Devils and Dust

by J. D. Rhoades

  Castle looked at him. “Just wondering how we’re going to handle this when we do get in.”

  “Depends on what we find. We don’t have much to go on.”

  “And if we run into someone who decides they don’t want us there?” Keller started to answer, but Castle cut him off. “Whatever’s happened, Mr. Keller, I’m still a sworn law officer.”

  Posey grunted. “Law man,” he said with a smile. The smile wasn’t a pleasant one.

  “Give it a rest, Pose,” Castle snapped. “I know you don’t get it. But this is who I am. I’m not going to just walk in and start shooting people.”

  “Neither am I, if I can help it,” Keller said.

  “But that’s probably how this is going to end up,” Castle said, “if we do it your way.”

  “Look,” Keller said, “if you don’t want to go, that’s fine.” He turned to Posey. “Can you show me where this creek is?”

  “You gon’ get yourself killed,” Posey said. “And for what?”

  “I can’t just let a friend die,” Keller said.

  “You don’t smarten up, boy, that’s what’s gon’ happen, and you gon’ die with him.”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “I might,” Posey said.

  “This isn’t your fight, Posey,” Castle said.

  “May be that it ain’t,” Posey said, “but it may be that it is, too. Those crackers tol’ me they was a church. Now I find out my neighbors is some kinda Nazi motherfuckers. Slave owners.” He spat on the ground, then looked over at the MRAP, a glint in his eye. “Keys in that thing?”

  “Yeah,” Castle said.

  “Okay, here’s what we do,” Posey said. “Listen up.”

  THE HEAT of late summer had reduced the creek to a slow trickle in a broad strip of sand. Keller could see the marks, however, where the water had risen in times past, high on the overgrown banks that rose to shoulder height on either side. He worked his way down this water-cut trench, wiping the sweat from his eyes and brushing away the gnats and mosquitoes who buzzed around him. He held the M4 at the ready, a bag of grenades dangling from his shoulder. Castle moved down the trench ahead of him gripping a shotgun. The shotgun was loaded with a magazine of nonlethal “beanbag” rounds he’d taken from the police station, rounds designed to knock a target to the ground and stun without killing. He had a long coil of rope slung on one shoulder. His service weapon, a Beretta 9MM, rode in the holster on his hip. Posey had taken the MRAP, armed with his own sidearm, an old .45 caliber M911 that Posey claimed his father had carried on the Second World War. It looked like an antique, but Posey swore it still fired. Castle hadn’t wanted his cousin involved at all, until the big man had pointed out that there was no one else he could count on for backup.

  “For all you know, ever’one on that department is part o’ this but you,” he’d said. “Only ones you can trust right now are your own kind.” He’d looked at Keller. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” Keller had said. He just hoped the big man was up to what he was going to be asked to do. He clearly wasn’t in the best of health; the effort of hauling himself up into the cab of the truck was enough to leave him wheezing, and Castle had nearly called a halt to the whole plan right there. “I’m fine,” Posey had insisted. “I sure as hell ain’t gettin’ out o’ this thing, an’ as long as all I got to do is drive, I’m good to go. You just get yo’ people to the truck when I come bustin’ in. I ain’t waitin’ around too long.”

  “Don’t worry,” Keller had said. “I don’t intend to be there any longer than we have to.”

  Castle stopped. “There it is,” he whispered. Back here in the overgrown bottomland, the vegetation grew right against the fence, but they could still see the same signs: NO TRESPASSING, interspersed with the bright yellow ones warning of HIGH VOLTAGE. Where the fence and the creek intersected, a high wall, made of the same heavy timbers as the front gate, interrupted the fence. A large corrugated metal culvert ran beneath the wooden wall. At the end of the culvert, a fence made of panels of metal mesh formed a box that blocked entry.

  “Shit,” Keller said.

  Castle walked over to the mesh box. “It’s just a beaver guard,” he said. “Keeps beavers from blocking the culvert to build themselves a pond.” He reached out to grab it.

  “Hope it’s not electrified, too,” Keller said.

