She sighed. "You might think that, but these two? They're runners."
"I know. Stephen told me. That's alright though. Where they're going to be, they won't be running away from," he said with a disarming smile.
"Good. Thieves. That's what they did, you know. Then they ran. Another one ran too, but Mr. Conklin has her all safe and sound."
Yancey nodded. "Absolutely, and that will probably discourage these two from trying to run."
The old woman shrugged. "Maybe. You know how they are. Probably don't look at loyalty the same way folks like us do."
Scott fought the urge to laugh. If only you knew.
Yancey nodded sagely. "I'm quite sure you're right." He reached into his vest, pulling out a piece of paper. "Here's the deed Stephen and I agreed upon."
The woman opened the paper and examined it carefully. Eventually, she nodded and folded it back up. "Come with me. I'd bring them to you, but at my age…"
"Oh, that's quite alright. We don't mind at all. That's why I brought my man with me," Yancey said, gesturing toward Scott.
The woman nodded, then turned and walked down the hall. The two men followed her down the stairs into an old basement. As Scott looked around, he saw the narrow windows had been barred, effectively turning the basement into a prison.
Two males sat hunched into one corner of the empty basement. One much older than the other, apparently the father.
"There they are," the woman said, handing Yancey a set of keys.
He smiled at the woman. "Thank you, so very much." He turned his attention toward the two. The smile vanished. "Get your sorry asses up!"
The two indentures stood up slowly. Their hands shackled to the floor, there was only so much standing the older of the two could actually do.
"I'm going to unchain you from the floor. If you even think of moving wrong, my man here will beat you into a bloody paste. Is that understood?"
Timid nods answered him.
"Good." Yancey bent over and unlocked the lock keeping their chains to the floor. He took the chain in his hand and began walking back toward the woman, using the chain as a leash.
"Here you are, ma'am," Yancey told the old woman, offering her the key back.
She smiled, taking the key with on hand and offering a different key with the other. "This'll be for their wrists."
"Thank you so much. It's been an absolute delight to meet you this evening," Yancey said.
The older woman smiled, the look on her face saying she wished she'd been about forty years younger.
They made their way upstairs and out the door, wishing the old lady a wonderful evening. Yancey drug the two indentures up into the enclosed cart, Scott closing the door behind them.
"Thank God that's over," Yancey said, his pleasant smile back. "Please accept my apologies for my behavior in there. We had to sell it, you know."
The older man looked around the interior, clearly confused. "Sell it?"
Scott sat down on one of the benches running along either side of the cart. As Yancey unlocked the shackles on the wrist, Scott gestured toward the bench.
"Mr. Hernandez, my name is Scott Latham. We're here at get you at the request of Jason Calvin."
At the mention of Calvin's name, the man's eyes widened in surprise. "You mean…?"
Scott nodded with a smile.
"Megan?" he asked, terror gripping his voice.
"We're going to get her next," Yancey offered as he banged on the wall between the cabin inside and the driver.
Hernandez hugged his son, now also freshly unshackled. The two of them crying quietly.
The trip from the house to Conklin's headquarters building was short. Outside stood a man in Somerton black. Luckily, Yancey knew the man, greeting him as soon as they got out of the wagon.
"This way," the man said. Yancey failed to introduce him, and Scott didn't bother to ask.
The new man lead them down into a dank, dusty basement. The basement had been divided into multiple rooms, but only one had a closed door. The new man pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked the door.
Scott intellectually knew what he would see. He knew what his own daughter had looked like in her casket. None of that really prepared him for what he was seeing.
Megan Hernandez was supposed to be a very attractive woman. She might have been. She might be again someday in the future. Right now, all Scott could see was what could best be described as a living, breathing bruise.
Her nose sat crooked on her face, her eyes swollen so badly, he wasn't even sure she could see.
Scott walked forward as their guide began unlocking the woman's chains. "Megan Hernandez?"
The woman nodded.
"My name is Scott. I believe you're expecting us? We're here with Jason."
She muttered something. Try as he did, he couldn't hear it. "I'm sorry?" he asked, moving closer in hopes of making out her weak words.
"What kept you?" she whispered.
That took Scott aback a bit. He looked at the woman, her wounded and battered face. The corners of her mouth curled up in a smile.
"You're the one who let her know we were coming?" Scott asked the stranger.
He nodded. "Yeah. Snuck in when I dropped off her food to let her know."
"Thanks," Scott said, pulling up one of the woman's arms and wrapping it over his shoulder. Yancey did similar. Slowly, they lifted her off the floor, her feet dragging behind her as they took her to be reunited with her family.
Chapter 17
The rally point they'd chosen was the same place Jason had used during the failed raid. Wisdom said it was a bad idea, because no doubt Conklin knew they'd used this point and would look here again. Unfortunately, Jason didn't have time to find a better spot.
He, Rick, and their surviving teams had gotten here shortly after the New Eden women had. Waiting for them had been a couple hundred resistance fighters.
Al Holliman stepped forward, shaking their hands. "This is your escort."
Jason smiled. "Wish we didn't need one."
Holliman nodded. "Yeah, me too. Of course, I don't expect Conklin to take this particularly well."
