by David Lucin
“Dylan, we’re ready when you are,” Freddie said into his radio.
“Copy that. We’re a few minutes out. Stand by.”
Dylan, Hawerchuk, and Courtney were en route to a position east of the fire station. Quinn and Yannick waited to the west. Based on what they’d seen via the recon drone, the Major had six men, plus himself, for a total of seven, assuming there were none inside the building to begin with.
Prior to splitting up, Dylan and the others had discussed a plan, but much of the tactical detail was lost on Sam. The challenge, he gathered, would be moving quickly enough to neutralize all opposition before any of the defenders could hurt Jenn. The operation sounded difficult, which was why Freddie had been assigned as the sharpshooter; trained soldiers like Hawerchuk or Courtney might be better shots, but Dylan needed them involved in breaching the fire station.
Gently, Freddie laid his scoped rifle on the laminate floor and peeked through the window with a pair of binoculars. “Looks clear,” he said and passed the binoculars to Sam. “You hold onto those. You’re my lookout.”
“Your lookout?”
“Yeah.” He unlatched the lock and slid open the window, letting in the fresh scent of sagebrush and mesquite. “Why do you think you’re here?”
When Dylan told Sam to go with Freddie, he simply assumed this was a convenient means of keeping him safe and out of the way. Yes, he wanted to be there to save Jenn, but he also understood his limitations. He was the driver, plain and simple. Even Teddie was more of a soldier than Sam. “Because I’m no help in a gunfight?”
“Snipers always work in two-man teams,” Freddie explained. “At least they usually do in the movies.”
“You’re basing that assumption on what you’ve seen in movies?”
“Yeah. One shoots and one watches for targets. That’s you.”
“Uh . . .” Sam held the binoculars with both hands. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Sure you can. I’ll be looking through my scope, but two pairs of eyes are better than one. You see anyone who isn’t part of our team, give me a brief description of what they look like and where they are.”
When Sam volunteered to help the Militia, he hadn’t pictured himself doing this. Wrestling with a few crazed refugees, maybe, but picking out targets for Freddie to gun down from this bedroom window? Not in his wildest imagination. “Okay, yeah. Easy enough.”
Freddie rested the barrel of his rifle on the windowsill and put his eye to the scope. Sam peered through the binoculars. Across the street, about fifty or sixty yards away, the fire station loomed large. Like the nearby homes, it had a red terracotta roof. The office section on the right stood at only a single story, but on the left, the garage, where the trucks would have been parked, was twice as high. From here, he had no line of sight to the bay doors, and he worried the Major could escape from that direction.
“You see anything?” Freddie asked.
Sam focused on the office windows. In all but one, the venetian blinds were shut. Where they were open, he made out a desk, a filing cabinet, and a swivel chair. Was this fire station in use when the bombs dropped? Sam wondered if the trucks were inside and if they still worked. “No, nothing. Not really. Just some furniture.”
As he began to lower the binoculars, he detected movement. Focusing in on the window with the open blinds, he noticed someone sitting down in the chair. He blinked a few times in case his mind was playing tricks on him. But no, a man had kicked his feet up on the desk and folded his hands over his stomach. He wore a black beanie and a green flight jacket. The same guy who’d walked Jenn into the fire station earlier. The Major?
“Wait!” he said, scolding himself for speaking so loudly. “Window. Far right side. See it?”
“Yeah, I see it.”
“What do we do?” Sam asked. “Should we shoot him?”
“I don’t think so. We need to wait until Dylan’s in position.”
An itch tickled Sam’s nose. He wanted to scratch it but didn’t dare let go of the binoculars. The man’s mouth moved as he gestured with his hands. Was he talking to someone? Then he glanced at the open window.
Instinct tugged Sam below the sill. Freddie had done the same, the barrel of his rifle pointed toward the roof. Sam’s heart rate spiked, the same as when that junkie at the golf course in Payson grabbed Nicole. “Did he see us?”
