by Schow, Ryan
Upstairs, in the room Quan had prepared, Logan sat the prisoner down on a chair and decided to talk to him without deception. Speaking Spanish, he said, “You are here for the Chicoms, right?”
“Obviously,” the man said.
“Well we want them dead, too,” Logan said. Then: “We can deliver them to you, otherwise you won’t find them.”
“We’ll find them,” he said.
“I’d bet you can’t find your location on a map right here,” Logan said, showing him a paper map. He held it up to the man’s face, then punched it so hard, the map stuck to his sweaty skin where he’d been hit. Pointing to the sweat stains, Logan said, “Oh, there you are.”
The man’s nose started to bleed.
“I’m going to tell you this and you need to listen,” Logan said. “One enemy occupying the states we can deal with, but two enemies just won’t work.”
“Who are you?” he asked, his nose bleeding strong now.
“Harper?” Logan said.
The woman backed him up with a gun. Logan bent down, took off the man’s right shoe, then peeled off a dirty sock. The stink of his feet was legendary. He then used the sock to wipe their prisoner’s nose and mouth. Logan wasn’t gentle. When he dropped the sock, a few of the guys were pulling faces and holding their noses.
“You want to know who we are?” Logan asked, watching the slow trickle of more blood from the man’s nostrils. “We’re the people who hit your convoy in Five Falls.”
The guy stared long and hard at him, wondering if he should take Logan serious.
“That’s right, pendejo,” Logan sneered. “That was us.”
The SAA soldier started thrashing about, so hard that Ryker came in and tenderized him with a few pointed shots. When Ryker was done, the man was lying on his side, the chair tipped over beside him.
Bent over, exhausted and holding back the tears, in English the SAA soldier said, “You killed a lot of our men, which means we’re going to kill all of you.”
When the prisoner’s gaze hit him, Logan saw a special kind of crazy. Slowly sitting up on his butt, both legs splayed out in opposite directions, the man just sat there, beaten.
Skylar stepped in, put a foot on his nuts and leaned into it, causing the man to all but shatter glass with his high-pitched squealing. She rocked back off his balls, but stood before him, the threat crystal clear. When he looked up at her, his eyes were bulging, he was sweating profusely, and his nose was still bleeding.
Skylar looked down and said, “My uncle is dead because of you, and you’re still living. If you prove useful, you stay breathing. If not, I’ll personally tear your heart out of your chest, but not before I cut off your balls the right way.”
“Is there a wrong way to cut off a man’s balls?” Quan asked.
“My friend Noah showed me a particularly torturous way,” Skylar said, not taking her eyes off the prisoner. “Maximum pain. You cut open the sack, grab one of them like a grape, then just pull.” Everyone in the room seemed to squirm upon hearing this, not the least of which was their prisoner who now seemed to understand English just fine. To him, she said, “Do you know about broom sticking?”
Logan looked at her and shook his head. “No broom sticking, not again.” He couldn’t get the image out of his head from before, and he didn’t need a repeat of it to further wreck his mind.
“You don’t stand a chance,” the beaten man hissed as he looked around the room.
“My friend said we were the ones who hit you in Five Falls,” Ryker said. “But we also hit you in Weed. That guy you found in the house? The one we turned into a poopsickle? That was broom sticking, and we did that.”
“Broom sticking,” he said, reverently, like the terror of it was just hitting him.
“Exactly,” Skylar hissed.
“You people are sick,” he said, tears coming to his eyes.
“Sick with rage,” Clay said, stepping forward.
“But there is a way for you,” Quan added. “One that serves our mutual interests. We both hate the Chicoms—”
“But you’re one of them,” the SAA man said to Quan.
“Me being Chinese does not make me a Chicom, it makes me their first victim. That’s what the Chinese people are…the Chicom’s first victims.”
“And so that means what to me?” he cried.
“It means I’m going to tell you exactly where the Chicoms are,” Quan said, looking down on him the same way Skylar had moments ago. “While you’re attacking them from the outside, we’ll be attacking from the inside.”
“And then what?” he asked.
“We’ll attack you next, and whichever of our armies survives, well…they get Yale, and perhaps the West Coast of the United States.”
“This is stupid,” the man spat.
