“Not sure. Probably protesters,” Chris said.
The room was dark and lights rotated on the ceiling casting star shapes on the furniture. He set his beer on a table next to a large felt-lined chair. He pushed the chair five degrees to the left and took a seat.
“How long do you want me for?” Becca asked him.
“How much will this get me?” He dug out his cash and added a fifty to the hundred.
“An hour, but if you can last that long, I’ll be impressed,” she said.
Becca slipped her sequin top off to reveal perky breasts. She shoved them in his face. Chris smiled, but his eyes didn’t leave the direction of the doorway.
Then Becca lowered her self onto his lap and rubbed her butt against his crotch.
It was going to be a long hour.
* * *
Chris had dismissed the stripper a few minutes ago. He was thoroughly unaroused. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the attention, it was that he had people out on the street trying to kill him. He didn’t feel remorse for the slaughter he had just participated in. He had always been good at that sort of thing. America had need of men like Chris Miller. A killer. A man who you sent in to rile up insurgencies. He’d participated in worse. Once he got used to killing, pushed his conscience aside, and stepped up for the big paychecks, it became almost routine.
A therapist would have had a field day with him. Was he a sociopath? Undoubtedly. Was he psychotic? Maybe a little bit. He also had a brain that was cool with operating in a gray area.
His off and on girlfriend said he was a cold bastard, but she liked him anyway, probably because they only hooked up. At least she liked having sex with him. So, when he was in town she was normally one of the first calls he made. But he wouldn’t be returning to his little apartment anytime soon, probably never for that matter.
He needed to go buy another burner phone and get on a VPN connection so he could check his bank account. His personal device was only for emergencies, but also to store information. Lawson should have known he had a device. If anything happened to him, it could fall into the wrong hands.
From the moment he’d accepted the job, to this morning, when Lawson, of all people, had shown up, he should have known this wasn’t a good job for his extended future.
He needed the phone. It was his backup and ticket out of the US if he were ever caught. If he didn’t login and reset the custom Unix script on a server in the Caymans on a weekly basis, he had rigged in time bombs that could leak information. Some of it was a bluff, but there were enough noted facts about operations he’d done for the government, scattered all over his personal device and the server.
He nodded at the bouncer as he left the strip club. The man barely registered Chris.
Chris put his hoodie up and walked another block. Then he crossed over a busy intersection that had at least a half-mile of traffic backed up. He made his way to a gas station, and then looked up and down the avenue. He needed a ride, but there was no way in hell he’d find one now. Even if he could find an Uber, he might be waiting an hour or two for it to arrive.
His stomach growled. He looked around again and spotted a Subway across the street.
Chris looked both ways and crossed, but he had to jump back when a large green truck thundered up the road. It veered onto the sidewalk and knocked over trashcans and a couple of mail boxes. The beast of a truck was followed by dozens more. Cars struggled to get out of the way.
Chris grimaced. He had a feeling that his team’s actions today were part of a coordinated attack. It didn’t matter why. He was paid up, and then he had nearly been killed by a hit squad. Chris wished he could have had a few hours with one of the guys who tried to kill him. He’d get some answers.
Chris cleared the street and strode into the Subway.
Chapter Fourteen
Bradley ran into the first roadblock less than ten miles from town. He had tried to change to a music station but couldn’t listen for more than a few minutes before going back to the news casters.
The news from Chicago was grim. So grim, he was afraid the entire city would be shut down by the time he got there.
“We are still waiting for the number of casualties. The identities of the assailants are still unknown at this time, but a manhunt is underway. The shooters wore black ski masks, and that’s all we know at this time. A police officer who was on the scene had this to say: ‘They looked just like the rest of the protesters except for the masks. It happened so fast and it was viscous. The men fired on the unarmed crowd, reloaded their weapons, and then resumed firing. It was like a death squad in a third world country.’ As soon as we have more information we will bring it to you here on 710 AM. Now, here’s Mary the with the weather.”
Bradley came to a stop. The car ahead of him had been doing at least ten miles over the speed limit, but it had to slam on its brakes and slide off to the side of the road. Bradley was looking ahead and barely caught the move in time or else he would have smashed into the red pickup the car ahead of him had swerved to avoid.
There was an exit a quarter of a mile ahead. Cars started diverting that way but the left lane drivers had seen the opening and signal lights flashed so they could get over.
The next twenty minutes was an agonizing crawl as car after car cut in line ahead of him. He tried to speed up and keep his bumper kissing the car ahead of him, but it was a lost cause. After an eternity, a couple of vehicles veered into the shoulder lane and sped toward the exit.
“Screw it,” Bradley muttered.
He roared into the shoulder lane and sped up to hit the exit. A car shot out in front of him and he laid on the horn.
Bradley checked his cell phone as he took the exit, but Junior hadn’t messaged him yet. He prayed his son had found a safe place to hide out. Idiot, going to Chicago to join a protest. Why couldn’t he see what was happening in the country?
