Z Plan (Book 3): Homecoming

by Lerma, Mikhail

  “Good enough,” he told himself.

  Connor unwrapped a wad of brown paper, and pulled out an old slice of bread. He took both items into their prisoner. Cale was collapsed in a corner. Blood pooled around him. This was a little gruesome for Connor’s taste. Damian was a Desert Storm veteran and better acclimated to this kind of setting. William and Frankie both feared him, so they usually went along with what Damian said and did. Connor was seven years younger than them. They’d originally been his brother’s friends.

  “Wake up!” he shouted at Cale.

  Cale stirred. He looked up through swollen eyes and saw Connor standing outside his cage. Cale retreated as far in to the corner as he could.

  “Eat up, Zach,” he taunted, as he threw the items onto the floor of the cell. “You’re gonna need your strength.”

  Hesitant at first, Cale scurried to them like a rat. He devoured the bread in a single bite, then he gulped down the water. In his rush to consume all he could, he choked on the last bit. Cale coughed violently.

  “Slow down,” laughed Connor.

  Cale retched a couple more times and managed to clear his throat. He tipped the bottle back and slurped down the last drop.

  “Throw it here,” Connor ordered.

  Cale rolled the empty bottle to the far side of his cage. Connor reached through the bars and retrieved it. He’d never taken the time to talk to him. That was Damian’s thing. Connor turned to walk away.

  “Is it a cure?” Cale said hoarsely.

  Connor stopped and turned around.

  “The water,” whispered Cale. “You put something in it.”

  Connor was surprised. Through Damian’s beatings he hadn’t muttered a word. He was dumb not to fear Damian. Damian after all was going to kill him. Connor ignored the statement and attempted to leave again. Cale picked a different subject.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  Connor faced him once more.

  “You killed our friends,” Connor stated. “What did you expect?”

  “I get that,” explained Cale. “But why are you keeping me alive? Why are you putting something in the water?”

  “You’re talkative today. Maybe I should tell Damian and he can beat a little more out of you,” he threatened.

  “Why not just kill me right away?” Cale inquired further.

  “You broke our laws,” said Connor. “And the punishment will fit the crime.”

  “What laws?” objected Cale.

  Connor laughed at his stupidity. “For starters stealing.”

  “I didn’t take anything of yours,” Cale argued.

  “Right,” Connor replied sarcastically. “Stealing doesn’t matter, because you murdered William and Frankie.”

  “Murder huh?” scoffed Cale. “I suppose rape, murder, and then necrophilia aren’t breaking the law either.”

  Connor’s eyes dropped to the floor in shame.

  “Yeah,” sneered Cale behind a bloody face.

  “All I’m guilty of is murder,” he confessed. “but even then it isn’t really murder. They’re mercy killings. You know what happens when Damian catches you alive. The rest of that stuff is them. Was them. Now it’s just Damian.”

  “Is that why you aim for the heart?” Cale asked.

  Connor didn’t answer. Cale knew that this was the weak link he could expose. Maybe he could talk Connor into letting him go, but it would take time. To do it now would only make his intentions obvious, and more than likely backfire.

  “Who are you?” asked Connor.

  “I’m just trying to get home,” he answered.

  “And where is home?” Connor inquired.

  “Nebraska. I have a wife and daughter waiting for me somewhere. I-I have to find them.”

  “Daughter?” repeated Connor.

  Cale had provided too much information.

  “You’re name isn’t Zach, is it?” Connor questioned.

  “No,” he gave an honest answer.

  “Then who are you?” he asked again.

  “My name is Cale,” he confessed.

  “We figure you’re a soldier because of your gear. Damian thinks you’re a deserter,” stated Connor.

  “I am,” explained Cale. “But I’ve come much further than the coast.”

  “How far?” inquired Connor.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said flatly.

  Connor considered his reply.

  “Where’s your mark?” asked Cale, pointing to his neck in reference to the tattoos. “The other three have them.”

