The Path Of The Nightmare

by J. J. Carlson

  The wheels in San’s head broke free from the paralyzing dread and began to turn. “Well, it’s public record that the two of you are related, and I don’t think it would be hard to find her address on the internet.”

  Anita nodded and said, “If it’s that easy, we probably can’t stay here more than a few hours. How else could someone track us?”

  San thought for a moment. “Our phones, maybe. Jarrod always told me to hide my phone in a soundproof container when he was around to prevent someone from listening in. If it’s possible to access the microphone, I’m sure it’s possible to access the phone’s GPS.”

  “No cell phones, and we can’t stay with any of our friends or family. What else?”

  San blushed. “Well, in the movies, they can always track fugitives or spies by their credit cards. Maybe that’s paranoia...”

  Anita shook her head. “It’s not paranoia. If you think they could track our cell phones, I doubt it would be hard for them to monitor our credit cards. We’ll need to pull cash out of the bank, abandon our cell phones, and avoid friends and family. What options does that leave us with?”

  San was surprised by the optimism in Anita’s tone. It all looked so bleak, and he wasn’t sure where she was going with it. “I…don’t know,” he said. “I guess it leaves us homeless.”

  Anita sighed. “You really are determined to do things the hard way. We can’t stay in a hotel or with friends, but that doesn’t make us homeless. Remember that thing we used to do when we were young? The thing the kids and I have done for years, but you’ve been too busy with work to come along for?”

  San blushed. Anita and the children had gone on annual camping trips in Pennsylvania for the past ten years. He and Anita used to backpack in the Appalachians when they were dating, but San hadn’t seen the inside of a tent for almost two decades; his work at Hillcrest and other institutions had kept him too busy.

  “Err…yeah. I guess that’s an option. I didn’t even think about that. Do we still have all that camping gear in the garage?”

  Anita nodded. “Still there, where it always is.”

  San scratched at an itch on his neck. “Okay, I can go back and grab it, I guess. Do you think we’ll be able to get a campsite without giving our names?”

  “Let me handle that. There are campsites that allow self check-in. My sister may know where we can find one nearby.”

  San nodded. “This could work. Why don’t you head inside and let the kids know I’ll be right back?”

  Anita leaned in and kissed him hard on the cheek. She pulled away, opened the door, and stepped outside. Before shutting it, she said, “Don’t forget the sleeping bags. They’re with the spare blankets in the closet.”

  San nodded and waved goodbye. The door slammed shut and he eased the car onto the street. He paused to watch his wife disappear into the house, and had a nagging feeling she was better off without him.

  San backed into his driveway, squinting in the afternoon sun. The street was peaceful. Lawn mowers were running and children were shouting in the distance; a blue minivan commanded by an exhausted-looking father cruised past. San pulled the keys from the ignition and started for the front door, then stopped short and removed a laminated placard from the door knob. There was a familiar logo at the top for “BCR Vegetation Management,” the company that took care of his landscaping. He pushed through the door and walked toward the kitchen, reading it as he went.

  We missed you!

  BCR Vegetation Management is offering exclusive discounts to customers in our loyalty rewards program

  We are also offering a free invasive weed consultation

  Please call during our office hours to take advantage of this limited time offer!

  San dropped the note on the counter, thinking it would be best to pack the camping equipment before making any phone calls. He entered the master bedroom and grabbed the sleeping bags, then froze. The familiarity of his home had made him feel safe, perhaps too safe. He crept into Philip’s room and grabbed his son’s baseball bat. After checking the closet, he ventured into Maria’s room. One by one, he checked every room in the house. Everything was exactly as they had left it. Still feeling a tingle at the back of his neck, he awkwardly clung to the baseball bat while he carried the sleeping bags outside. After depositing them in the car, he tucked the bat into his belt. It hung awkwardly at his side, thumping his leg like a misshapen sword.