“I don’t think so.” Freddie didn’t sound so sure of his answer. He checked outside with his naked eye, then added, “The blinds are closed.”
“Closed?” Sam’s hands shook so badly he almost dropped the binoculars. “Did we just get caught?”
“He might’ve shut them to be safe. Probably.”
“Probably?”
Freddie shrugged, acting casual, but the movement was stiff, full of tension. “It’s what I would’ve done if I were him.”
That didn’t make Sam feel any better.
“We’re in position,” Dylan said through the radio. “Moving on the fire station now.”
Freddie angled his weapon out the window again. “It’s all clear.” Continuing to look through his scope, he kicked Sam with his boot. “Come on, I can’t do this alone. It’s showtime.”
21
Whenever Tobias breathed, his nose whistled and clicked.
He sat at a round table littered with playing cards and poker chips. Jenn sat nearby, her hands bound behind her back but not attached to her chair. Light squeezed around the edges of the three large bay doors at the far end of this garage, but most came from the electric lantern on the table. Exposed pipes and ductwork covered the ceiling, and rows of firefighters’ suits hung from hooks on the wall. Most of the space was taken up by two red firetrucks and an ambulance. Either they’d been plugged in at the time of the EMPs or the crews hadn’t tried going out when the bombs hit.
She didn’t know why the Major had brought her here. Or where here even was. Maybe he was using this as a short-term hideout while his men picked up the supplies from the Militia in Anthem. On the drive here—in the Humvee, she guessed, based on the sound of the tires, the smell of the interior, and the lower-pitch hum of the motor—her captors rarely spoke, but they mentioned the meet and how it was happening soon. The fact that she was here and not there confirmed the Major had no intention of handing her over to the Militia. She wasn’t surprised; he’d said as much in their last conversation this morning.
That sense of hopelessness threatened to overtake her yet again, but she pushed it away with all her strength. A lot could happen in the next hour. At the meet, the Militia could capture one of the Major’s men, then interrogate him and learn of her location. A long shot, she knew, so she also thought of ways to help herself—namely by working the restraints on her wrists. Tobias had used rope, not zip ties, which might be easier to slip off. He hadn’t bound her feet, either, so she could kick him, but what good would that do if her hands were still tied?
At the CFF compound, Philip Grierson’s hands had been tied, she supposed, and he managed to barrel into one of his captors, knocking him over. But he did that knowing the police and Beaumont security were outside, ready to jump in and help. Not to mention, she was about sixty or seventy pounds lighter than Philip. If she tried throwing herself against Tobias, he’d wrestle her into submission with ease. When she took down Victor, a far smaller man than his brother, she had a weapon and the use of both hands. Still, she had to admit, it was kind of funny—or ironic?—that she’d ended up in such a similar situation as the standoff with Vincent Grierson, only on the other side of the coin. When this was all over, she’d have a laugh with Dylan and the others and joke about how she had apparently become a magnet for hostage situations. Sam, she imagined, wouldn’t find that very amusing.
Sam. Since she returned from Phoenix in May, they hadn’t been apart for more than about fifteen consecutive hours. Even when she worked the night shift at the farm and missed him in the morning, she would always stop by Minute Tire to say hi. He was everything
to her. A part of her. No, they were part of each other. The prospect of never seeing him again filled her with a sickening mixture of rage and despair. She focused on the rage, honed in on it, while she redoubled her efforts to find a weakness in her restraints.
Tobias must have noticed her, because he said, “Don’t bother. They’re on there good and tight.”
She opted not to engage with him about that, instead asking, “So what did you do to get slapped with babysitting duty while all your buds hang out in the offices? You’re really low in the pecking order, hey?”
He shot her a fierce glare but said nothing. Odd. Usually, he took every opportunity to taunt her. Still upset about his brother, clearly. A part of her wanted to apologize, but for what? For trying to save herself and her team? For trying to survive? She’d sooner gloat than say she was sorry, but neither felt right, so she tried goading him into spilling some information. “Where are we, anyway? This one of your hangouts?” She gestured toward the offices with a flick of her chin. “What about those two guys who were already here when we came in? Do they ever get to leave, or do you make them stay here all the time? That would be pretty boring.”
