Unfortunately, he found the road deserted.
Chapter 9
Sitting down at one of the few internet cafes still in business in Hampton, Arkansas, Skull logged on to an anonymizer service and used an established throwaway alias. He then proceeded to the message board Vinny had set up for their group to exchange messages.
Their group, not your group, Skull reminded himself. With Zeke dead, his link to Markis and the others grew more tenuous all the time.
Logging in, Skull saw brevity codes confirming that, in addition to the first group of family members making it safely to Buenos Aires, Argentina, Markis and his crew were now in Colombia. Safety signals indicated they were not under duress or being forced to allow others to use the site. They were secure for now. He allowed himself to feel a sense of relief.
Be careful, a voice said in Skull’s head. You can’t afford sentimentality. Don’t fool yourself into thinking most of them care about you. Spooky and Larry might, but not Markis. Not the rest.
Spooky should be running the covert action ops now. He would likely be looking for Skull to make contact, to send them a sign that he was free and available.
He hesitated, thinking, and eventually departed the site without leaving a message.
Instead, Skull went to a few of the more prominent news sites. The Russians, in the guise of the new Soviet Union, had made good on their promise of empire. Forces were pushing south, re-annexing the oil-rich Central Asian “stans.”
China had also not stopped at seizing Taiwan, but just the past week annexed Mongolia and was pressuring Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos to accept its direct hegemony as new provinces of the Middle Kingdom. All three had refused, and were rapidly rearming in expectation of another war.
The North Koreans had pushed south across the DMZ under the pretext of a large outbreak of the Eden virus in the south. Ironically, truth had overwhelmed disinformation as the advance stalled due to mass infection of the North Korean Army. It now appeared that both sides had lost control of their forces and their governments were in disarray. Chaos reigned, but violence was surprisingly light. It appeared that getting food and dealing with the “virtue effect” were both armies’ top priorities.
Skull chuckled to himself at the confirmation of his desire to remain Plague-free. What use is a killer who can’t kill?
Most distressing, Pakistan and India had exchanged nuclear salvos with each other and both capitals were now smoking ruins. Iran had taken advantage of the situation and pushed its forces east to annex the western portions of both Pakistan and Afghanistan.
The world is going to shit, Skull thought, closing out of the news sites. He noticed the pimply-faced teenager running the internet cafe making a call while trying not to look at Skull.
Time to go, Skull realized, noticing the look of alarm on the boy’s face as he slipped out and around a corner. He made several twists and turns in the small town in order to get away from whomever the boy had called. Skull would have to double back to get his bike later, but that could wait for nightfall. Worst case, he would abandon it and get another.
Walking down a high-walled alley, Skull slipped behind a large dumpster near a barbecue restaurant. He crouched down and looked through the crack between the container and the wall to see if anyone was following him. Waiting five minutes, he finally relaxed, confident no one was tailing him directly.
Skull stood up, shouldering his bags and walking casually down the alley again, turning a corner.
Three policemen waited for him.
Waving absently as if lost, Skull turned around and ambled back the other way.
Four more policemen stood at the other end of the alley.
“Where you going, stranger?” said an exceptionally large man.
“Down this alley,” answered Skull. “It’s wide enough for both of us, although I hope you don’t mind me saying you could stand to drop a few pounds.”
A man behind Skull laughed.
The big man pulled out a telescoping metal asp and extended it to its full length with a practiced flick of his arm. “This indigent got a smart mouth.”
“Easy now, Wallace,” said an older officer in the middle. “We’re just talking here.”
“What exactly are we talking about?” asked Skull.
“Whatever the hell we want to talk about,” answered Wallace, his face red. He slapped the steel rod’s shaft into one meaty palm.
Skull shrugged. “Well, some say I’m a brilliant conversationalist. Would you like to discuss the Punic Wars? Impressionist art? Philosophy? I’m game for whatever, but it would help if you were a little more specific.”
“Let’s start with who you are and why you’re here,” said the older policeman, obviously in charge.
“Just a traveler, nothing more.”
“Put down your packs and turn out your pockets,” said Wallace.
“Is that really necessary?” asked Skull. “I mean I’ve g—“
Skull’s words were cut short as his body seized up, every muscle contracting. He fell to his face as electric current stunned him, and then ceased.
Policemen rushed forward, pressing their knees into Skull’s back while pulling taser darts from his skin. They yanked his hands roughly behind him, snapping on handcuffs before turning him over.
“What the hell was all that for?” asked Skull.
“That was for not obeying the sheriff’s office’s very polite and reasonable request,” said Wallace. “And this,” he lifted the asp, “is for calling me fat.” He struck Skull in the middle of the forehead with the heavy, blunt tip.
Skull felt blood running down his face as he fought not to lose consciousness.
He lost that fight.
Chapter 10
Skull slowly regained consciousness, but pretended to be asleep in order to assess his situation. He smelled antiseptic and sensed that he was strapped into a chair. It seemed unlike any jail cell he had ever heard of.
“Sonofabitch had a silenced pistol, for God’s sake,” said a voice to Skull’s front.
