stretching her legs out, her back pinned against the wheel well. She chewed her lip as she looked over at Melinda.
“Hey, I didn’t say I agreed with him,” Javier said. “What else are we going to do?”
“We have to trust him, I suppose,” Priscilla said.
“You seem… uncomfortable.”
“Well. I mean, it seems obvious that he knows more than he’s saying. How long have you been hanging around this group?”
Javier laughed, shaking his head. “Like two days.”
Priscilla lowered her head for a moment, then lifted it again. “Does he make you nervous?”
Javier pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing a little at the pain. “Yeah. We, uh… we don’t exactly get along.”
“Just you and Broderick?”
“I think so, yeah. Jackson and Clark… they seem cool, but the Army guy? He was in the middle of some kind of top secret mission when everything went sideways. And even now, when it’s all going to crap, he still acts like he’s on that mission.”
“I got that.”
“And he’s kind of acting like he’s the only one that can stop what’s happening.”
“Stop it?”
Javier nodded. “He’s got some data in his head, I guess.”
“Delusions of grandeur?”
“I don’t know,” Javier replied. “But I thought for a minute of getting out in Aldrich with Jackson. Letting the two military dudes take the ball and run with it. This isn’t my mission. Too late now, I suppose. The buckshot took care of that pipe dream.”
Priscilla tucked her knees up toward her, curling her arms around them. The inside of the cab made the flat bed somewhat dark, though narrow windows stretched out along each side, with a flip-up window at the end. She narrowed her eyes through the darkened window across the way, just above Melinda’s left shoulder. Even as sunlight blossomed outside, the tinted windows left things somewhat dark in the back.
“See something?” Javier asked, craning to look.
The color drained from Melinda’s face and she turned as well, suddenly panicked.
The reflection was bright, blurring trees and pavement through the window, though Priscilla could have sworn for a brief moment she saw the blur of motion in the distance, just out beyond the trees.
“Priscilla?” Javier asked again, turning toward her.
“I… I don’t know,” she replied. “Thought I saw something for a minute, but now I’m not so sure.”
The truck continued on, rattling over the uneven road, making its way toward Aldrich.
***
Clark twisted the wheel, guiding the pickup truck around the gentle curve of the road, veering left, following the soft glow of the solid lines. Broderick leaned toward the window again, pressing his cheek against the glass, looking out past the bright reflection of the rising sun.
“You’re making me nervous,” Clark said. “You sure you didn’t see something?”
“I did see something,” Broderick replied. “I’m just not sure what.”
Broderick craned his neck around as well, looking deep into the approaching morning, his eyes scanning the trees. The emergency vehicle lane still ran parallel to the main trek toward town, separated by a thin row of leafless trees, but he couldn’t see any signs of movement.
“Wait,” he hissed suddenly. “Something’s out there. Running fast and quiet.”
“Are you sure?” Clark demanded.
“Yeah, I’m freaking sure!” Broderick screamed. “I just saw it blur between those two trees! Something is out there—”
Before he could finish, the daylight exploded with pulsing muzzle flashes from behind the trees, t
he previously quiet air shattered with rattling gunfire.
“Small arms fire!” shouted Broderick. “Stay down!” He turned in his seat to look at the three people in the rear bed and could see Priscilla frantically diving toward the floor of the bed, reaching out to pull Melinda down with her. All along the right side of the truck, tinny, metallic pops thunked, each impact punching the vehicle quickly left, causing Clark to correct his grip on the wheel.
“They’re firing on us!” Clark shouted. “What kind of welcoming committee is this?”
“Eyes on the road, Clark!” Broderick shouted, turning and reaching over his seat to open the canvas bag and start reaching in. As he reached down, the small, triangular window blasted inward, spraying tiny shards of glass all throughout the interior of the truck’s cab.
Clark jerked, struggling to maintain control of the vehicle, somehow managing to keep it on the road even as chunks of asphalt blew up around their tires from the roaring weapons fire of the pursuing vehicle. Plastic splintered from behind them, the truck’s cab thrashing as bullets struck it, carving and slapping chunks of thin, cabin wall from the vehicle.