His next glare was withering, full of hate, like it took every ounce of his willpower not to beat her until she stopped breathing. The feeling was mutual.
She let him brood and continued fidgeting with her restraints. Briefly, she managed to get her middle finger through a loop and pulled, but she couldn’t tell if the rope was loosening. Probably not, since Tobias didn’t appear at all concerned by her squirming.
“You know,” he grunted, gripping a queen of hearts like he wanted to tear it in two. “Eventually, the Major’s not gonna need you anymore. Then that’ll be it for you.”
“Oh, really?” She got her thumb inside that same loop in the rope, but her wrists wouldn’t bend enough for her to pull with much force. “That’s too bad. I was hoping to join up, become part of the gang.”
The white of the LED lit up his crooked, yellowing teeth and accented the scar on his face. “Me and the Major talked about it. When we don’t need you anymore, you’re mine, and the Major said he doesn’t care how I do it. Slow, fast, whatever I want.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “And I want slow.”
She gulped, seized by dark thoughts of how this brute could torture her. They threatened to shatter her spirit, but she held her head high. “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when my friends show up. Too bad I don’t have my phone.”
He began to answer, but the door to the offices opened. Into the light stepped the Major, dressed as usual in his flight jacket, jeans, and black beanie. Lip Ring accompanied him, carrying what might have been an M4, and shut the door behind them.
The Major crossed his arms and glanced between her and Tobias a few times, his intact eyebrow raised. “We playing nice in here?”
“Sure thing, boss.” Tobias returned to fiddling with his cards.
The Major’s gaze settled on Jenn. She noticed the pistol on his hip—the first time she’d seen him carry a weapon. “Thought you might appreciate hearing that your Militia has delivered the agreed-upon amount of food. I hear Commander Kipling is there in person.”
If the Major was in contact with his people at the meet in Anthem, this fire station had to be close. But how close? He must know the Militia would be scouring the area with drones, so he probably had men positioned at intervals to relay radio messages the way the lookout teams did at the roadblock. Depending on the number of relays, she could still be tens of kilometers away. “So that means I’m going home, right?” She knew the answer would be no, yet she couldn’t help but hope the Major had changed his mind about her. “You got your food. What do you need me for?”
“More food,” he said plainly. “Five truckloads won’t get my thirty-something people through the winter, and there’s nothing left for us down here. So it’s on to greener pastures. Greener being Flagstaff. I assume Toby told you of our little arrangement?”
Tobias’s ugly grin returned. “That’s right. We had a nice little talk about it.”
“Good,” the Major said. “So, Jennifer, if you want to postpone what he has in mind for you, you’ll answer my questions honestly.” He cracked his knuckles, and Jenn feared he might interrogate her again right now, in this garage, but he added, “But there’s plenty of time for that. A bonus about the depression was that it left a lot of empty real estate, so we have our pick of places to stay. Maybe Sedona. Nice halfway point between Flagstaff and Prescott. Beautiful landscape there. You ever been to Red Rock State Park?”
“No,” she spat, even though she’d seen it with her parents and brothers when she was younger.
“Shame. If you’re cooperative, I’ll think about—”
A crash, like breaking glass, came from the offices. Was that a window? It was too loud to be anything else. Had the Militia tracked her to this fire station? Overjoyed by the possibility, she returned to working her restraints, flexing her wrists and pulling her arms.
The Major, Lip Ring, and Tobias had all turned their heads toward the door.
“What was that?” Lip Ring asked.
Tobias rose from his chair and drew his pistol as Lip Ring readied her rifle. The Major drew his weapon as well, then racked the slide to chamber a round. “Toby,” he said. “Go see what’s going on.”
As Tobias reached for the doorknob, someone in the offices cried, “Grenade!”
A sharp bang shook the walls and floor. It was so loud Jenn thought her ears might explode. She would have covered them if her hands hadn’t been bound.