  Castle stopped, his hand in the air. He looked the cage over. “Doesn’t look like it. But get ready to knock me off this thing if you see me start dancin’.” He took a deep breath and grabbed the wire. Nothing happened. Castle began pulling at the fencing, rocking it back and forth to try and wrest it out of the ground. “Give me a hand here.”

  In a few moments, they had pulled the guard away from the end of the culvert and were looking into the darkness inside. It was barely big enough for a man to crawl through on his hands and knees. “Tell me again why this is a good idea?” Castle said.

  “It isn’t,” Keller said. “But it’s the only one we’ve got.” He got down and looked through. The circle of light at the other end looked like it was a hundred miles away. He unslung his rifle to be able to fit inside the tube, pushing it ahead of him as he entered. The trickling creek soaked his palms and the knees of his jeans. His back brushed against the top of the culvert, causing clods of dirt and mud to cascade down around him. He had to stretch his hands out in front of him and lower his back to keep from scraping against the top. The unnatural position caused his muscles to begin cramping within a few feet. He pressed on, the sweat pouring off him even in the cool clammy darkness. About halfway down the tube, Keller saw something moving in the shadows. As he grew closer, something reared up in front of him. It was the largest rat he’d ever seen, at least a foot long from the end of its long bare tail to the tip of the pink nose that twitched at him below a pair of beady black eyes. The rat didn’t seem inclined to run from the intruder. It rocked back and forth, making a soft noise in its throat, clearly trying to decide whether to spring at Keller’s unprotected face. He pushed the rifle along the floor of the culvert in front to him, flattened out, and groped for the trigger. Suddenly, the rat turned and scampered at full speed in the other direction. Keller started breathing again and resumed his crawl.

  There was another beaver guard at the other end of the culvert. Keller disposed of that one by getting to his knees, bowing his back and standing up, pushing the stakes holding the guard out of the earth. He sat down on the bank of the creek, shaking the water out of his rifle, and hoping it would still fire. At least there was no mud in the barrel. He looked down at himself. His jeans and the front of his white T-shirt were covered in black dirt and mud. In a few moments, Castle’s head and shoulders appeared in the mouth of the culvert. “Was that a rat in there?” he said.

  “Yeah,” said Keller.

  Castle exited the tube and sat down, resting his hands on his knees, his head hanging between them. “Jesus,” he said. “That was horrible.”

  “Yeah,” Keller replied. He stood up. “Come on, let’s go.”

  They quickly found a trail through the woods, running along the bank next to the creek. It looked as if it wasn’t used frequently; there were weeds growing up in the center and dead branches fallen across it. As they walked along it, the ground began to rise, the vegetation changing to pine and scrub oak. Soon the path turned away from the creek and the slope became steeper.

  “Hold on,” Castle said. “You hear that?”

  They stopped. In the stillness, Keller heard the buzz of a small engine. “Someone’s coming,” he said.

  “Get off the road,” Castle said. He stepped into the trees on the right and put the trunk of a large pine tree between him and the oncoming sound. Keller did the same on the left. A few seconds later, a four-wheeled ATV came into view. The driver wore khaki pants and a black T-shirt. His eyes were hidden behind mirrored shades, and he wore a baseball cap with the familiar Odin Cross emblazoned on it. An AK-47 assault rifle protruded from a scabb
ard beside the driver. As he drew closer, Castle stepped out into the center of the trail and pointed his shotgun at the middle of the man’s face. Keller stepped out from behind his own tree and did the same with his M4. The driver flinched backward so quickly he nearly fell off the four-wheeler. He came to a stop less than a yard away and raised his hands. Keller stepped forward and took the AK out of its scabbard before reaching past the driver and killing the engine.

  In the sudden silence that followed, Castle said, “Off the four-wheeler. Hands up.”

  The man complied, slowly. “You two are trespassin’,” he said.

  “Yep,” Keller said.

  “We shoot trespassers around here. Especially nigger trespassers. And,” he looked at Keller, “nigger lovers.”

  Keller stole a look at Castle to gauge his reaction to the word. There wasn’t any. “Actually, Deputy Castle and I are just good friends,” he said.

