Stone Cold Fear | Book 1 | Powerless

by Fawkes, K. M.

  Making it almost impossible to see your targets or hit them.

  For a time, Pete’s world narrowed to kill or be killed. The convicts seemed to have an endless supply of ammunition, which meant they’d found a way into the armory—a thought that chilled him to his core. We’re screwed.

  Then, just when Pete was thinking he was probably going die there, on the dirty cement floor of the prison, the tide turned. Gunshots started coming from behind the convicts they’d been battling, and Pete narrowed his eyes, trying desperately to see what was going on.

  It was Blackbeard. He had a few men with him, and they were ambushing their fellow inmates. Blackbeard shouted at the assailants to put down their weapons and they obeyed, leaving Pete to wonder at the sway he held over his fellow prisoners.

  Pete’s men regrouped, weapons held loosely but not lowered while Blackbeard and his crew rounded up the convicts who’d been shooting and herded them toward the cells.

  “I say we kill them all,” Ryan said. “I’m done screwing around.”

  “The guys who just helped us? And the others, in cages like sitting ducks?” After the way Blackbeard’s group had saved their asses, Pete couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Yes,” Ryan answered.

  Suddenly a gun fired and Pete and his men raised their weapons, but lowered them again when they saw what had happened. Blackbeard had just shot one of the other convicts.

  Pete dropped his rifle back to his side and looked at his friend. Ryan’s eyes were bloodshot, his face splattered with gore. Olowe had bought the farm and was lying on the floor next to Ryan. Lark was gone, and Pete could see several other men laid out on the floor in front of him.

  The cost of this whole endeavor had become too high. Maybe Ryan was right. Maybe they should just kill them all, and get the hell out of there while they were still capable of doing it.

  But if they did that, what would happen to Marie? Nothing good. Nothing he even wanted to think about.

  He shook his head. “We need to think of Clyde’s deadline. With these guys’ help, we might have a chance.”

  “I don’t care what this misfit cavalry just did. We can’t trust them,” Ryan said. “They’ll shoot us in the back the minute we’re not looking. The only reason we’re still here is that they want something.”

  Smoke and mirrors. Ryan had a habit of pushing one point when he wanted to draw attention away from something else. Why was he making such a big deal of this brand new plan? When had he come up with it, and why was it so important?

  “Tell me again,” Pete said. “How did Marie get away from you?”

  Baldwin, who had moved to stand next to Ryan, shifted from foot to foot and wouldn’t make eye contact with Pete.

  The radio squawked before he could push the point, though, and he hit the button. “What?” he snapped.

  “Bahar here. I fixed the radio.”

  “That’s great, Bahar, but I’ve got a whole lot of shit going on right now,” Pete said.

  “You’re going to want to hear this, Cap.” This was the first time any of the men had called him something other than Lieu. It felt good—and strange. He wasn’t the captain here. He had no desire to be captain.

  But you did what you had to do. Especially at times like this.

  “Okay. Go.”

  “There’s a broadcast being played from inside a hardened government facility.”

  “Good news, then. If they’re still up it means help will be on the way soon.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not what it means.” Bahar’s tone was heavy with some emotion Pete couldn’t label. “We were right that there was a solar storm. It was catastrophic. The EMP that came after was bigger than anything they’ve ever seen before. All of North America has been shut down.”

  Pete pressed his hand against his forehead, hoping to relieve the pounding in his head. Bahar was a natural storyteller, with a tendency to exaggerate. The fish in his stories were at least half a foot bigger than they’d been in reality. “Are you sure that’s what you heard, Bahar? You’re not embellishing?”

  “I wish I were. The broadcast ended with the words ‘God help us all.’”

  “Okay. Marshall out.”

  Pete looked at the radio and wished they’d never found them. If they’d never found them, he could have operated a little while longer on the assumption that the world as he knew it was still out there to return to.

  “This only strengthens my argument,” Ryan said. “Help isn’t coming. Let’s just get out of here.”