  Ten minutes later, he had gathered and packed all the camping equipment he could find. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and returned to the kitchen to retrieve the card. He punched the number into his phone and put it on speaker. A woman with a raspy voice answered on the second ring.

  “BCR Vegetation Management, this is Polly, how can I help you?”

  San fumbled for words. “Oh…hi, Polly. Is Betty there?”

  “Aunt B’s out sick. I’m sitting in for her. What can I help you with Mr…”

  “Torres,” San finished, his suspicion fading, “but you can call me San.”

  “What can I do for you, San?”

  “Well, I got this card on my door about a free consultation and a discount…”

  “That’s right. Loyalty rewards members receive a 10% discount on lawn care this summer if you sign up for next year, too. Would you like to extend your membership with us?”

  San looked at the clock on the stove and said, “Sure.”

  “Alright. Hold on just one second…”

  San could hear her fingers moving rapidly over a keyboard.

  “Okay, San, you’re all set. What time can we have someone meet you for your free consultation?”

  “Oh, I…uh,” San stammered. “I’m going out of town for a few days. Vacation.”

  “Well that’s fun!” Polly said, sounding friendly despite her scratchy voice. “Where are you headed?”

  “We’re, uh…we’re not sure. It’s kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

  “That’s wonderful. You’re taking the whole family, then?”

  San winced and said, “That’s right.”

  There was more typing on the other end, and Polly said, “We can schedule it for when you get back. What date is good for you?”

  San could feel the heat building at his collar. “We aren’t sure about that, either. We’re kind of figuring things out as we go.”

  “That’s wonderful! I wish I was that spontaneous. Well, have fun and just give us a call when you get back, okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that,” San said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Bye.”

  San walked into the living room and stared longingly at his favorite seat on the couch. He had no idea how long it would be before he could rest easy in his own home, or if he would ever be able to return. He walked slowly to the door and grasped the handle, then his phone rang in his pocket. The phone! He had meant to leave it behind. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. Strangely, no number was displayed. He tapped “answer” and held it to his ear.

  Eugene’s desperate voice came through, “San, don’t leave the house. They’re coming. Lock yourself in a room and get on the floor.”

  “Eugene? What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

  “No time. Hurry, San. I’ll be there in three minutes.”

  The line went dead. San stared at the phone, then moved to the window and peeked out from behind the blinds. Nothing unusual was happening outside. He played an internal game of tug-of-war, his curiosity keeping him by the window and his better judgment begging for him to hide. As he watched, a white utility van pulled into his driveway. San frowned. Its decals bore the logo of BCR Vegetation Management, but the employees usually drove green trucks. Two men in coveralls exited the van and walked toward the front door.

  Alarms were going off in San’s head, and he ran to his bedroom. He locked the door and stumbled into the closet, pulling it shut behind him. There was no lock on the closet door, so he held it with one hand as he lay prone on the floor. For several se
conds, he could only hear the pounding of his own heart. Then, a latch turned and booted feet entered the living room. San’s grip tightened on the doorknob, squeezing the blood from his knuckles. With his free hand, he made the sign of the cross. He shut his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer.

  The men were kicking open doors elsewhere in the house and tossing furniture. Philip’s and Maria’s rooms were breached simultaneously. The pantry closet in the kitchen was thrown aside. Eventually, there was only one room left for them to check, the master bedroom.

  The seconds ticked by at a glacial pace. San told himself it would be okay; Eugene would be there any second, he just needed to stay quiet and hold on…

  The door knob on the master bedroom twisted back and forth, clicking against the locking mechanism. The clicks stopped, and San held his breath. Then the door crashed inward, and the two men charged into the room. The first rushed into the attached bathroom and the second dropped to the floor to check under the bed. They were moments away from discovering him.

  Please, Lord, help me.

  The boots shuffled into position outside the closet. San felt the knob twist in his hand, and his blood ran cold. He gripped it with both hands and pulled against it with all his might. It twisted left, pinching the flesh on his palms. The door shook, and the knob twisted to the right, then back again. With every turn, the knob slid farther in his sweaty grip.