“Not to mention the sniper rifle, grenades, and a full-auto submachine gun,” said another. “Those are federal offenses, at least twenty years.”
“And we don’t know who the hell he is,” continued a voice that sounded like Wallace. “He has three full sets of identification.”
“I bet none of them are real,” said the older man, the one in charge. “His prints aren’t in the system, though, so he doesn’t have a criminal record.”
“That don’t mean he’s not a killer,” said Wallace. “We should call the state police. This is a slam dunk case.”
There was silence for a few moments and Skull imagined everyone looking at the sheriff. The older man finally spoke. “The troopers are busy, and besides, we can run our own house. Other than false identification and illegal weapons, what else do we have?”
“Lots of technical gear,” said one of the earlier voices. “Lockpicks.”
“And he’s not a sicko. Doc called a few minutes ago and confirmed he’s clean.”
“I think he’s playing possum, boss,” said Wallace.
A hand slapped Skull’s face, not gently. He looked up at the older man. The movement made his head hurt like hell.
“There he is,” said the sheriff. “Nice of you to finally wake up.”
“Fuck you,” croaked Skull.
Wallace punched him in the stomach.
“Come on now,” the sheriff said to him with a smile. “That’s not how civilized people talk to each other. I’ll chalk that up to a possible concussion. You fell and bumped your head pretty hard, don’t you know.”
“What do you want from me?” Skull asked.
“Some answers, to begin with. First of all, what is your name and what are you doing here?”
“I’m Jonathan Winslow from Boise, Idaho,” Skull said, pulling up one of his throwaway aliases.
“What’s with all the guns and false IDs?” the sheriff asked.
> “I do contract work,” Skull answered. “Sometimes for the government, sometimes privately. Discreet sort of work, if you know what I mean.”
“Wet work?” asked Wallace.
“Sometimes.”
“He’s some kind of goddamn mercenary,” said one of the other policemen.
“We in the biz prefer the term security specialist.”
“That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here,” said the sheriff.
Skull thought for a moment. If they were going to turn him over to the feds, they would have done it already, or at least notified their higher-ups. Instead, they hadn’t. Skull thought maybe they wanted something from him. How he answered in the next few minutes would likely determine his fate.
Skull sighed heavily and looked away.
“Tell us, asshole,” said Wallace, “or I’ll crack your skull again, I swear to God.”
“All right,” said Skull heavily. “I was working for a group that was trying to find and eliminate Edens. Everything was fine at first. We’d gather them up and get rid of them.”
“Get rid of them?” asked one of the younger cops.
Skull and the others stared at the kid patiently. He blushed and cast his eyes down.
“Anyway,” continued Skull. “Unbeknownst to me, our team leader got infected. One of the sickos bit him or something, but he hid it really well. Then he started infecting the rest of the team secretly. By the time I learned what was going on, only me and one other guy were still normal. There was a firefight and I ran. I’m afraid they’re still on my trail.”
“Why do they care if you run?” asked one of the policemen.
“Because I could hurt the company’s reputation if I tell people they’ve been infiltrated by sickos. It’s all about protecting the profit. There are hundreds of millions of dollars at stake. They aren’t going to let me get in the way of that.”
“Maybe these guys would pay to get Mister Winslow from Idaho back,” said Wallace.
“Sure they would,” said Skull, “right before they killed all of you to cover their tracks. I know. I’ve had to clean up messes like this before. These guys are pros.”
“Caught you easy enough, didn’t we?” Wallace sneered.
“With surprise and overwhelming numbers? Sure. But if you cross them, these guys will come at you when you least expect it. They’ll take you down by surprise and with overwhelming numbers.”
The sheriff looked at Skull speculatively. “So, let me get this right. You’re a man with lots of military expertise who is used to obeying morally ambiguous orders. You also don’t seem to have any trouble carrying out those orders or giving your loyalty to whomever you work for?”
“Hey, don’t hate the player,” said Skull. “Hate the game.”
“Oh, I don’t hate either,” answered the Sheriff.
“I do have my moral limits,” Skull admitted. “They’re pretty flexible, though. Kind of like Wallace here. I can see why you keep him around.”
The sheriff held up a hand to keep Wallace from thumping Skull again. “I’m just thinking we might have us an opportunity.”
“What do you mean?” asked Skull and Wallace at the same time.
“Well,” said the Sheriff, “we’ve been given a green light by the state to hire more deputies for anti-sicko ops. Even said they would kick in some extra funding. We need men who know what they’re doing.”
“But we don’t even know this guy,” protested Wallace. “He ain’t from aroun’ here.”
“I know,” said the Sheriff, “and that’s part of his appeal. Things are likely to get real hairy aroun’ here soon. I need someone who can do the dirty work you boys might not be willing to.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” blustered one of the men.
“Really? What about when I tell you to go arrest your father-in-law because his grey hair is turning black? How will that go over with your wife when we send her dad to a camp?”
The deputy paled, saying nothing.
“We don’t need this guy,” repeated Wallace.
“Correction,” said the sheriff, “we may not need him. Then again, we might. We just don’t know. Best to have him and not need him than need him and not have him.”
“Very wise,” said Skull. “See, told you I could talk philosophy.”