Then a flurry of gunfire filled the air, a few shouts mixed in.
Jenn’s heart leaped into her throat. They were here! Her friends—it had to be them. How did they find her? A drone? And who had come? Dylan? Sam?
The shooting continued. She shouted, “Over here! We’re in the garage!”
The Major gripped her under the armpit and yanked her up. He was stronger than she expected, lifting her clear off her chair. In response, she went limp, and he dropped her onto the polished concrete floor.
“Lock it!” Lip Ring ordered.
Tobias reached for the door handle, but there was no locking mechanism. “I need a key.” He spun around on a heel and pointed to the opposite end of the garage. “The back door. Go!”
“Help!” Jenn tried to say more, but her vision blacked out, and the sounds of battle went silent. When her senses returned, her mouth ached. So did her jaw. She tasted blood, too. The gunfire continued, but it sounded distant, like an echo. Tobias had her by one arm, the Major by the other. Her legs dragged behind her as she was led past a fire truck. Had someone hit her? Knocked her out for a moment?
As she struggled to gain purchase with her boots, Lip Ring pushed open another door. The sudden rush of natural light burned Jenn’s eyes, bringing on a headache. One of her feet found the floor, but it slipped before she could put any weight on her leg.
The Major barked out a few words. Through the fog in her brain, Jenn heard “trucks,” but that was all. Despite her confusion, she knew what the Major was doing: trying to escape, and he was bringing her with him.
Rifle at the ready, Lip Ring pivoted through the doorway, into the light outside. With a flick of her hand, she signaled for Tobias and the Major to follow. Jenn squinted as she left the garage. The fog cleared a little, revealing a concrete fence and houses beyond. No trucks, though; they were in the parking lot at the front of the building.
She tried using her legs again. This time, they worked, so she planted her heels in the sand. Tobias swore and tugged her harder. With all her strength, she wiggled and twisted and fought. Then she felt a firm pressure against her ribs, and the Major said, “Walk, or I’ll drop you right here.”
His threat whisked away the last of the fog, and all became clear: one wrong move and he would shoot her. Not for a second did she doubt he would pull the trigger. Her self-preservation instincts assumed control of her body, guiding he
r forward step for step with the Major and Tobias.
They followed Lip Ring around the corner. The Humvee and the Tesla pickup with the attached trailer waited in the parking lot. If the Major made it to the Humvee, would the Militia be able to stop him? The vehicle was bulletproof and equipped with airless tires, and the .50-caliber machine gun could hold off a squad of infantry on its own.
“Looks clear,” Lip Ring said, and the Major shoved Jenn toward the trucks, the pistol pressing hard into her side.
Halfway there, she caught sight of familiar purple hair rising above the hood of the Humvee, followed by the barrel of a rifle.
Quinn! Jenn couldn’t have been prouder. Her fire team leader had come to rescue her.
“Drop your weapons!” Quinn ordered.
Lip Ring answered with a burst of automatic fire that struck the passenger side door, the harsh bark burrowing deep into Jenn’s skull. Quinn ducked and disappeared behind the vehicle. Jenn worried for her friend’s safety, but the Humvee’s armor would provide better cover than wood or even concrete.
Tobias let go of her arm, gripped his pistol with both hands, and fired off a few rounds as the Major frantically pulled her away from the vehicles, toward the corner of the building, while Lip Ring sent round after round at Quinn and the Humvee.
Then her rifle clicked. At the break in fire, Quinn popped up and aimed her AR. A weapon clapped as bloody exit wounds opened in Lip Ring’s back. The force of the shots knocked her off-balance, and she collapsed, her head smacking hard against the earth.
“Don’t move!” a woman shouted from behind Jenn. The voice was familiar—Sergeant Courtney Hiroyuki’s. “You there, with the gun. Put it on the ground. Nice and easy.” Who was she talking to? The Major or Tobias? Both still had weapons, although Tobias held his arms out to the sides.
