Five Suns Saga [Part III]

by Jim Heskett

  Finally, the soldier’s eyes drifted over toward the convenience store, where Kellen had gone. They could both see the lights on inside it.

  He lowered the assault rifle to point it at Lincoln, who raised his hands in response.

  “Wait a second,” Lincoln said. He had the gun in his pocket, but had no desire to blow his cover now. “There’s no funny business here.”

  “What’s your name?”

  Lincoln shook his head. “I’m just waiting for my friend. Don’t you know me? You’ve seen me around, I’m sure of it. Come on, dude, you know who I am.”

  This made the soldier raise an eyebrow, and Lincoln considered lunging forward with the knife concealed in a sheath under his jacket. But he was at least five feet away, and all the soldier had to do was pull that trigger.

  The soldier sighed. “I’m going to need you to come with me.”

  Lincoln nodded, and the soldier lowered the rifle a few inches. Just enough to make a difference. He turned his body at an angle, indicating the path he wanted Lincoln to walk.

  With his hands up, Lincoln leaned a step forward, closer to the soldier. Then, with a flick of his wrist, yanked the knife downward and out of its sheath. Before the soldier could even open his mouth to scream, Lincoln jabbed the knife into his chest. Shoved. Shoved again, driving it to the hilt and knocking the man back a step.

  The last thrust made the soldier jettison his assault rifle as he jiggled on the end of Lincoln’s knife. His eyes were wide, imploring Lincoln. But he didn’t scream, which was exactly what Lincoln wanted.

  In another few seconds, the life flowed out of him, and Lincoln let his body slump to the ground.

  And as luck would have it, there was a dumpster five feet away. Lincoln chuckled a little as he lifted the lid and then hoisted the body up and into the open mouth of the receptacle. The body clanged as it settled into the dumpster, but the soldiers conducting evening drills nearby provided enough masking background noise.

  And now, he also knew exactly where to go to get a bird’s eye view of what was happening in that convenience store across the street.

  After snatching the dead soldier’s assault rifle, he ascended the dumpster behind the building and then reached up on his tip toes to grab hold of the lip of the roof, then he hoisted himself up. He now had a clear view of the convenience store. Perfect.

  Darkness descended, and he zipped up his coat. How ironic would it be to survive sneaking through the encampment of ten thousand army troops, only to freeze to death on a rooftop, right in the middle of them?

  He certainly hoped Kellen and White would not spend all night in there. Whoever they were visiting, it appeared to be an important meeting. There were stoic guards on all sides of that little building. Someone high-ranking in there.

  As much as the idea of assassinating an important military official intrigued Lincoln, that wasn’t his assignment. He was under direct orders from George Grant to find and kill Kellen Richter and his companion and then bring their heads to George in Colorado.

  Lincoln took out his protein bar and bit off a hunk, then spent a minute working spit into it to make it chewable. Some of the soldier’s blood had splatted his face, so he retrieved a small hand towel from his hip bag and wiped himself.

  He reminisced about eating real meat in Kansas only a couple days ago. How nice it had been to feel warm food in his belly, something he hadn’t regularly tasted since California. That had been years ago.

  As he chewed, the front door to the convenience store opened, and Kellen left. His shoulders slumped, kicking the parking lot gravel in front of him.

  The news he’d received in there wasn’t good, apparently. Lincoln would enjoy torturing it out of him, whatever it was. Right before taking his teeth.

  The other, larger bald man came out after, and they both stood in the gas station parking lot, staring up at the sky. Looked aimless. This was the end of the road for them. The news was upsetting enough they didn’t even know which direction to walk.

  Lincoln was so intrigued, his cock stirred in his pants. Rarely did a mystery so juicy present itself.

  A moment later, the convenience store doors opened again, and a man and woman exited, then called after Kellen and his companion to prevent them from leaving.

  They began a conversation, but the woman turned around, checking the faces of the gas station guards behind her. She motioned to the side, and the four of them shifted their conversation into the alley.

  Away from the eyes of the guards. They’d whittled their numbers from a dozen down to four.

  Lincoln readied the assault rifle and his knife, and then crept to the edge of the roof.

  Kellen - Lebanon

  “Wait,” Isabelle said as she and Dave left the convenience store.

  Kellen stopped and shuddered as the evening’s chill met his skin. He paused to allow Isabelle and Dave to catch up with them.

  “What?” Kellen said. Maybe they wanted to chastise him for wasting the Great Helen Rappaport’s precious time. Whatever. Kellen didn’t care. They’d come all this way only to fail and likely had now doomed Nederland and all the people who lived there.

  If the town hadn’t already been destroyed by the Eighteeners.

  She checked her man’s expression before continuing, and he nodded his consent. “Your community in Colorado. How many people is it?”

  “Well,” Kellen said, “it’s not our community. We don’t live there, but we go up there to trade regularly. There has to be…” Kellen looked at White for aid.

  “Five thousand people, maybe six,” White said.

  Dave frowned. “And they can’t defend themselves?”

  “Some of them can,” Kellen said. “They have some able people, but it’s less than half of the population. A lot of them are children and elderly pacifists and people who’ve never had proper training. People who were attracted to living in a place like Nederland because they thought it would be safe. Away from fighting. And now, it’s made them ripe for slaughter, really.”

