by Brett Abell
“What else can we do, Sheriff?”
Travis shook his head and opened his mouth to speak when a cloud of dust caught his attention. He pushed past Darren and walked past the very nervous line of people waiting to enter. “We got company.”
Darren directed the two men he was watching to the side. “Sit there and count to one hundred. If you don’t find a sudden hankering for raw manwich, we’ll consider you safe.”
He rushed past the short line of people and climbed the small embankment. “Looks military, Sheriff.” He turned and flashed a relieved smile. “Looks like the cavalry is here.”
Travis felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end again and slowly shook his head. He turned back to the people in line. “Any bites, scratches, or blood on you?”
In turn, they all shook their head and he rushed them into the bunker.
“What about us, Sheriff?”
Travis turned and saw the two men sitting outside on the concrete. He glanced at Darren, who was slowly making his way up to the still rolling Humvees, waving his arms. “How high have you gotten in your count?”
“Sixty-four,” one man said.
“Eighty-three,” the other replied.
“Get in the bomb shelter. Now.” He practically shoved the men toward the door then began pushing it closed.
“Sheriff, what are you doing?” a voice called.
Travis yelled into the opening before he shut the door, “Just a precaution. Don’t open this door for anybody but me.” He pushed the heavy metal door shut and waited until he heard it latch on the other side. He worked his way to the side of the bunker and behind the concrete wall holding back the earth that covered it. He clawed his way up the steep embankment and leaned against the center parapet, his shotgun brought to bear on the concrete pad in front of the doors.
Travis scanned the area and finally centered his attention on the man now speaking to Rutherford. Darren was pointing and talking exaggeratedly and Travis groaned to himself. The military was here way too soon. This just didn’t feel right.
He watched Darren try to stop the man as he marched past him and toward the bunker. Two soldiers appeared from behind and dragged Rutherford behind a Humvee unceremoniously. A moment later, a single shot was heard and Travis knew exactly what happened. They weren’t taking any chances on “survivors.” They intended to wipe Middletown off the map.
Travis leveled his shotgun on the approaching figure and knew that the double-aught buckshot was powerful, but had a limited range. His hand slid down toward his belt and pulled the .40-caliber Glock from his holster. With both hands steadying the barrel, he took aim on the lead man and slowly squeezed the trigger. He stopped just short of firing when the man stopped and swung his arm toward the steel doors of the bomb shelter. “Get a torch on that thing. Pop it open, now!”
“Oh, hell no.” Travis took aim again and applied the necessary five pounds of pressure. He watched as the man barking orders fell, his hand clutching his chest. Travis took aim on the next closest soldier and fired again. And again. And again. He watched as soldiers began diving for cover or hiding behind their armored transports.
The first responding round struck the concrete to his right, sending blistering bits of stone and chunks of cement flying toward his face. The succeeding rounds each closed closer to where he had been standing before he ducked below the parapet. Travis recognized the sound of the .30-caliber machine gun and cursed to himself. He knew he wouldn’t get far, but it was worth it.
A moment later, the gunfire stopped and he heard the same voice call out to him. “You can come out now or we can lob grenades over the edge and splatter the backside of that wall with your innards!”
Travis raised a brow at the sound of the voice. How could their leader have survived a direct shot to the heart? Curiosity killed the cat and it may well be his end, but he couldn’t hold sneaking a peek over the edge.
The lead soldier stood on the concrete pad, his uniform shirt pulled open, his bulletproof vest displayed. “I don’t know who you are, but get your ass down from there now.” He spoke with the authority of an officer.
Travis squared his shoulders and glared at the man. “I’m the sheriff of this county. What the hell did you do to my deputy?”
“He’s been subdued until we can verify that he isn’t infected.”
“Subdued with a bullet?” Travis yelled back. “I heard the shot fired.”
“Your man is fine.” The officer turned back and whispered something to the soldier behind him. He turned back to Travis and planted his hands on his hips. “I’m not going to tell you again; come down or we will remove you by force.”
“What are your intentions with the people inside the bomb shelter?”
“We’re just going to check that they’re all virus free then arrange transport.” The man shook his head. “Sheriff, there’s no reason we can’t work together on this.”
“Show me my deputy and I’ll consider it. Otherwise, I’m the only authority in this county that matters and I haven’t given the federal government permission to enter it.”
The officer laughed and shook his head. “Boy, haven’t you ever heard of martial law? It’s been declared on this entire county because of the outbreak. Now get down from there or …”
Travis fired his shotgun in the air then leveled it on the officer. “I said show me my deputy or we’re going to see if that boonie hat of yours is bullet proof too.”
The officer huffed and lowered his head. “Fine.” He raised his hand and gave a subtle wave.
Travis looked toward the vehicles for Darren just as another round whizzed by his head. The crack from the shot echoed a moment later just as he leveled his shotgun on the officer and fired a quick blast then ducked back behind the parapet. He duck walked to the edge of the mound covering the shelter and slid down the dry grass, coming to rest a few feet from the edge of the concrete retaining wall. He swung the barrel around to level on the officer again only to find the man had retreated back to his troops.