  Eyes narrowed, Pete looked at his friend, and then turned his eyes to Baldwin, who was still shifting from foot to foot. The way Ryan had cast his eyes to the side when Pete asked him about Marie a moment ago suddenly came into sharp focus.

  “You motherfucker,” he said to Ryan. “You told her where we’d gone, didn’t you? You always have to stir the pot.”

  Ryan stuck his chin out. “Yeah, I did. And so what? I’m not the only one who’s wondering what you think you’re doing. All this dicking around in the prison, risking our lives, for what? And feeding them? Look what that just cost us. Lark. Olowe. The men in here deserve to starve.”

  “So, you just want to bug out.”

  “That’s exactly what I want to do. We don’t owe anyone here a thing. If it’s all gone to shit, like Bahar said, I want to try to get back home. To Shelia.”

  Pete crossed his arms and looked around at his men. “Who’s with Ryan in thinking we should leave Marie in David Clyde’s gentle care? Just get out of here, completely shirk our duty?”

  A few of the men wouldn’t hold Pete’s eye, but none of them spoke up.

  “God damn it,” Ryan said. “I should have known. Bunch a candy-asses. You’ll bitch behind his back, but when it comes down to the line… Since none of them have the balls to say it, I’m going to. I should have been lieutenant.”

  Funny, Pete had thought the same thing many times. But the way Ryan had been behaving since the beginning of this mission told Pete that he’d been the right man after all. His superiors had evidently been a lot less blind than he had when it came to Ryan’s personality.

  “Listen up,” Pete said. “Sadler is dead, which makes me captain under military law. It’s true, there may not be a military anymore, but I’m going to act like the man I trained to be and try to rescue the only woman in a cellblock full of convicts. I’d like to kill David Clyde while I’m at it. He’s a menace in any world, the old one, or the new. Any of you who feels like Ryan does can leave with him now. I don’t want people I can’t count on watching my six.”

  Pete stared at Ryan, working to keep his expression neutral.

  “Screw it. I’ve got your back,” Ryan muttered.

  Considering it’s your fault she’s there—

  Pete nodded, though what he really wanted to do was kick something. No, scratch that. He really wanted to kick someone. David Clyde. Until he was good and dead.

  Chapter 15

  Blackbeard chose that moment to saunter over to Pete with his weapon lowered and his hands held open in front of him. “You’re welcome,” he said.

  “You saved our asses,” Pete replied.

  “You bet I did. That crazy motherfucker Clyde whipped these guys into a frenzy and then armed them. What could possibly go wrong?”

  “And, what?” Ryan said. “You’re no fan of David Clyde?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m not. I lost friends in that explosion in Chicago. I can see him for what he is.”

  “And we’re just supposed to believe you?” Ryan asked with a snort.

  “Can you shut the fuck up, already?” Pete snapped. “Just back off and let me talk to… What’s your name?”

  “Jeff Blackwell. And you, Mr. National Guard? What’s your name?”

  Pete told him, then said to Ryan, “I’m serious. I want you to back off. Let me handle this.”

  Ryan walked away, jaw muscles flexing madly.

  Jeff watched him go, his face b
lank. “Trouble in paradise, Pete?” he asked when Ryan was out of earshot.

  Pete blew his breath between his lips then explained the situation, Jeff listening attentively. When Pete reached the part of his story where he’d need to tell Jeff the truth of their situation—the fact that civilization as they knew it had come to an end—he hesitated. Would the information sway him in the right direction? Or would it encourage more lawlessness?

  Then he decided to treat Jeff like he would any other man, and to stop thinking of him only as an inmate. Every man in Mueller had earned time in a cell, but that wasn’t all they were. Besides, Pete had had enough of lies and half-truths and unspoken complaints.

  So he told Jeff the truth, and then told him what they needed. And then waited on tenterhooks to see how he would react to the information.