“Shut the hell up, scumbag,” Wallace said to Skull before turning back to the Sheriff. “Boss, this is a mistake. We can put this loser away for a long, long time. That makes us look good on so many levels.”
“Well, except when I tell them about you guys,” said Skull, “and cut a deal with the feds to testify against you. I’ll even throw in all sorts of interesting stuff I witnessed about corruption and taking bribes and such.”
“Wrong call,” said Wallace. “You just earned yourself a bullet in the head there, buddy.” He turned to the Sheriff. “Let me take care of him. You don’t even have to say the word. Just go get a cup of coffee.”
“No,” said the Sheriff with a smile. “I think I’m going to go a different way. Keep you boys on your toes. Mister Winslow, if that even is your name, how do you feel about becoming a deputy sheriff for Calhoun County?”
“Depends,” said Skull. “Got a union? How are the pay and benefits?”
“Fantastic, actually,” said the Sheriff. “Food, lodging, a decent wage, and the avoidance of excruciating torture and slow death with Wallace, here.”
“Sign me up,” said Skull, smiling at Wallace.
“This isn’t over,” Wallace snarled at Skull. “When shit goes south, I’ll be the one who puts you down, mark my words.”
“Wrong call,” Skull echoed the other man, as his smile got wider and his eyes went dead. Wallace paled, but didn’t blanch.
“Let’s just call this a trial basis sort of thing. See how it works out,” said the sheriff.
Skull shrugged. “Makes no difference to me, boss. Just tell me what you want and consider it done.”
“See there, boys?” said the Sheriff looking around. “That’s the sort of can-do attitude I’ve been looking for.” He pulled a knife from his belt, cutting the duct tape securing Skull to the chair.
Skull stood and pulled the bits of tape off. “So which one of you lucky rednecks gets to be my partner.”
“Wallace here will do the honors,” said the Sheriff.
The big man stared at the Sheriff, disbelieving. “The hell I will.”
“Wallace,” said Skull with relish, “I’m not sure you understand how the employee-employer relationship works.”
“Come on, boss,” Wallace pleaded.
“It’s gonna be great,” said Skull. “Do I get a badge?”
“Let’s take it one step at a time,” said the Sheriff.
“Fine by me,” answered Skull. “Here, let me start with the asp.” He snagged one, lightning-quick, from the belt of a deputy and flicked it open.
“We’re going to get along great, partner,” said Skull before cracking Wallace across the forehead with the asp. The big man crashed to the ground, bleeding and moaning. He handed the high-tech baton back to the stunned owner. “Now, where’s my stuff?”
Chapter 11
A week later, Wallace and Skull were heading back to the sheriff’s office after a quick liaison meeting with the State Police headquarters in Little Rock. Skull now wore a deputy sheriff’s uniform, his Glock in a standard holster on his hip. Sometimes he mixed it up and carried one of the handguns from the two cops he had killed in Arizona, though he’d long since filed the serial numbers off. This just seemed to add to his mystique in the eyes of the regular deputies.
“I told you to keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking,” said Wallace, fuming.
Skull ignored him.
“When we get back to the station you will clean this car inside and out,” Wallace said. “Then you will clean my locker, then you’ll come see me to find out if there is anything else I need doing. You got that, you skinny turd?”
; “You really sure you want to go this way?” asked Skull.
“Yeah, I am,” answered Wallace. “It’s the way where you do whatever I tell you and keep out of my way.”
“You live at 29 North Lee Street, right?” asked Skull.
“What?”
“And you have a pretty blond wife named Ellen and two young adorable daughters,” said Skull. “Their names are Julie and Jane, am I right?”
“You don’t talk about my family,” said Wallace, his face clouding with anger.
“Let me paint you a picture,” said Skull conversationally. “One of these days, on just a day like any other, the sheriff will send you out on a job. Any job, doesn’t matter. I’ll tell everyone I’m feeling sick, might even have a burrito from Mexican Sam’s down the street so that it’s believable.” He chuckled. “Then I’ll leave work and go to your house. I’ll make sure it’s during school so no one is home but your wife.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Then I’ll tie her up and rape her until I just can’t go anymore,” said Skull with a dreamy, far-off expression. “Then I’ll cut her throat. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll just leave her pregnant, pining for my touch.”
Of course, he’d never do such a thing. Far too messy. In reality, if he had to, he’d just put one round in Ellen’s head and be done with it.
No one could say Skull lacked kindness.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Wallace growled.
“Then when your girls get home, I’ll go show them their mother.”
“Don’t you touch them, you asshole.”
Skull laughed. “Oh come on now. I’m not an animal. I’d never rape a little girl. What kind of sick bastard do you think I am? No, I’ll just stick a knife through each of their eyes and into their brains. I can’t decide if I’ll start with the older or younger.”
Wallace stepped on the brake and tried to pull his pistol.
Reaching over, Skull forced the man’s hand down so Wallace couldn’t draw the weapon as the cruiser pulled to a stop in the middle of the road. He grasped the heavier man’s other hand and locked it painfully against the steering wheel.
Skull's Shadows (Plague Wars Series) Page 7