  “I don’t have one,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “I wasn’t part of the original Horsemen. My brother, Collin, was. The four of them were best friends as kids. They did everything together. Joined the army, deployed, came back, and became police officers. The whole motocross thing started when they were kids and just…” he paused a second. “…Evolved. They just weren’t the same after Desert Storm. My brother wasn’t the same. He was having flashbacks and hallucinations.”

  Cale and Zach exchanged a look. He was all too familiar with the hallucinations.

  “Whatever they did over there…” Connor was obviously struggling to gather his words. “It was too much for Collin. He took his own life.”

  “Sorry to bring it up,” apologized Cale.

  “No. I just haven’t thought about him in a long time,” he said.

  “How did you end up taking his place?” asked Cale. “If you don’t mind my asking?”

  “We just kind of came together through grief. I was in school for microbiology and molecular genetics. I was going to work for the CDC one day,” he chuckled. “I decided to take a break my last semester. The four of us hung out a lot. Eventually, I just became part of the team. I was reluctant at first. Collin had always been “Conquest” when I was younger. To take his place just seemed wrong. The loophole was that “Conquest” was also called “Pestilence.” Which, ironically, is a perfect name,” he finished rubbing his arm.

  “Why?” asked Cale.

  Connor eyed Cale suspiciously. He realized he’d let his guard down. He’d already said too much. Then again, what did it matter? Cale was going to die either way.

  “I was bitten,” his tone changed slightly and he rolled up his sleeve to show the scar.

  It was Cale’s turn to be surprised.

  “Happened about nine months ago,” he recounted the story. “Fucker snuck up on me.”

  “So you do have a cure,” speculated Cale.

  “No. I’m immune,” Connor stated.

  “How?” he questioned.

  “Do you know what genetic diversity is?” asked Connor.

  “Sort of,” replied Cale, recalling high school biology.

  “It’s what keeps a species from being entirely wiped out by a disease. I don’t have the proper equipment to identify the specific gene that enables me to be immune, but I have discovered the group it’s located in. I estimate less than six percent of the world population has the specific protein sequence needed,” he explained.

  “So I have it?” Cale inquired.

  “No. From what I can tell is that you have been exposed to low doses of a weakened form of the virus. So, secondary routes of infection won’t affect you. That includes scratches or in this case weapons tipped with the virus. But say you were bitten, that’s a primary source of infection, and you’ll die.”

  “Oh,” replied Cale.

  “Aren’t we becoming the best of friends,” mocked Damian from the doorway.

  He was covered in snow and clearly angry.

  “I didn’t hear you pull up,” confessed Connor.

  “That’s because I didn’t. The truck slid into a ditch about a mile down the road,” he glared at Cale. “Had to walk back. What the fuck is going on in here?”

  “I just brought him some food and water,” Connor answered.

  “That appears to have made him talkative. Here on out, I’ll bring his food and wa
ter,” asserted Damian.

  Connor nodded.

  “You ready to talk to me, Zach?” he asked.

  “His name is Cale,” corrected Connor. “He was headed for Nebraska where his wife and daughter were.”

  Part of Cale regretted opening up to Connor. He thought he’d been in control of the situation, but perhaps it was Connor all along.

  “He a deserter?” Damian questioned with a grin.

  “Yes.”

  Cale had a feeling he’d only seen a fraction of what Damian could do.

  “Come here.” He motioned for Connor to follow him out.

  The door closed behind them. “Pestilence” was no doubt telling “Death” everything he’d learned.

  “Fuck,” whispered Zach from the other cell.

  “I have to get out of here,” Cale said to himself.

  Damian returned after a few minutes carrying a small black gym bag. He opened the cell door.

  “Let’s go,” he said calmly.