  Dear God, save me from these men.

  The shaking and twisting suddenly stopped. San took the opportunity to tighten his grip, but it was no use. The knob jolted to the left, freeing the latch. The door swung open, the light dazzling his eyes. A powerful hand grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him from the closet. San blinked and tried to get a look at his attackers. A bald man with a goatee was dragging him to his feet and pushing him toward the bed. San collapsed, his face in a pillow. The bald man jammed a suppressed Colt .45 into the back of his head. San winced and fumbled at the barrel with his hands.

  “Get the camera out,” the bald man said.

  The second man, who looked like a heavyweight prizefighter, propped his suppressed MP5 submachine gun against the wall and retrieved a camcorder from his coveralls. He flipped it open and gave the bald man a thumbs-up.

  The bald man began to speak in even tones, “Santiago Torres, for your actions against the Empress and Katharos, you are hereby sentenced to death. May your blood be an example to those that would stand against us.”

  San pushed against the metal barrel. Pain radiated from the circular point on his skull, but he ignored it and pushed harder. If he was going to die, he wanted to die fighting.

  The pressure against his skull suddenly let up, and a loud pop shook the walls.

  9

  The second round left Eugene’s FNS and buried itself in the prizefighter’s brain. The bald man whirled around, bringing his own pistol in close to his chest. Eugene had already taken a step forward to close the gap. He grabbed the slide of the bald man’s pistol, then twisted hard. The man winced in pain as his trigger finger cracked. Eugene shuffled his feet, moving in closer. With two swift movements, he shot the man through the bicep and struck his forehead with his Kevlar helmet. The bullet glanced off the humerus and exited the outside of the bicep, splattering the wall with blood and tissue.

  The bald man let go of his pistol and stumbled backward, struggling to remain conscious despite the blinding pain. Eugene punched his ribs with carbon-fiber-knuckled gloves, toppling him onto the bed next to San.

  San, expecting a premature meeting with his Creator, took several seconds to comprehend the scene in front of him. He didn’t recognize Eugene, who was covered from head to toe in Kevlar, steel plate carriers, and polymer armor. As he watched, the dark figure stomped on each of the bald man’s ankles.

  The man let out a blood-curdling scream, but Eugene didn’t slow down. He grabbed the man’s uninjured arm and threw him to the floor. The man propped his good hand on the ground and tried to push off, then fell on his face as Eugene grabbed the hand and straightened out the arm. Placing the heel of his boot above the man’s elbow, Eugene torqued upwards. There was a snap at the elbow joint, and Eugene kept pulling until the radius, ulna, and humerus broke in turn.

  San wretched. He tried to catch the contents of his emptying stomach in his hands, but the majority of it ended up on the bed.

  Without looking up, Eugene said, “Deskrider, this is Jaeger. One tango down, one prisoner secure. Ready for extraction, over.”

  Eugene turned to look at San, who had gone pale. With a gloved hand, he raised the dark visor on his helmet.

  “San, it’s me. I’m sorry you had to see that, but we need to get out of here. There’s a good chance these guys have reinforcements on the way in.”

  San felt detached from his own body. When he nodded, he felt as if someone else had initiated the gesture.

  “I need to carry the prisoner,” Eugene said. “Can you stand?”

  San complied, though he still felt as if he were watching someone else move his body. Eugene hefted the bald man onto his shoulders. The captive moaned and struggled weakly against Eugene’s grip. San followed Eugene out the front door to the edge of the street.

  Tires screeched at the end of the block, and a black SUV rounded the corner. It shuddered to a halt in front of them and the rear door opened on its own. Eugene stuffed his hostage into the back seat and ran around the front of the vehicle.

  “Get in!” he called over his shoulder.

  Eugene had left the door to the backseat open. San stared at the crippled man in horror. When he failed to move, the driver’s window rolled down and Daron barked, “San, get your ass in here!”