  “Your people just brought a guy in,” Castle said. “A Latino. Where is he being kept?”

  “Fuck you,” the man said.

  Castle raised the shotgun and fired. The beanbag round caught the man in the chest and knocked him to the ground, howling in pain. Castle walked over to the man and stood over him. “Hurts, don’t it?” he said mildly. “Now I asked you a question, asshole. Your buddies back there bring a guy in?” He pointed the shotgun at the man on the ground. “It hurts more at this range. A lot more.”

  The man on the ground tried to scuttle away, scrabbling backward on his hands. Castle followed implacably, the shotgun still trained on the man’s chest. “Don’t,” the man said, his voice breaking.

  “Talk,” Castle said.

  “Yeah,” the man on the ground said. “Yeah, they brought some guy from the jail. Some wetback.” He flinched away as Castle’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  Then Castle lowered the weapon. He nodded to Keller and tossed him the rope from his shoulder. “Tie him up,” he said. In moments, Keller had the man bound to a tree, hands behind him. There was a key ring attached to his belt. Keller took it. “We’ll send someone back to pick you up,” Castle said. “Maybe.”

  Keller took the hat off the man’s head and removed his sunglasses before turning back to Castle. “You want me to gag him, too?”

  “Sure,” Castle said.

  Keller found a dirty bandanna in one of the man’s pockets. “Open wide,” he said.

  “Fuck you,” the man said.

  Keller sighed. Moving quickly, he reached up and pinched the prisoner’s nose shut. The man struggled and tried to turn away, but Keller held him still until his face began to turn red. Finally, his mouth opened and he took in a huge gasp of air. Keller jammed the bandanna in his mouth and quickly wrapped another length of rope around his head to hold it in. The man glared at Keller with raw hatred as he tied it off.

  “Okay,” Keller said as he walked away from the tree. “Now we have wheels and another rifle. And,” he picked a black radio up from where it was secured to the ATV. “One of their radios. So far, so good.”

  “Yeah,” Castle said. “So far, so good.”

  Keller noticed the expression on his face. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Castle said. “Just some bad memories.”

  Keller put the hat and sunglasses on. “Let’s move,” he said.

  THEY CAME out of the woods into a landscape that looked like a deserted battlefield. Most of the trees were gone, leaving only stumps, dead limbs, and scrap wood behind. Weeds growing up between the stumps showed that the clear-cutting hadn’t been done recently.

  Castle was riding on the back of the ATV, perched awkwardly on the rear rack. He slid off and pointed ahead. “Look there.” At the edge of the cut area stood a long, open-sided wooden structure. From that distance, Keller couldn’t identify the machinery inside.

  “Sawmill,” Castle said. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

  They got off the ATV and killed the engine. They spread out and approached slowly. Before they reached the buildings, they walked into an area where the ground appeared to have been recently disturbed. Nothing grew on a small plot of ground, approximately six feet by three. The area was raised above the surrounding earth by a couple of inches.

  Keller stopped and looked around. “Castle,” he said.

  Castle stopped and looked. There were low mounds of dirt, like the one Keller was looking at, but covered with grass. Keller counted twenty of them in two neat rows. “Are those what I think they are?” Castle said. Keller nodded and turned away, hoping that none of those mounds concealed the body of Oscar Sanchez or his sons.

  As they approached the building, Keller caught the scent of cut pine. They walked under the overhang of the roof, scanning from side to side, weapons ready.

  “Check this out,” Castle said. He was standing by a large circular saw, fed by a conveyor. Keller walked around to where he stood and looked down where Castle was pointing.

  There was a short length of chain lying on the floor next to the machine. One end was secured to a D-ring welded onto the side of the saw. The other ended in a manacle.

  “They chain them to the machines,” Keller said.

  Castle’s jaw was working in anger. “Damn it. I was having trouble believing this before. Not now.”

  Keller stepped to the other side of the mill. There was a fence on the other side, as high as the outer perimeter, but without the warning signs. A padlocked gate seemed to be the only entrance. On the other side of the fence, about thirty feet away from it, was another long wooden building. The sides of this one were enclosed. Castle came and stood beside him. “What do you think that is?”