“They’re going to get massacred back there!” Broderick shouted, freeing his M4 from the canvas bag. He turned over, laying down on the rear bench seat and leveled his machine gun so the barrel was pointing toward the broken window. Without even hesitating, he hauled back on the trigger, holding the thrashing weapon tight in both hands. From his angle he couldn’t possibly see if he’d hit anyone.
Broderick furiously cranked down the passenger side window, keeping low as more gunfire peppered the side of the truck, throwing sparks up into the morning light. Shouldering the rifle, he moved the barrel in the general direction of the pursuing vehicle, which was now identified by the telltale glint of sunlight off the smooth metal hide of the vehicle. Squeezing the trigger, he fired several shots, his automatic kicking with each shot. He could see the faded burst of bullet ricochets in the distance, but couldn’t tell if he was hitting anything vital.
With a shout, he pulled back as two more metal bangs smashed off the frame of the door near his head, splashing his skin with bright sparks.
Clark kept his head low, still trying to steer, but the sporadic gunfire belting into the truck was throwing off his coordination some.
“This isn’t gonna end well,” he hissed as he floored the accelerator, picking up speed, temporarily leaving the scattered ricochets behind. The engine roared in their ears as the speed increased and Clark swerved hard to the left, jumping over one lane, then moved back over right, trying to be a moving target. Broderick turned to look out the rear cab and saw Javier, Priscilla, and Melinda all huddled underneath the cap of the truck, holes punched through the thin material in scattered patterns of jagged tears.
“Coming back for more!” shouted Broderick, pushing himself up and moving his weapon out of the rear window, tracking the spotlight and firing again. More shots banged off the passenger side of the truck, and then another louder, sharper sound. The bullet struck the front left tire with a rending shout, the tire’s rim tenting as the rubber ripped and peeled away, the front of the truck lurching forward, then colliding with the road with a rapid thump thump thump thump. Clark barely kept his hands on the steering wheel as the truck pitched right, threatening to tear free of his control, but to his credit he moved with the motion, then cranked the wheel the other way, keeping the truck relatively straight. As he crossed the two lanes, his eyes caught upon concrete barricades along the passage, each one stacked up next to another, four of them side-by-side, blocking the entire road into town.
“Hold on!” he screamed as he moved his foot to the brake and hammered down, sending the pickup into a screaming left skid, the three remaining tires peeling against asphalt, the front one scraping, shooting sparks in a bizarre rooster tail of orange and yellow. Clark grunted, his arms flexing as he held the wheel as straight as possible, guiding the truck into a straight sideways slide. Broderick leaned back and slammed on the window separating the front cab from the bed.
“Hold onto something!” he screamed through the glass and Priscilla nodded frantically, her eyes wide and worried.
The barricades encroached, drawing closer at rapid speeds, Clark pushing the brake so hard he thought it might slam through the sheet metal floor by his front seat. Wheels screamed and then they were on them, the concrete jumping up, crashing into the front right corner of the truck with a tearing crunch, metal crumpling, the rear of the vehicle whipping around, the bed plowing into the barriers, scraping and smashing. Two wheels on the driver’s side pitched up, hovered for a moment, then slammed back down, the shatter of glass, splash of fluids and thudding of the metal frame filling the entire interior of the vehicle.
Broderick immediately pushed forward, squeezing between the driver’s seat and his rear bench, spilling out onto the pavement. The vehicle that had been pursuing them charged through the trees, barreling over thin saplings, diving swiftly into a ditch, then plunging up out of it, landing on two wheels, the shape of the military Humvee finally clear as it drew closer. He lifted his weapon as gunfire rattled toward him, pinning him against the truck, ricochets dancing against the metal surface of the vehicle, his weapon held tight in two hands across his chest.
“Do not move!” a voice shouted from the vehicle and Broderick held his place.