  “Maybe we should have told her about the bunker,” White said.

  Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest. “What bunker?”

  “No one knows for sure what’s in it,” Kellen said, “except for the council. It’s something they would all die to protect, and they don’t like to talk about it much.”

  Dave and Isabelle shared a look and didn’t speak for several seconds.

  “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get help,” Dave said.

  Kellen nodded but made no reply.

  “Why?” Isabelle asked.

  With a sigh, Kellen said, “dominoes. If a sanctuary like Nederland is vulnerable, what’s next?”

  Somewhere nearby, men chanted. A warning siren blared and then came the sound of gunfire. Night drills.

  “What if we came with you,” Isabelle said, “and spoke to this council? Maybe we can get information and bring it back to Helen. Especially if we can prove that George Grant and Hector Castillo are really still alive. Helen will pay attention if we can bring her something concrete.”

  “Are you serious?” Kellen said.

  “How many people are on this council?” Dave said.

  White shrugged. “Six or seven. There’s Farrah, she leads the camp. Then her husband Quentin, and Coyle. The rest are new since the last election. I don’t know their names.”

  “Coyle,” Dave said. “Where do I know that from?”

  Isabelle smiled. “That’s the old man Logan ran off with three years ago. His mission to take down Anders and LaVey.”

  Dave grinned, a wistful look on his face. “Is Logan at this camp?”

  Kellen shook his head. “He took a bullet in Denver a few years back, just a few minutes after I met him. I’m sorry, I had no idea you knew him.”

  Isabelle opened her mouth to respond, but a knife sailed through the air, grazing her cheek. She whipped out of the way a split second too late, a line of blood streaking her face.

  Kel
len spun in time to see a man with a shock of fiery red hair sprinting across the grass, with an assault rifle pointed directly at Kellen’s head.

  Chapter 22

  Alma - Colorado Springs

  When she came to, Alma found herself on the ground, a collection of familiar soldiers around her. While looking straight up, their heads encircled her field of vision.

  Above her, the sky appeared as points of light against a black backdrop. Her head ached, and both of her shoulders stung like a round of amateur acupuncture. She had a vague memory of being attacked inside a building made up of mostly rubble. A gunfight between her people and some attackers she did not know. Grasping her gun, but becoming too woozy to pull the trigger.

  Jarvis and George helped her to her feet. She could read concern on the faces of the surrounding soldiers, but she didn’t understand why. They looked at her with pity, and she abhorred pity. For a brief moment, she was fiercely angry, but she didn’t understand why.

  Was this still Kansas? Or were they in Texas? The night air felt too cold and dry to be Texas.

  No, she was in Colorado. Next to the husk of the Air Force Academy Cathedral, bombed out many years ago by her father.

  Her father.

  “Where is Hector?” she said. Her voice came out dense and labored as if the moisture in her mouth had been wiped clean with cotton balls.

  George’s pained expression told her everything she needed to know before the words came out of his mouth. “They took him.”

  Reality formed more closely around her. The blob of random thoughts in her head congealed into something clearer. “They did what?”

  “They got him, Alma. It happened so fast, we weren’t prepared.”

  She seethed. “Who is they?”

  “We don’t know,” Jarvis said. “Some scavengers or someone else who was in the cathedral. One second, there was nothing. Silence. Next second, those slimy bastards were everywhere, shooting damn dart guns at us. We… it was a real shit-show.”

  She took a step, feeling woozy. With fumbly hands, she withdrew the pistol from her holster. “Why in God’s name are you all standing around like a bunch of frightened children? Which way did these ‘slimy’ bastards go?”

  Jarvis shrugged, but George pointed behind him, toward the mountains. “We think back up in the neighborhoods in the foothills. If you’re on foot, it’s the only logical place to hide nearby. We didn’t hear any cars driving away.”

  “Let's wait until morning,” Jarvis said. “We’ll be stepping all over each other if we try to search up there now.”

  Alma shook her head to clear out some cobwebs, then she yelled at the head of her personal guard. “Run and grab ten of your most experienced men. We’re going into the foothills in five minutes.”

  They moved west up the incline of the foothills, toward the mountains. The neighborhood here seemed sparse, with a fair amount of space between the houses. Mostly single-story homes with attached garages and porch swings. Very Americana. Also sleepy-looking, but a few lights further beyond in the hills caught her attention. Alma, George, Jarvis, and ten of Alma’s personal guard went on foot. No loud vehicles to announce their arrival. That had been her decision.

  George was at the back of the group. He claimed to have done it to ensure no one would come at them from behind, but Alma knew the real reason. George was old and overweight. Slow. But Alma hadn’t gone to Virginia to unmask Alias as George Grant and recruit him for his physical or mental talents. She’d mostly needed his name. Once they had conquered the western states and then made their way east, having someone from the old world would help legitimize her claim to the government.