  Trembling, San sat down next to the wounded prisoner. As he pulled his door shut, there was another screech of tires at the end of the street. A white utility van, identical to the one in the driveway, careened toward them.

  “Contact rear,” Daron said in even tones.

  Eugene tapped a button on the door, and the SUV’s rear window began to descend. San shifted in his seat to look around, and his eyes bulged. A man was leaning out the van’s window with a rifle in his hands.

  “He’s got a gun!” San shouted, banging a hand on Daron’s headrest.

  “Shut up and get down! Plug your ears and clench your teeth.”

  San ducked down and plugged his ears, though he didn’t understand the reason for the second command.

  Eugene pulled a small joystick into his lap and gazed at a screen in the dashboard. Two panels slid aside in the back of the vehicle and a 7.62mm minigun rose from a hidden compartment. It locked into position with its barrels protruding inches outside the vehicle. There was an electronic hum, and the barrels began to spin.

  The van swerved. The driver jammed the accelerator, trying to pass the SUV and get out of the minigun’s field of fire. Daron anticipated the move and whipped the SUV to the left. Eugene depressed a button on the joystick.

  A steady, thundering noise shook San’s skull. The concussion reverberated through him, and it felt as if a thousand jackhammers were pummeling every square inch of his body. In the street, hundreds of rounds tore into the van. The windshield and driver’s side window shattered, and an iron-scented mist filled the air.

  The burst lasted only a few seconds. Eugene gave Daron a nod, and the SUV slid to a stop. Daron turned the wheel and pulled alongside the van, which was drifting down the street on its own. Eugene shifted in his seat and opened his door. With his pistol at the ready, he got out and assessed the damage. The men in the front of the van were unrecognizable as human-beings, looking more like sacks of ground beef.

  Eugene hopped back into the SUV and said “All clear.”

  Daron executed a U-turn and sped down the street; the minigun retracted into its compartment and the rear window slid shut.

  “Okay back there?” Eugene asked.

  San didn’t hear the question. His hands were still pressed hard against his head and his eyes were shut tigh
t. When he didn’t answer, Eugene reached over the seat and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up, his hands still on his ears.

  “You okay?” Eugene mouthed.

  San shook his head vigorously.

  Eugene gently pulled one of San’s hands away from his head. “Are you hurt?”

  With jerky movements, San checked himself for injuries. “No. No, I think I’m okay. Eu—Eugene, I can’t—I don’t…what’s happening?”

  “Easy…take a few deep breaths. Can you get back into your seat?”

  San nodded and pushed himself into a sitting position. Even this minor exertion caused his arms to shake violently, and it took him three tries to buckle his seatbelt. On the seat next to him, the hostage lay completely limp with his eyes closed.

  “Is he…dead?” San asked.

  Daron glanced over his shoulder. “He’s not dead. Playing possum.”

  San shivered. The air temperature felt as if it had dropped fifty degrees. Images flashed through his mind of Eugene brutalizing the bald prisoner. If this was what it took to be a man of action, San wanted no part of it.

  The SUV turned onto a quiet street. Daron pulled into the empty parking lot of a mom-and-pop breakfast cafe. When the vehicle stopped, Eugene twisted around and began searching their hostage’s pockets. The captive groaned, but kept his eyes shut. Eugene extracted a smartphone from the man’s pocket. Sinking back into his seat, he connected it to a laptop with a thin cable.

  “Here,” Daron said, tossing a compression bandage into the back seat. “Put this on him to slow the bleeding. If his blood pressure drops too low, he might slip into a coma. We need him awake for the interrogation.”

  San stared back at Daron in horror. “You’re not seriously going to question him in this condition?”

  Daron jabbed a thumb toward the bald man. “This guy deserves everything that’s coming to him. I wouldn’t feel too sympathetic, if I were you. There’s a good chance his cronies have already raided your sister-in-law’s house.”