Bradley understood, though. He had been a kid once and thought the world worked in a very different way. But then he had grown up, joined the military and it had become clear that he didn’t really know a damn thing.
The world had changed over the last ten years. Where he could easily find work before, the last administration seemed to have little regard for the middle class. He knew what it felt like to be marginalized, pushed aside. Even when he worked security, he always felt like he was on job away from being put out on the street.
“What the hell is this?” Bradley muttered as he caught sight of the large vehicles roaring up the shoulder. Cars moved aside, or tried to, on the packed freeway it was hard to maneuver. But the military trucks came in a long stream. There was an older, abandoned gray Honda Accord on the side of the road. The lead military truck, a transport, pulled up behind it and slowed. Then it surged forward and pushed the car off the road and into a ditch. It moved ahead and the others followed.
“How’d the damn Guard get here so fast?” he said.
* * *
The roads were a mess but he was only a few miles away. Between the military trucks, the ambulance, and fire trucks, he spent more pulled to the side of the road than actually on the road.
His thoughts drifted to the events of yesterday. The shooting at work. Bradley killing a co-worker. The image of Ed’s surprised face when a bullet entered it wouldn’t depart. He focused on the military trucks and thought of his time in the Army. But that brought up the specter of the woman he had accidentally killed. Lord Jesus. He was never going to be able to escape those images.
Ed had been picked on in accounting, but there was no reason for him to go all Rambo. The man had been crazy.
A pair of MRAPS thundered past looking completely out of place in Chicago. Those vehicles were designed to carry troops and protect them against gun fire and IEDs. What in the world did they need protection from here?
His phone buzzed, and Bradley read the message.
Found a place to hide out.
Send me the location and cross streets.
The next message contained the address.
We’re in a Subway.
Traffic is stopped. I’ll be there as soon as possible.
Thanks, Dad. Turning off my phone again.
Okay. You see trouble, you run in the opposite direction.
The next time he came to a halt, he picked up his phone and called Monica.
“Did you get him yet?” She asked without preamble.
“Not yet. I’m stuck. Looks like the National Guard is taking over the streets.”
“What?”
“It’s a convoy heading into the heart of downtown Chicago. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t know how in the hell they got here so fast,” he said.
“That’s weird. Maybe they were prepped for the protests just in case things went bad,” Monica said.
She said something else but the reception broke up.
“What, baby? You’re breaking up.”
“I said, how long until you have Junior?”
“At this rate, I don’t know. I got off the freeway but it’s still a few miles. I’m thinking about getting out of the car and walking. Probably save some time,” Bradley said.
“If you think it will be faster, I say do it.”
“Hey, how much money do we have in the bank?” Bradley asked.
“About nine hundred in savings and a little less in checking.” Monica said.
“Okay. I’m going to hit a couple of ATMs and see how much I can pull out. Didn’t want you to freak. If you can, transfer five hundred into checking.”
“What? What do you need that much money for?”
“Because we may need it. I can’t stress this enough, Monica. I have a very bad feeling about what is going on here. I wouldn’t be surprised if the president declared martial law.”
“Can he do that?”
“He sure as hell can. This Guard call up is frightening. It’s almost like they knew something was going to go down,” Bradley said with a sigh.
“I don’t think taking our money out is safe, babe. We need that. You’re probably out of a job, and we’re going to have to do something to make ends meet. You could sell your guns.”
“Not now, Monica. Do you trust me?” Bradley asked.
“Of course, I trust you,” Monica said. “We’ve been together for a long time, and you’re a smart man. If you think we need all of this protection, then I’m not going to argue anymore.”
“Thank you, Mon. It means a lot. I rather be safe than sorry. And if we don’t need the money, we can put it back in the bank in a week. We’ll keep it in the fireproof safe in the bedroom.”
“Okay, Bradley,” she said. “Hey, I need to run. Jenn is calling for me. It’s time for her to take some more cold medicine.”
“I love you, babe.” He said.
“Love you, too. Hurry home, and don’t forget to call me the minute you have Junior with you.”
Bradley regretted that he had sold their gold. He had built up a small fortune in gold eagles over the years, but they had needed to cash them in while he had been out of work. One by one, they had eaten away at the small bag he’d collected. It had been his ‘just in case’ supply. If the banks ever crashed, he wanted to be able to pay for goods. Now they were all gone, and he had his doubts that if the system did indeed crash his cash would buy little unless it was at exorbitant prices.
Bradley hung up, and then waited for another fifteen minutes. The traffic finally started moving again but it was slow. They would barely get up to ten miles an hour before stopping again. He finally made it to a side street and pulled over. The parking was sparse, but he managed to squeeze into a spot that was probably for a smaller vehicle.
Then he checked his holster, magazines, and got out of the Bronco.
He pulled his phone out and switched to walking on the navigation system and put one foot in front of the other.
* * *
It was almost one and he’d made it a good mile. His tennis shoes were in lousy shape, but it was either wear them or his work shoes. They weren’t nearly as comfortable, and he hadn’t had time to clean them of the blood that had splattered them at work the day before.