  “I think I might know a guy,” Jeff said. “We’ll have to go back to Cellblock Two. The man I have in mind has an aversion to violence.”

  Pete felt lighter and hopeful, but still, he hesitated.

  Jeff noticed the pause. “You’re going to have to trust me if we’re going to do this.”

  “You’re right,” Pete said. “Please don’t cut my throat when my back is turned.”

  “I’m more of a bludgeon-to-death sort of guy,” Jeff said, and laughed.

  Pete laughed, too. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  He told his men where they were going and watched their expressions, searching for doubt or anger. But all he saw was loyalty and trust. Except in Ryan’s face. Maybe he should cut ties with him right now. Rip the Band-Aid off.

  Something told him that now wasn’t the time. Not when every man was going to be precious.

  “Stay alert,” he said. “Clyde may have other surprises in store for us.”

  The guy always seems to be one step ahead.

  They made their way out of the cellblock as two distinct groups, each looking on edge about their proximity to the other. Their target: Cellblock Two. Luckily, they encountered no problems along the way.

  Before they opened the door to the new block, Pete suggested that only he and Jeff go inside. “Showing up with a small army might feel more like coercion than cooperation.”

  “Smarter than you look,” Jeff said.

  Pete wondered what it might have been like to meet Jeff in a different situation, to have sat in a bar and drank a beer together, but shook off the improbable musing. In the end, Jeff had been incarcerated in Mueller, which was something Pete would do well to remember.

  The two of them inched through the door and found the prisoners still locked in their cells, as they had been the last time Pete’s men had seen them. Jeff led him unerringly to a specific cell, where he introduced him to a man he called Harry Houdini. A man who was all jitters and twitches and skinny as a flagpole.

  “That’s not your real name,” Pete said.

  “It is. I changed it all legal-like in a court of law.”

  Pete was already having misgivings. This Harry seemed flaky. And that was putting it mildly.

  “Harry has escaped three different prisons,” Jeff said as though he’d read Pete’s mind. “I have no doubt he would have made his way out of here as well, given enough time.”

  “That’s right,” Harry said.

  “Then maybe you can give us some ideas,” Pete said. He quickly explained the situation with Marie, as well as their need to get into the room and get her out of there safely. “But I need you to think on your feet. We’re running out of time.”

  Harry went back and forth with Pete for several minutes, asking for details, and then for what he would get out of the deal.

  “Protection,” Pete said quickly. “I’ll make sure my men look out for you and keep you safe in here. Make sure you get food first.”

  Harry tipped his head back and forth at that, but after some nudging from Jeff, he finally agreed to help. The three of them filed out of the cellblock and found Pete’s men huddled up in the corridor outside, conferring.

  As soon as Ryan set eyes on Harry, he said, “This is who we came here for?”

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Harry answered.

  “Give him a rifle,” Pete said sharply. Again, he watched his men for signs of dissent, but didn’t see any. He was starting to think that Ryan had been exaggerating the amount of support he had for his little coup.

  “Don’t need one,” Harry said. “My skills lie in a different direction.”

  “So do mine, but I’ll take one,” Jeff said. “Handguns are nice, but a rifle carries more rounds.”

  “We’re low on ammo, so be conservative with that,” Pete said.

  As they started forward, Harry scratched and jittered, stopping occasionally to look at the air ducts and open doors. He drew patterns with his hands and talked to himself. Little of what he said made sense to Pete, and a big, bad feeling started growing in his guts.

  Had he just made another terrible mistake?

  By the time they arrived back at the cellblock that held Clyde and his men, he was absolutely convinced that inviting Harry along had been a bad idea.

  “I have a few thoughts,” Harry said, drawing to a stop. “But I need a little more time to think. Go in there and find out what Clyde wants. Stall him as long as you can. I won’t let you down.”

  Stalling Clyde was a tall order. With a mind like his, it was more likely he’d see right through Pete and kill him on the spot.