A second shot rang out and Travis could have sworn that something grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him back and to the ground. He knew he’d been shot before the pain ever registered with his brain. He rolled with the shot and landed on his good shoulder. He tried not to move as the blazing heat from the wound finally registered with his brain and demanded that he scream. He did his best to play dead, his eyes half shut and forced his breathing to slow although his lungs burned and ached. His brain wanted nothing more than to scream and curse and kill every one of the uniformed invaders.
He watched as the men swarmed the front of the bomb shelter and began to cut at the door. Travis slowly worked his good arm back down and gripped his pistol. It was obvious they thought him dead. They should really know better than to assume. Must be weekend warriors, he thought. They weren’t battle-hardened soldiers or they would have sunk another round into his brain to ensure he was good and truly dead.
Travis slid his pistol out and inched it forward, his eyes growing fuzzy as he did it. He knew he had lost too much blood. He had little time. He watched as a soldier stepped back, torch in hand and another pulled the small oxy-acetylene bottles back and set them on the ground.
Travis slid the Glock up and took careful aim. Please, God. Just let me have enough ammo to pull this off …
He took aim on the twin bottles just as a handful of soldiers worked their way toward the door. He could hear screaming coming from inside the bunker, and he leveled his sights on the twin bottles once more. Squeezing the trigger, he was surprised that nothing happened to the bottles. Soldiers began spinning in all directions looking for the new shooter.
Travis took aim once more just as a soldier spotted him and began to swing his rifle to bear. He squeezed the trigger again and smiled at the fireball that erupted. “Take that you sons of bitches.” His voice was barely a whisper and he could feel his energy draining. He barely had the strength to hold the pistol upright along the
ground.
Soldiers began to stand up, shaking their heads and patting out the small singed areas on their uniforms as they gathered their bearings. Travis groaned as he realized his best offense wasn’t enough. He could barely make out the shape of the soldier who trotted close to him and dumped two rounds into his head.
*****
“But Mom, Dad isn’t back yet,” Hunter argued as his mom continued to load the truck.
“Sweetie, Daddy said to give him two days and if he wasn’t back, he’d meet us at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.” She gently pushed him back toward the cabin. “Just grab your stuff so we can go, okay?”
Diane knew in her heart that Travis wasn’t coming back. The constant buzzing of military helicopters and the sounds of gunfire in the night told her that either the infected had scattered deep into the country or the military wasn’t playing favorites. She was frightened and she didn’t want to wait any longer. Travis said two days and his time was up. She had Hunter to think of now and she wasn’t going to risk her baby on false hopes. She tossed her bag into the back of the Bronco and slipped a couple of sleeping bags in with it. If they had to, they’d sleep in the car on the way to her folks.
Hunter dragged his feet as he exited the cabin. “I got everything I need.” He handed her the bag and she tossed it into the truck then closed the tailgate.
“Okay, sweetie, load up.” She opened her door and slid in behind the wheel. She waited while Hunter climbed in and buckled his seat belt. She fought the tears that were fighting to be shed. “Okay, baby. Let’s go see Grandma and Grandpa.”
She pulled away from the cabin and made her way down the long dirt driveway that led to the county road. She took one last look at the cabin in the rearview mirror and knew they’d never be able to return.
She turned onto the highway and away from Middletown. The drive to her parents’ house wouldn’t take long once they hit the interstate, but somehow she felt that it would be the longest drive of her life.
She set the cruise control and did her best to not cry. She could feel it inside … Travis was gone. Why couldn’t he have just stayed with them? Why did he have to throw everything away? Some deluded sense of duty? She tried not to let her mind dwell on what could have been but it was too easy. The roads were deserted. Not a single car in either direction. That realization was just sinking in when she crested the low hill and had to practically stand on the brakes to keep from plowing into the military roadblock that blocked both sides of the highway.
As the Bronco screeched to a halt, she stared at the men in rubber suits, their faces covered by masks, their weapons all leveled on her and her son. Her eyes widened with panic and Hunter pushed himself up in the seat. “Who are these guys, Mom?”
She shook her head in confusion. This was the last thing she had thought of. She opened her mouth to reply when a sharp knocking on her window made her jump. She turned and stared into the mask of a soldier, the large, dark lenses making him appear like an insect.
“Roll down the window!”
She nodded as her hand went for the button. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know you guys were set up here.”
“Where are you coming from, ma’am?” The soldier tried to open her door and found that it was locked. “I need you to get out of the vehicle.”
“What? We … we were just camping at a family cabin for a few days. Is something wrong?”
“I said step out of the vehicle, ma’am. You and the boy both. Is anybody else in the vehicle with you?”
Diane’s head kept turning from the soldier at her window and the men slowly approaching with their weapons pointed at them. “What’s going on? Why are they pointing guns at my son? We haven’t done anything …”
“Step out of the vehicle now, ma’am!” The soldier reached through the open window and found the door latch. He pulled the door open then grabbed her by the arm.
“What the hell are you doing? We haven’t done anything!” She tried to fight him but a knife quickly appeared and sliced easily through her seatbelt before she found herself being pulled from the vehicle.