“Get out of there, the rest of you!” he shouted back at the truck in a hushed whisper. “I’ve got a military uniform… that’ll buy me some time, but you all need to get out and run for the trees!”
Inside the truck’s cab, Clark noticed the passenger door was pinned closed against the concrete barricades, and he wound down the window, starting to move that way, trying to gauge if he could slip through and make an escape. He was too big.
“Get out of here, Broderick!” Clark shouted. “Just run! No point in us all getting grabbed!”
“I’m not leaving!” the soldier called back as the Humvee screeched to a halt, doors opening and men spilling out onto the road. Broderick threw down his weapon, raising his arms as the men converged, and all Clark could do was sit in the seat and wait for the inevitable. He threw one last glance at the people in the rear of the truck and saw all three of them there, sharing his fear. Outside, Broderick was thrown to the pavement, more men moving toward the truck, and as they made their way toward him and the group, he was glad Jackson had gotten out when he had, and hoped he’d heard the gunfire. He thought his town was safe.
He was wrong.
Chapter 4
Morning snuck up on her, the sun working its way up across the sky, a blinding yellow glow falling through the narrow window right across her eyes.
Lisa blinked rapidly, turning on the hard cot, bringing a hand up to shield herself from the shining sun. She’d surprised herself by actually falling asleep, even though the cot was little more than metal, springs, and foam. It had been a long and deep sleep at that, a luscious blanket of darkness for a solid eight to nine hours. The hard work must have exhausted her, she decided. Hard work or stress or a combination of the two.
Off in the near distance, down one of the myriad hallways, she could hear the rough slamming of a metal door and approaching footsteps. There were several footsteps approaching, a small crowd of people by the sounds of it, and Lisa picked herself up into a seated position, looking out through the bars of her holding cell. She could see the vague shadows of approaching figures, a group of them, feet thumping and squeaking on the smooth surface of the floor.
The first person to emerge within the slightly open lobby area before the holding cells was what looked to be a little girl. Not much more than ten years old, she trudged into the prison area, her fingers clasped around the hand of a man walking just behind her. He walked slowly and gingerly as if in pain, with a woman and two other men bringing up the rear. One of the last men was dressed in military fatigues while the other was a large man, at least forty pounds overweight, his shirt and blue jeans barely
containing his bulk. As they walked into the lobby, three men appeared behind them, also wearing military fatigues, though Lisa recognized them as being a bit different than the first man who entered. All three of these soldiers carried automatic rifles, pointed forward, barrels aimed at the backs of the would-be prisoners.
“In the cells,” one of them barked. “You first two, in the cell with the girl. You other two, get in the second. Now.”
The group obeyed, splitting up and walking morosely toward the holding cells. Another soldier broke apart from the group and walked toward Lisa’s cage, unlocking and opening the door so the two could enter. A second soldier repeated the motion opposite of her cell, allowing the last two men to make their way into that cage. Doors slammed, locks ratcheted closed and the three military men stood there at pseudo attention.
Lisa knew who was coming in next, somehow she just knew, and Mayor Harris did not disappoint. He strode in, tall, broad shouldered, his hands stuffed firmly in his pants pockets. He was wearing a neatly pressed shirt, jacket and tie, as if he were attending some corporate event, not roaming through a makeshift prison looking down upon his prisoners.
“Well, then,” he said softly, walking immediately to the cell which held the two men. He stopped and narrowed his eyes at the one in the bright yellow military uniform, removing his hands from his pockets and placing them defiantly on his hips. “Care to tell me who you might be?”
The soldier remained standing, looking at him. “My name is Broderick Schmidt,” he said. “I’m an officer in the United States Army, and you’d better have a hell of a good reason for locking us up in here.”
Mayor Harris smirked a crooked grin. “I’ve got dozens of shell casings and some bullet holes in my Humvee that tell us you initiated an unsolicited firefight within town lines. I’d say that permits us some extra care in dealing with you, Army officer or not.”
“That’s not true and you know it.”
Harris shrugged. “Your word against mine, I suppose.” He looked at the larger man. “And you?”