“Was it stupid when we were mowing down your men by the dozen?” Skylar said, getting loud. “Just a handful of us. Killing entire slews of you in Five Falls. How stupid was that, huh? Tell me again while I flatten your balls.”
“Fine, fine…what do you want?” he said, dialing it back. “I don’t know what you want!”
“Are you completely dense?” Logan asked. “We want you going to Yale, and then we want you and the SAA to go to war.”
“That won’t take care of the problem,” he said.
“It will take care of one problem,” Logan said. “Because once you’re done with them, we’ll be your next problem, and you’ll be ours.”
“So you’ll just let me go?” he asked.
“Yes,” Logan said.
“Just like that?”
“Would you prefer another arrangement?” Clay asked. “One that leaves you convincingly mauled?”
“No.”
“Then don’t squeeze cheese in a gift horse’s mouth,” Ryker said. Reed tried not to laugh, but he did so anyway. When Logan fired him a look, the man held up a hand and said, “I’m sorry. It’s just…that’s not how it’s said, but it was funny.”
“I think the expression is don’t punch a gift horse in the face,” Edwin said.
“Your English is as bad as your Spanish,” Ryker spat.
“It’s don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, you clowns,” Clay replied.
“Still like mine better,” Ryker snarled, turning to the prisoner. Glaring down at him, Ryker said, “So ese, you ready?”
He gave a short, curt nod, then said, “My shoulders hurt.”
“Someone get this bitch a tampon,” Skylar growled as the boys lifted him up. His body went to dead weight, like a sulking toddler.
“On second thought,” Logan said, “sit his ass in the chair.”
They sat him on the chair. Skylar looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Are you going to be a problem?”
“I said my shoulders hurt!”
“Harper!” Skylar yelled in the man’s face.
Harper’s gun was back in the man’s face, giving Skylar time to work. She knelt down, ripped the boot off the man.
“What are you doing?” he asked, scared.
“Shut up,” Skylar said.
She finished taking the prisoner’s sock off, then she undid the lace on his boot and stood up. Without a word of explanation, she punched the man right in the face, rocking his head back. The second he came back up, she stuffed the sock in his mouth and started wrapping the shoestring around his head, holding the sock in place.
When she was done, she tied it off in a knot then said, “This is how you shut up and do as you’re told.”
Standing him up, the soldier now much more cooperative, Logan said, “Let’s get this dog and pony show on the road.”
They hauled the prisoner back down to the truck then tossed him in back. Ryker and Clay jumped in with him. Brandon got up front and Logan drove them out of the garage. Skylar opened the gate.
“Be right back,” he said to her.
She gave a curt nod, not an ounce of give in her expression. He liked her like this. Then again, Harper had that sa
me expression. She’d just been hiding it for too long.
They circled around and drove to the back of the snaking convoy where a few unsuspecting SAA men were standing around the trucks.
“Get him the map!” Logan called out.
“Already done,” Ryker said.
The map he’d shoved in the SAA soldier’s face before he hit him had Yale, Washington circled in red with the words CHICOM HQ written beside it.
When they came to a stop, Ryker opened the door and Clay threw the man out of the back. Ryker had his pistol trained on the SAA men standing there, their jaws dropped, their hands almost reaching for their weapons.
Ryker and Clay stared at the men the whole time, and then they shut the doors and Clay said, “We’re good!”
Logan took off, heading the long way back and checking the mirrors for a tail. No one followed them, which he took as a good sign. When they got back to the parking garage, Skylar was waiting at the gate. She opened it quickly as Logan drove in, then she shut it just as fast.
Inside, Harper said, “What do you think he said to them?”
“I don’t know,” Logan replied.
“When they leave, we’ll follow them, see if they head to Yale,” Quan said. “I need to get in touch with my contact, let him know the war is coming.”
“What about us?” Zeke said. “When do we hit them?”
“I’ve got other plans for us,” Quan answered with a grin. To Logan, he said, “Where’s Felicity, Stephani?”
“Back in Roseburg,” Logan said.
“It’s time to get them,” Quan replied. “Don’t give them a choice in the matter.”
“I’ll handle it,” Skylar volunteered.
“Tell them we’re about to watch a war, then wage another war, and then win this nation back or die trying,” Quan said.
“I know exactly what to say,” Skylar told him.