  “Don’t know,” Keller said. “Looks kind of like a barracks.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  The radio they’d taken from the man on the ATV crackled with static. Keller snatched it from his belt and put it to his ear.

  “All units,” a voice crackled. “Assemble at the Judicial building. Repeat, assemble at the Judicial Building. Bring your prisoners. General’s orders.”

  “The trial,” Keller said. “They said they were going to put Oscar on some kind of fake trial.”

  “All units acknowledge,” the voice said. Other voices crackled back, affirming the order. There was brief silence before the first voice spoke again, “Loomis, acknowledge.”

  “You think Loomis is the guy who we left tied to a tree back there?” Castle asked.

  “I’d say it’s likely,” Keller said. He keyed the microphone and said, “Acknowledged.” He turned to Castle. “I’ll take the four-wheeler,” he said, “wearing the hat and sunglasses we took off our charming friend back there. It sounds like everyone’s invited to this bullshit trial in the Judicial Building. They’ll all be together. I’ll try to get close enough to neutralize any guards they leave outside.”

  “How you plan to do that, Keller?” Castle said, eyes narrowed.

  “Get the drop on them if I can. Give them a chance to surrender. Look, Castle, I’m not any more eager to kill people than you are.”

  Castle relaxed slightly. “Okay. But then I should be the one to go.”

  “Have you been paying attention to who we’re dealing with? These people aren’t going to surrender to you.”

  Castle grimaced. “Okay. Point taken. So what do I do?”

  “You get behind this building. Stay here with the M4 and give me overwatch. If the whole thing goes sideways, start firing grenades. All over the place. Make them think there’s a whole platoon out there. Cause as much confusion as you can without killing anyone. If I take care of the outside guards, come join me. We go in, get everybody down on the ground, then grab our people, and get the hell out of Dodge. How are you at crowd control?”

  “Fair to middling,” Castle said. “Although around here, ‘crowd control’ means clearing the good old boys out of the parking lot of Duke’s Bar & Grill after closing time.”

  “Well, let’s just hope your cousin shows up, or it’s g
oing to be a long walk out of here.”

  AT THAT moment, Posey Cartwright sat in the driver’s seat of the bright blue MRAP, arms folded across his massive chest, eyes fixed stubbornly on the road ahead. The vehicle wasn’t moving. It was blocked in by two Sheriff’s cars that sat nose to nose across the road in front of him and two more directly behind. A sweating, red-faced Sheriff’s deputy was up on the running board, pounding on one of the thick, bulletproof windows and shouting at Posey to get his ass out of the truck. Posey pretended not to hear him. He didn’t know what to do. That made him angry, and anger made him mulish. He was going to sit there until he figured out what to do. Something would come to him. He may have always been slow, but he wasn’t stupid.

  CASTLE OPENED the gate with the keys they’d taken from Loomis, and Keller drove through. They reached the wooden building, with Keller still astride the four-wheeler and Castle on foot. Keller got off the ATV and walked to the corner of the building. Making sure his hat and glasses were in place, he peeked around the corner.

  He saw a line of similar buildings, spaced about thirty feet apart, with a path running along the space between the buildings and the fence. None of the buildings appeared to have any windows, save for a few narrow slits high up on the walls. There were no doors on this end that he could see. He faded back behind the building and spoke into Castle’s ear to be heard over the rumble of the four-wheeler without having to shout.

  “There’s a line of these buildings,” he said. “This is the back side. I’m going to head for the front, between these first two. Cover me.” Castle nodded his understanding. Keller mounted the ATV and steered it slowly up the path. The sun was low in the afternoon sky behind the buildings, and the space between was cool and shadowed. There was no sound except the trilling of a bird outside the fence.

  “Where the hell is everybody?” Castle said.

  THERE WERE twenty prisoners lined up in rows before the long table where the General sat, wearing his black robe. Three guards leaned against the wall on the right; another three stood guard behind the table, weapons at port arms. Oscar Sanchez stood alone before the table, in front of the group of prisoners.