  His tone scared Cale. Cold, and practically naked, Cale limped out. Damian pushed him down the hall and to a door. The sign next to it read “Interrogation Room 1.” The door swung open revealing a chair bolted to the floor. A table had been moved against the wall. Cale noticed the brown blood stains on the floor. This room was Damian’s home. It smelt like him. Like “Death.”

  Chapter 24

  HADES FOLLOWED HIM

  “I don’t believe you!” hollered Damian. “You know what we use to do to liars and deserters?” he asked as he cleaned the blood from his blade again.

  “I’m telling you,” sputtered Cale. “I’m alone. There is no one else. I’m not from the coast.”

  “Who was that little fuck in the road?”

  “He was just some kid,” Cale pled. “I met him the day before. I told you, he and his father tried to rob me.”

  “I’ll ask again, if they tried to rob you, why the fuck would you let him run away? Answer me!” he shouted.

  “He was just some dumb hick kid,” coughed Cale.

  “Just some dumb hick kid who you’re going to die for huh?” sneered Damian.

  “Looks that way,” Cale answered.

  Damian placed his knife at the tip of Cale’s finger. Cale’s hands were duct taped in place to the chair.

  “You aren’t the first deserter we’ve found. Are you, or are you not part of a reconnaissance operation?” he asked.

  “I’m not,” confessed Cale.

  “You’re good,” grinned Damian. “What are you? Ranger? Black Ops? Green Beret?”

  “I’m just a truck driver. Convoy security. I was a .50cal gunner in Iraq. There is nothing special about me,” he tried to convince him.

  “Come on, don’t be coy,” Damian said in a pleasant tone. “You gotta be some sort of SF?”

  Cale shook his head.

  “You sure,” smiled Damian.

  “Don’t,” Cale whimpered.

  Damian slowly pushed the blade under Cale’s fingernail. Cale screamed in pain. Gently, he worked the knife back and forth before twisting it and prying the nail free. It fell to the floor with the other three.

  “You,” laughed Damian. “You’re not telling me something. Man, you can really keep a secret.”

  Damian walked back over to his table. Cale sobbed, glad for even just a few seconds of relief.

  “I can see I’m going to have to pull out all the stops for you,” said Damian.

  He grabbed the black gym bag and returned to Cale at the center of the room. He had a cigar in his mouth. After dropping the bag he pulled a small device out of his pocket. Cale suddenly felt ill when he realized it was a cigar cutter. Damian crouched in front of him holding the two items.

  “Ya know, I’ve always wanted to try something like this,” he confessed.

  Cale’s eyes followed the cutter as Damian used it to clip the end off of his cigar. Damian saw what Cale was watching.

  “This?” he held it up.

  The camping lights shone off its polished surface. Cale was flooded with fear.

  “Come on now,” began Damian. “This is way too cliché. Too mobster. Even for me.”

  He returned it to his pocket and reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of trimming shears.

  “This here is more my speed,” he grinned as he readied Cale’s fingers.

  “No!” screamed Cale.

  “Tell me!” Damian shouted over him before lowering his voice once more. “What base did you come from and what was your mission?”

  “You won’t believe me,” sniveled Cale.

  Damian held Cale’s fingers out and clipped off the smallest finger on his right hand. Cale made noises he never thought he was capable of. He seethed and spit before throwing up the bread and water Connor had given him.

  “Just tell me what I want to hear and it all stops,” Damian said in a gentle, almost sympathetic, tone. “No one would blame you.”

  Cale took a deep breath. His body shook.

  “Where are you from and what is your mission?” asked Damian.

  A moment of silence passed.

  “Okay,” Damian readied his clippers again.

  “Wait! Wait. Wait. Wait,” Cale repeated. “You won’t believe it, but I’ll tell you.”

  “Make it good,” encouraged Damian not relaxing his grip on Cale’s hand.

  “Tallil, Iraq. Before all of this shit happened I was deployed in Iraq. I don’t have a mission. I was on a plane that was shot down. That’s how I got here. I just want to go home.” Cale shortened his story.