"You think?" Rick popped off. "They'll be after us as soon as they can. Think your boys in town can keep their heads down long enough to get us a head start?"
"Not sure. They're going to try, but this is just the start for us. We can't sacrifice people right now without a damn good reason. No offense, but…"
"What do you mean, 'just the start'?" Jason asked.
Holliman took a deep breath. "Well, we figured this was a good time to really stir crap up, so resistance units throughout Somerton's territory rose up tonight. We're fighting in almost every town."
"Why didn't someone say anything?"
"Honestly? We weren't sure if you'd feel like you'd been used or something. You were beating yourself up pretty bad for a while there."
Jason thought about it for a moment, ready to protest, but stopped himself. The other man was right, after all. He'd been beating himself up for everything that had happened. "Well, for what it's worth, it's actually a relief."
Holliman seemed surprised. "Oh?"
"Yeah. It means relief won't be coming from outside of town if they're all tied up with uprisings in their own area of operations, right?"
Holliman seemed to consider it for a moment. "Yeah, I guess so. Didn't really think about it that way."
Jason shrugged. "No big."
As more people trickled in, everyone who'd been in the fight restocked their ammo or replaced missing gear from a cart that had come from the town's armory. Tons of 5.56 rounds, plenty of 9mm, everything they needed.
The two wagons were finally joined by an enclosed cart. The cart bounced up and down on the rough ground before coming to a stop. A door mounted in the back swung open, letting Scott Latham and Yancey step out. "Gentlemen! We have arrived," Yancey boasted, his arms held out in victory.
Despite himself, Jason smiled. Yancey had missed out
on the fighting, but here he was.
Following the two resistance members was Mark Hernandez. The man looked pissed. Jason couldn't say he blamed them man. He'd heard what Megan was going through. Jason knew what he'd do to anyone who'd done that to Jess. Hell, he'd done horrible things to a man who'd simply kidnapped her. Her ordeal was a cakewalk compared to what Megan had endured.
Mark walked up to Jason and, without saying a word, punched him right in the jaw.
"You son of a bitch! Where were you? You could get us out, but not before that son of a bitch hurt her. You could have left me, but why didn't you come and save my wife sooner?"
Jason felt an icy rage flowing over him. He took a deep breath, trying desperately to keep it in check. Every ounce of intellect told him that Mark Hernandez didn't have any idea what had happened.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save your wife sooner. I was burying mine," he said, the icy tone meant as a warning to the other man.
Mark Hernandez look like he'd been punched far harder, even staggering back a step. "Oh God. I'm…I'm so sorry. I…I didn't know."
The rage mostly gone, Jason nodded. "I know," he said. The rational part of his mind was slowly taking back control.
"Plus, just so you know," Rick said, "he got shot while trying to plan out how to spring you guys. You might want to try a little gratitude next time. Just sayin'."
Mark eyed the younger man, his own rage seeming to war with rationality. Finally, he nodded. "You're right. Thank you. Thank all you folks," he said, the last bit loud enough for everyone to hear it.
Jason nodded. "We're still not out of this."
Mark looked back at him, confused look on his face.
"Conklin doesn't seem like the type to just decide to let bygones be bygones," Rick said.
The newly freed man's eyes widened for a moment, fear clear for everyone to see, but just for a moment. Any terror he showed soon vanished, an icy resolve taking its place. "What can I do?"
"You know how to shoot?" Rick asked.
Mark shook his head. The answer surprised Jason. He'd seen so much fighting that he just couldn't imagine other people hadn't.
"No," Mark said. "But there's got to be something I can do."
Rick nodded. "Yeah, there is. Think you feel up to running ammo?"
The other man nodded.
"Good. Head on over to the ammo wagon and load up." Rick smiled at him as he turned to walk away.
"Doesn't know how to shoot?" Jason muttered.
Rick chuckled. "Not everyone's a gunslinger, Dad. You talk about the switch everyone has in them, but you seem to miss that most people just don't want to get into it."
"Yeah, but…I mean, how did they make it?"
Rich shrugged. "From what you've told me, most every fight you got into was because you wouldn't sacrifice your principles or your life. Most folks? They'd rather not, but more than that they wanted to just get by."
"How in the hell…" Jason said, confused.
Rick patted his father on the shoulder. "You assumed everyone was like you. But, you know, this isn't really the time for all that."
Jason shook his head, trying to knock the rampaging questions out. "Yeah, I know."
Scott Latham appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, beside Jason. "I've got one of my men stashed. He's got a radio and a Remington 700."
"Sniper?" Jason asked.
Latham nodded.
"Good. He'll give us some warning if nothing else. Is everyone here?"
"Yeah. Everyone who's coming is here."
"Alright, here's the plan," Jason said. "The wagon with the girls keeps pushing through. We switch horses if we have to with the ammo wagon, but stops will be minimal. Maybe even through the night if we have to. Rick?"
The younger man nodded.
"You're going with a few men for escort duty."
"You're not keeping me out of this-"
"I'm not trying to," Jason interrupted. "It's not like we've had a chance to let the folks at home know what the hell is going on. I want them seeing you first, so they know we're not a threat."