He walked past a bus station and stopped to rest for a minute. He wasn’t tired, he was more interested in the latest news.
He opened his web browser and experienced a slow page load. He found a local news site and waited for the spinning dial to resolve. Weird, considering he was in a large town. He had Verizon, and they were pretty good even when he was out of town. It was probably due to everyone in the city either trying to make a phone call or read twitter. Crap. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Bradley wasn’t exactly a social media junkie. He kept a Facebook page so he was up today on what the family was doing. More often than not, though, for the last year, he had avoided it because it had become a political drama site.
Everyone he knew seemed to have an opinion on President Henderson. Some hated him with an intensity that bored on the absurd. Other’s loved him and hung on his every word.
He switched to Twitter and brought up the trending topics. Sure enough, the attacks were right at the top. He scanned a few and his eyes grew larger. He had heard of attacks in other cities from Monica, but what he read made him sick to his stomach. His anxiety was already at an all-time high because he hadn’t had time to delve into the shooting yesterday. He did a cursory scan for that and it wasn’t even on Twitter.
He paged back and read that the largest attack had been in New York. Not only had protesters been shot, but someone had detonated a huge bomb that had partially destroyed several buildings.
He switched to FOX news in his browser, but once again the connection was slow. He looked up and down the street. There was a bank he didn’t deal with, but he’d pay a fee if he was able to take out money.
He tromped up the parking lot and rounded a corner only to find a line. At least a dozen people waited.
“Huh,” he muttered.
One of the men in line, a guy wearing a black leather jacket who had slicked back black hair, turned.
“Believe this shit?” the man said.
“I don’t bank here. Just wanted to hit the ATM.”
“You and everyone in the city. Looks like we only have a few hours before everything goes dark,” the man said.
A woman ahead of him put her hands on her hips and sighed loudly.
“Dark?”
“Yeah, man. President’s about to declare martial law. Believe that shit?” the man said for the second time. Must have a limited vocabulary of curse words. Clearly, he hadn’t served in the Army where the language was all F words and cursing with every sentence.
“Martial Law? Where did you hear that, and can the government do that?”
“We’re under attack, brother. But the prez loves signing executive orders. He’s lining up this one. Haven’t you been watching the television?”
“Not really. Had a long day and night,” Bradley said.
“Well you better get some money out while you can, and then go board up the place. It’s about to get crazy up in Chi-town,” the man said.
“Have a nice day.” Bradley nodded.
“No one’s gonna have a nice day in a few hours. Prepare for complete lock down. Looks like you’re packing from the way your jacket’s hanging. Better not let them catch you with a gun once the law goes into effect,” the man said.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bradley said.
He turned and walked away. He had to get to Junior and get him home before he was trapped in the city.
* * *
Bradley’s navigation started going wonky a few minutes later. He checked his battery level and found it at 75%. Surely the government wouldn’t impose some kind of communications block. But what did he really know?
There were a lot of people on the streets as he got closer to the city. They were going into stores and trying to get on public transportation. Traffic was absolute gridlock. He passed car after car with anxious faces
peering out of windows. Moms and dads looked frustrated. Kids looked bored. Couples bickered. One of the cars blasted heavy metal music so loud it shook the street.
Bradley stopped and checked his phone again. It finally updated and told him to keep walking up this street and to hang a left at the intersection.
He was close. Another five minutes and he would be there.
That’s when he heard gunshots.
Chapter Fifteen
James Briggs couldn’t believe the chatter in the MTV. He sat next to Skip Kowalski and surfed on his phone but kept his ears on the conversation, no, the rumors. There was PFC Quick who always had a dark look about him. He didn’t care for the military even though it was National Guard. He also didn’t care about his wife, who he referred to as the raging bitch from hell’s kitchen. He liked his kids, though. At least he pretended to.
Cooper was a guy James didn’t know much about. He was new in their unit and had kept to himself during weekend drills. Most of the guys and gals were pretty grumpy on Saturday. By Sunday, they were all excited to go home and most were in jovial moods. That’s just how it went. You didn’t look forward to your duty weekend each month, but when it came, there was a camaraderie that was hard to put a finger on.
The two weeks a year that were a real drag. He had to arrange to take off work, and that led to a lot of bitching from supervisors. They knew the score when he was hired. They also knew he was in school to become an accountant. When he finished, there was no way he would stay there.
“I heard it was ISIS, man. Those fuckers have been plotting this kind of attack for years,” Cooper said.
Ashley Sanders was one of three females in his unit. She was a tough girl who could outrun some of the guys on an obstacle course. Her mom was Hispanic, but her dad was a white guy from Texas. She had a slight drawl that Chicago had tried to steal away.
“It’s the protesters. They get paid by that one guy, I forgot his name,” Sanders said.
DRUMS OF WAR: A Dystopian Thriller Series (Broken Patriot Book 1) Page 9