  Ryan must have seen his hesitation, because he quickly volunteered to go with him—which was pretty much the last thing Pete wanted.

  “I appreciate the offer, buddy, but I think it’s better if I go in alone.”

  Ryan looked dejected, like he was finally starting to understand the cost of his actions. Pete didn’t trust him anymore, and Ryan knew it, and it went beyond his revelation about who he believed should have been promoted. He opened his mouth to say something more, then seemed to change his mind.

  Before Pete stepped through the door into Cellblock Three, Ryan did remind him that negotiation wouldn’t work with Clyde.

  “Can’t negotiate with a shark. Can’t negotiate with Clyde.”

  Pete nodded and ducked through the door before his one-time friend could offer any other pearls of wisdom.

  Once he was through the door he didn’t bother to hide his presence. Instead, he strode out to the railing, leaned his head over, and shouted for Clyde. The cellblock was eerily quiet, so much so that the hair on Pete’s arms stood up as though he was outside in the snow without a shirt on.

  Where is everyone?

  He repositioned himself and looked again.

  And then the answer came in the sound of gunfire and the shouts of men under attack. The men of his unit and Jeff’s crew of inmates came boiling through the door, which was an obvious choke point.

  “They’re behind us!” Ryan yelled. “Told you we should have killed them all when we had the chance!”

  Pete sprinted along the walkway to make room for the men, and to seek a better position. The elevated walkway, he saw now, formed a U around the edge of the room—essentially trapping them upstairs with their attackers.

  “The only way is down!” Pete shouted as he swung himself over the railing and started sliding down the supporting pole. It burned, but it was the only way to get out of the ambush area, and he just wasn’t willing to die yet. He let his hands slide the length of the rails until they were brought to a halt by the cross rail. Then he let go and threw himself toward the ground, focusing on rolling to absorb the shock of landing.

  As almost always happened in the midst of an emergency situation, slow and fast converged as he fell. It felt like he was in the air for an eternity… and yet the ground was rushing at him much more quickly than he was ready for.

  When his feet touched, he allowed the force to run up through his knees while he ducked his shoulder down and allowed himself to fly forward into the roll. His legs hit his chest with a jolt that stole some air from his lung
s, and then he was tumbling forward.

  Despite the jarring landing, he sprang to his feet… only to realize he had done exactly what Clyde wanted. Again. And again, he asked himself if Clyde had the ability to read minds.

  He took one step back from the gun pointed at his face.

  “Retreat if you can!” he hollered to the men upstairs.

  He knew they wouldn’t want to follow the order, and was glad when he heard Jeff yell, “You won’t do him any good if you’re all dead!”

  Pete strained his eyes to watch as his and Jeff’s men managed to repel most of the force coming up behind them, though not without casualties on both sides. The skirmish ended when their group broke through the convicts and escaped through the only door.

  Clyde swaggered over to where Pete was being held, Marie in tow, clapping his hands slowly and wearing his habitual smirk.

  Marie looked hollow-eyed, and Pete guessed she was finally coming to understand exactly who they were dealing with. She didn’t look like she’d been harmed, but she did look scared out of her freaking mind.

  “Did they hurt you?” he asked.

  She shook her head and smiled sadly. “You should have just left me here.”

  “You’re right. I should have,” he said, not unkindly.

  “Now, now, Lieutenant,” Clyde said. “We all know you don’t mean it.”

  Pete summoned as much disdain as he could and looked at Clyde. “You piece of shit. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

  “Sticks and stones,” Clyde said merrily. “And, yes, you should have. But you didn’t, and you won’t get another opportunity.”

  “What now?” Pete asked. “You going to kill me?”

  “I did make you that promise, didn’t I? And I am a man of my word. I told you that I planned to make it nice and slow.”

  “You could just let us go,” Marie said. “You can have the prison, and no one else has to die.”

  Clyde laughed, clearly tickled by her suggestion. “My dear Ms. Simons, I don’t think you understand. We already have the prison.”