Rick took a deep breath, eventually nodding his understanding.
"Okay, everyone else? If you're not on escort, we're going to make Conklin pay for every single mile. We're going to engage, make them bleed, then pull back a few miles. Understood?" He looked around heads nodding.
"I've got a handful of guys who brought horses. They might be your best bet as escorts," Latham said.
Jason nodded. "Good. Get them with Rick, and get them the hell out of here."
Latham nodded and headed off. Jason headed toward the man driving the wagon. They had a few things to work out.
** ** **
The woods were quiet. Birds quit chirping some time back. Even the squirrels seemed to sense something dark was coming. Smart little bastards, Jason thought.
"I've got them. Looks like three hundred yards," Latham's sniper said over the radio.
"Understood. You're weapons free," Jason replied.
The loud report of a .308 rifle echoed through the trees. Jason looked around. Every tree had someone behind it. He didn't really like the position, but there hadn't been time to make anything better.
Another gunshot sounded. "Two down. Relocating," the sniper said.
He rubbed his palms, sweat forming under the early morning sun already. It was going to be hot. Just once, can I risk my life on a beautiful, comfortable day?
The silence stretched on. The sniper should have been in position by now, but nothing happened. "Status," Jason called.
"Repositioned. Standing by to acquire target."
"Understood. You're clear to engage once target has been reacquired."
Jason settled in and waited. What felt like an eternity later, two loud gunshots sounded in the distance, followed by a thundering boom. He waited for the response from the sniper.
Nothing.
"Status?" he asked.
Still nothing.
"Status?" he asked again, urgency seeping into his voice.
Still nothing.
Latham crouched behind a tree close to him. "Well, sounds like I've got bad news for ya."
Latham nodded. "I heard."
Jason keyed the mic. "Foxtrot Charlie." He switched the frequency on his radio. Around him, others made the switch as well.
He took a deep breath. "I wish your boy could have given us a count at the least."
Latham nodded.
Jason's heart began beating faster, harder, as if it were trying to burst out of his chest. Settle down. It's not like we're going to make it out of this alive anyways, he thought. Then again, that's probably not the best thought to have when you're trying not to freak the hell out.
Moments stretched into minutes. Minutes stretched into an hour. Still no signs of Conklin's men.
Latham whispered, "Maybe they all went home for ice cream?"
Jason smiled. "Least then could have asked if we wanted any."
A flash of black in the distance caught his attention. "Never mind," Jason whispered. "They're sticking around for a bit longer."
Latham looked at him quizzically. Jason motioned toward his eyes, then pointed in the direction. Again, black stood out against the forest around it.
"Alright folks, it looks like it's almost party time. Keep an eye out. They're trying to be sneaky," he said into the throat mic.
More and more of Somerton's troops appeared in the distance. They were good though. Jason knew that black, contrary to what a lot of people think, actually stands out in most environments. The woods, for example.
Close enough.
He looked down the AR-15 in his hands. He'd taken off the suppressor. Silence had its place, but the plan called for him to actually make a little noise.
A Somerton soldier stood next to a tree. Jason settled the front site on the man and waited a moment. "Stand by," he ordered, the prearranged command to get ready. He focused on his breathing, trying to get the chest pounding under control.
The target was about a hundred yards away. Not an overly difficult shot, but not exactly close range either. The pounding slowly subsided.
Jason carefully squeezed the trigger. His round tore through the air, the shockwave of its passage sending a loud crack through the air. Soon, the woods were filled with a chorus of rounds, each obliterating the sound barrier as they tore into unsuspecting Somerton soldiers.
** ** **
A chorus of gunshots tore into the men around Conklin. "Return fire!" he ordered, bringing his own rifle up and squeezing round after round down range.
The men who survived the initial onslaught followed his lead. The air between the two groups became copper jacketed hell, a landscape in which no living thing would dare attempt to traverse.
Each pull of the trigger fueled Conklin's rage. That was because he knew each round was wasted unless it hit Jason Calvin in the heart. Or the face. He'd have been pretty happy with that as well.
"Sir," Ramirez said. He practically yelled, trying to be heard over the shooting.
"What?" he asked, annoyed at the question.
"We need you to pull back."
"No way in hell. I'm going to kill that son of a bitch!"
Ramirez stepped in front of him, forcing him to hold his fire. "Sir, they've had at least one sniper. There may be others, and you're standing out here like a big target."
Conklin felt the trigger beneath his index finger. Just a few pound of pressure, and the insolence would end. No one could tell him what to do.
What the hell are you doing. Pull it together, he thought, releasing the trigger. Slowly, he nodded. "You're right. Yeah, you're right."
Ramirez motioned to two men who stood on either side of Conklin, weapons at the ready.
"Um…Keep putting pressure on their middle. If that doesn't push them back soon, we're going to pull around and hit them on the flank." Conklin felt like was in some kind of haze, almost like he were drunk.
"Yes, sir. We're on it," the younger man said, not softly, but with as much tenderness as possible considering the volume he was forced to speak at.
Conklin staggered away from the line. He didn't know what was wrong, but it was pissing him off.
Bloody Eden (Soldiers of New Eden Book 2) Page 17