  As they crept along the sidewalk, she kept her eyes open for any sights or sounds to indicate occupied homes. The lack of lights in the nearby houses meant either they were all vacant, or no one was running generators. As they entered the next row of houses, she paused and held up her hand to make the group pause with her. She turned around and flicked off her headlamp. The rest followed suit, plunging them into darkness. The stars above blinked. She gazed back toward the cathedral. It was a straight shot via a dirt road to this neighborhood.

  Her father’s captives had to be here.

  She waved them all forward, and they eased up to the first house. Half of her guard went around the back, and Alma peered into each window. Nothing but the light of the moon to provide insight as to the contents. She couldn’t decide if it was worth the effort to break into the front door, waving guns and screaming. There were dozens of houses between here and where the foothills steepened into the mountain range. Plus, loud noises might scare off the scavengers.

  Or, if they didn’t invade with force, the kidnappers might hold tight in the basement, unnoticed.

  Every minute that slipped by was another minute these savages might hurt her father. But if she and her guards moved too fast and without care, they could miss him entirely.

  While she was deciding, a light blinked on—only for a second—four houses up the street.

  She paused, stared, waiting for it to return. It didn’t, but her mind had been decided. Alma slinked out into the street and pointed at the house. Her men, crouched, moved like a pack of pumas through the streets toward their destination.

  In the front yard, she held up three fingers to indicate the count for going in. Then, she waved her arms to direct three to the front door, three to the back, and three to the side.

  Alma stepped up onto the front porch of this simple, two-story home.

  She pulled back the slide on her pistol, then kicked in the door. The emptiness of the interior stared back at her. The living room had been stripped of all furniture, like a house the night after moving day.

  A burning candle sat in the middle of the barren room. Flickering at her. Someone was here, obviously. Playing a game with her.

  “Come out now,” she said in a calm voice, “and I will spare your life.”

  Nothing but empty silence came back. Only the stillness of the room, the slight breeze from the open door behind her, bending the candle flame left and right.

  What sort of trick was this?

  From outside the far side of the house, gunshots rang out. A muffled scream and the sound of men scuffling. She whirled and raced back out on the porch, then hopped into the remnants of snow in the yard. Raced around the back to find three of her guards dead on the ground.

  And someone rushing off into the darkness, toward a house on the far side of the street. Her other guards hustled around and met her. Jarvis then rushed into the circle, and a moment later, George, huffing and puffing.

  “Ma’am,” one guard said, but she held a finger to her lips as she watched the fleeing man escape around the side of a small house with green siding.

  “Turn off all flashlights and headlamps,” she whispered to the men. “Anything that could give you away.”

  George, Jarvis, and her remaining guards did as they were told. Then, she pointed toward the house with the green siding.

  “Same as before,” she whispered. “But, do not let them see you approach.”

  She motioned George and Jarvis to accompany her, then waved the remaining guards to approach opposite sides of the house from a wide angle. In the night, she could barely see them. They crept with hands low to the ground. When they were in place, she waited until her heart rate settled. Stared at the windows to detect any hint of motion. Nothing appeared.

  She sneaked across the street and picked up a rock from the pathway leading up to the house. Crept up on the porch. Instead of going right in the front door, she heaved the rock through a window next to it, then paused a second for her distraction to take hold. She kicked in the door and rushed inside. Gun out and ready.

  There, in the living room, were half a dozen men and women. They were all huddled around a darkened Coleman lantern. There was a man in the corner of the room with a bag over his head, slumped on a wooden stool. Probably her father.

  “Now!” shouted one of the
scavengers, and he jumped to his feet, revealing a shotgun.

  Alma lifted her pistol and blasted him. He flew back from the force and bumped into the fireplace. She’d intended to put the bullet between his eyes, but had miscalculated and shot him in the neck instead.

  The loudness of the blast in this small room jarred her for a moment, and her eyes involuntarily shut. The man gurgled and tried to breathe as blood rushed from a hole below his chin.

  As the back and side doors crashed open, guards shouted and rushed inside the house. The situation flipped to instant chaos as the kidnappers scrambled to their feet and spread out like roaches scattering in the light.

  Jarvis shot one of them trying to escape, and Alma put bullets in two more while they dove to the ground, trying to find cover.

  The rest of her men rushed in the living room and secured two more trying to ready their weapons.

  Only one remained, and he raced over to the corner, using Hector as a human shield.

  Jarvis raised his gun, pointing it at the man in the corner.

  “No!” Alma shouted at Jarvis. “Don’t be an idiot.”

  Jarvis flashed his eyes at her but lowered his pistol.

  The lone scavenger pointed a little gun at Hector’s temple, desperately trying to use Hector’s body as a barrier. His eyes darted around to each of the soldiers inside the house, all of them armed, all of them pointing weapons. His fellow kidnappers were dead on the floor, their blood leaking out onto the wood.

  “Do you have any idea who you’ve kidnapped?” Alma said, doing her best to enunciate through gritted teeth.

  The scavenger swallowed, panting. Shook his head. He was a young man, maybe only twenty. Looked Latino, with brilliant brown eyes and a patchy collection of facial hair.

  “Let my father go,” she said, “and I will spare your life.”

  Jarvis shot her a look, but she ignored him. He would sulk about this, but that was fine. Let Jarvis do whatever he wanted.