  Damian looked as if he were considering Cale’s tale.

  “You were right, Cale,” he stated. “I don’t believe you.”

  He clamped down on Cale’s ring finger. The blade got caught up on the bone.

  “Sorry about that,” said Damian sarcastically. “These aren’t exactly what you’d call sharp.”

  It took several more tries before it cut all the way through. Damian dropped the cutters and reached back into the bag. This time he produced a blue canister with an odd nozzle on it. He twisted the nob on the canister and a quiet hissing sound was heard. He used a striker to ignite the gas. A sharp blue flame jetted out. He used the flame to light his cigar. Damian smiled at Cale and blew smoke in his face.

  “Oh, this is for you too,” he explained.

  Damian cauterized the nubs that had once been Cale’s fingers. He struggled to get away, but his restraints kept him seated. Cale was beginning to hyperventilate.

  “Hope you’re not right handed,” he sneered as Cale screamed.

  After he’d successfully stymied the bleeding he gazed a the blue flame.

  “Ya know what I’ve always wondered?” he asked. “Red is a hot color. Often thought of as dangerous or fast, and blue is suppose to be cool and calm. If that’s the case, why does a blue flame burn hotter?”

  He looked at Cale, who didn’t move out of sheer exhaustion. Damian extinguished the flame and returned his toys to his bag. He left the room in a puff of smoke, bag in hand.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he teased as he closed the door.

  Damian walked back through the door to the holding cells, down the hall, and back into the lobby where Connor lay on his cot reading a book. He closed his book when he noticed Damian, and sat up.

  “How’d it go?” he asked.

  “He’s a tough mother fucker, that’s for sure,” answered Damian. “I normally break them at the fingernails. He held out.”

  “Really?” Connor sounded surprised.

  “Oh yeah,” Damian chuckled.

  “So what did you do?” inquired Connor.

  Damian laughed. He couldn’t believe he’d actually done it. Everybody else spilled their guts way before this point. Almost always during the beatings. A few at the first nail. One at the second. Then Damian would kill them. Cale had gone three. And then some.

  “I cut off two of his fingers,” he boasted.

  “What the fuck, Damian?” shouted Connor.

>   “What?” he smiled.

  “What exactly do you want him to say?” Connor asked.

  “We’ve been seeing a lot of military out here,” Damian began. “All of them immediately claim to be deserters.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What if they aren’t?” Damian speculated. “What if they’re just recon? What if the military is looking to expand?”

  “We can’t fight the military!” he objected. “We’re two guys! If they want to move through we’ll have to move too!”

  “Fuck that!” stated Damian. “We’re the fucking Horsemen!”

  Connor shook his head.

  “Collin would agree with me,” stated Damian.

  “Well, he isn’t here,” argued Connor.

  He’d become accustom to Damian using his brother to influence him. Something he’d outgrown.

  “I don’t think he knows anything?” Connor changed the subject.

  “I think he does,” asserted Damian. “You know what his cover story is?”

  Connor shook his head.

  “He said he was in Iraq when this all happened, and that he was just on a plane that was shot down.”

  “Is that even possible?” asked Connor.

  “No,” Damian scoffed. “I bet if I can find that kid he’ll talk.

  “I don’t understand why that kid is so damn important,” confessed Connor.

  “Me either,” offered Damian. “He said that he and the man tried to rob him. If that’s the case then why would he protect him?”

  Connor shrugged.

  “He’s hiding something. I know it,” Damian said as he grabbed his travel gear.

  “What are you doing?” Connor asked.

  “I’m going to go to impound and grab another vehicle. I’ve got to find that kid,” he answered.

  Chapter 25

  FAMILIAR FACES

  “Merry Christmas,” Lauren greeted Jim as she entered the armory.

  “Merry Christmas,” he replied.

  Marie and Callum scurried along behind her. They followed the other villagers to the drill floor where “Santa” was handing out gifts to the children.