“There’s been a chemical leak, ma’am. We have to test everybody that comes from the direction of Middletown.” The soldier practically pulled her to the side of the road.
“Stand down, soldier!”
The deep tone of authority in the voice caught Diane off guard. She spun and found herself facing another man in a bug mask. “What the hell is going on here?” she demanded.
“My deepest apologies, ma’am,” the soldier said softly. “Apparently Sergeant Mitchell gets a little too anxious when dealing with folks.” The soldier held out his hand and directed her toward the other soldiers. “If you’ll just allow us a few moments, this won’t take long. We just need to ensure that you and your son weren’t exposed to any of the toxic chemicals that were spilled in town.”
“Toxic chemicals?” Diane shot him a confused look. “That’s news to me. As I was trying to tell Mr. Handsy over there, we were camping at a family cabin all week. We didn’t know anything about a chemical spill.”
“I understand, ma’am. But this stuff is nasty and it’s airborne. If you’ll just give us a few moments, we just need to take a swab from your mouth and the field test only takes about ten seconds and you can be on your way.”
Diane nodded slowly as the two soldiers began leading her away to the left of the blockade.
“Mom?” Hunter called as two soldiers escorted him to the other side.
“It’s okay, sweetie. This won’t take but a few moments.” She gave him a reassuring smile then turned back to follow the soldiers. She glanced back at her son, who had fallen into step with his escorts when she noticed one of the men pulling a large silver knife from a sheath on his belt.
In that moment, Diane felt her entire world shatter. She pulled away from the soldiers and turned toward her son. “Hunter!”
She never heard the bullet that entered the back of her skull.
About Heath Stallcup
Heath Stallcup was born in Salinas, California and relocated to Tupelo, Oklahoma in his tween years. He joined the US Navy and was stationed in Charleston, SC and Bangor, WA shortly after junior college. After his second tour, he attended East Central University where he obtained BS degrees in Biology and Chemistry. He then served ten years with the State of Oklahoma as a Compliance and Enforcement Officer while moonlighting nights and weekends with his local Sheriff’s Office. He still lives in the small township of Tupelo, Oklahoma with his wife and three of his seven children. He steals time to write between household duties, going to ballgames, being a grandfather to five and being the pet of numerous animals that have taken over his home. Visit him at his Amazon Author Page, on Facebook.com, Goodreads or heathstallcup.com for news of his upcoming releases.
Hell’s Revelation
Mark Tufo
CHAPTER ONE - Beth - The Night Before
Her long legs were resting on the divan, a cigarette in one hand, a glass filled with twelve-year-old scotch in the other. She was peering through the open curtains in her modest motel room. Traffic lazily streamed by on the roadway. The town was a sleepy little berg, but that was about to change, if Beth had anything to say about it.
“Is everything okay, honey? You sound funny.”
“It’s just the speaker phone, Mom. Everyone sounds funny on those.” Or maybe it is because I’m going to kill a couple of hundred people tomorrow. That could have something to do with it as well. “I’ve got to go, Mom; I have a meeting in a few hours, and I have to get ready.”
“You be careful. You know I don’t like when you have to travel for business. You should have just married Byron Ritter, and you could be home making grandba …”
Beth hung up.
It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the argument from her mother. As if she’d marry Byron; he was about as beneath her station as one could get. “He’s a four at best; there was no way he could land something as hot as this.” Beth h
ad stood and was admiring her lithe form in the mirror. Clad in only a bra and panties, she should have been able to show any and all flaws if she had them.
No, the imperfections Beth had were all hidden deep within the recesses of her caustic brain. It was almost as if she had been cursed. The immeasurable beauty she displayed was only on the surface, and it did not and could not penetrate further due to the blackness her heart poured out.
On occasion, when she was feeling reflective, she would wonder what happened to her. Her daddy didn’t diddle her. In fact, her parents had never been anything but supportive of every endeavor she’d ever undertaken. She wasn’t harassed or bullied in school, she was the captain of her field hockey team and captain of the cheerleaders. She didn’t have a jock boyfriend who “hit it and quit it.” No nothing like that. By all accounts, her life had been about as perfect as one could get.
There was just always something in her that wanted, no, demanded more. Not as in possessions, but as in darkness. It was an evil within her that fought to come out of the hiding hole she’d tried to contain it within. Like a voracious cancer, it had finally eaten through her defenses. What she was left with was a twenty-four-year-old woman quite capable of unimaginable acts of violence. She’d never felt more alive than when she’d end the life of another. Some deserved it, some didn’t; she honestly didn’t care either way.
She’d since given herself over completely to what she was sure she’d been created for. She was a vessel of wickedness, plain and simple. That the ATF had found and recruited her was only happenstance of the kind that only a dark hand could have coordinated. Jimmy Spencer, who ran the American Terrorist Federation, had seen something in Beth that she had not yet fully come to understand. That he was hotter than any man she’d seen, even the ones gracing the covers of her friend Debbie’s romance novels, didn’t hurt either.