Looking at her, Logan knew she’d have the right words. Felicity admired Skylar so much, it could only be described as that perfect blend of fear and utmost respect. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure it would work. Then again, those two women were unpredictable, which meant there was still a chance they’d decline.
Chapter Nineteen
Felicity showed up in Portland the next morning without Stephani, Cooper or Rowdy. Boone was obviously upset by this, but he understood this was no place for a baby, or the woman charged to take care of him. And as much as everyone loved Cooper, what they were doing was crazy, insane and far outside the realms of possibility or even reality. But the plan was considered “surgical,” which, in this case, meant one wrong cut and the patient died. That patient being the Five Falls Militia, the Roseburg Rebels, the Resistance, America.
“You can’t be serious,” Felicity said when they told her the plan. It was called “Operation Small Bites Big Meal.”
“That’s a stupid name,” Barde said.
Ning nodded his head and said, “That’s a white person name.”
“You have a better idea, half-pint?” Brandon asked, even though it was Cleavon who thought up the name and he was black.
“Operation Takedown,” Felicity suggested.
“Already been used,” Clay said.
“Operation…” Ning said, not able to think of anything.
“Coming up short?” Reed asked.
“Cute,” Ning quipped.
“He called you short without calling you short,” Jin said, laughter in his voice.
“Operation Small Bites Big Meal stands then, unless anyone else has any good ideas,” Skylar said. No one said anything, but then Skylar said, “But for the record, it’s a stupid name and too long, but representative of our overall goal.”
Skylar’s mother used to say, “How do you eat an elephant?” when things were particularly hard, either for them or for Skylar in general. The answer was always the same: one bite at a time. That was the idea behind moving this plan forward. The American Resistance were but mice trying to eat an elephant and digest it. Anyone reasonable would tell them they might as well step in front of a bullet and save themselves the pain. But this ever expanding militia had big eyes, a huge appetite, and the will to push forward. And according to Logan, they had no choice as patriots but to stand for America.
“Remember when they told us early on not to make waves?” Logan asked. “I’m talking ten years ago. Remember when they said don’t make waves about everything?”
Everyone nodded.
“We complied, and what happened? We lost rights, got infiltrated, were left to the devices of traitors and the Chicoms,” Logan said. “Remember when they said trust in the patriots? That they knew what was going on and would stop it?”
Now, more heads were nodding, even more enthusiastically, with eyes that were filling with anger as they remembered the betrayal.
“We didn’t stop it,” Logan said. “In fact, not standing up against these tyrants, and these liars, that’s what truly accelerated things. We perpetuated this through inaction. There were no patriots in power, only traitors. We trusted in others to save us, to take care of our fate, to keep the Boogey Man in the closet. Now look at us. Just a handful of true patriots trying to undo a monumental raping. Something like this, it’s on par with trying to unring a bell. It can’t be done. But we’re going to try, and most of us, if not all of us, are probably going to die. But were we really even living?”
“No!” came the solemn responses.
“No,” Logan said. “So now we fight. Maybe for ourselves, maybe for others, definitely for this country. So whatever moves you, you make sure you carry that cause with you into battle. And into every little interaction. Because, like Skylar likes to say, we are mice about to attack that proverbial elephant, which is going to be scary and impossible. But we’re doing it anyway, because every one of those bloodsucking maggots who betrayed us and invaded us deserves a fitting end.”
The eruption of cheering shook the walls, causing people like Felicity to break free of her self-imposed chains and let loose her own dogs of war.
“Operation Elephant Takedown,” Ning said, reverently, with a grin.
A slow, even smile appeared on Lavar’s face and he said, “Yeah, that’s a choice cut there, my little Asian friend.”
And with that, Skylar said, “Ladies and Germs, let Operation Elephant Takedown commence.”
The caravan they left with was impressive to them, but puny compared to the mammoth SAA snake of vehicles and soldiers. As pumped up as they were, right then, nothing could steal their high. But then, on the way out of town, they saw a body hanging naked from the waist down by a lamp post, the head cut off.
“What the hell is wrong with these people?” Felicity asked.
“That’s a page right out of the cartel playbook,” Logan replied. “Cut their heads off, strip them naked and hang them from the bridges, lamp posts, whatever.”
“It’s disturbing,” she said.
“It’s meant to be,” Harper said.
Logan was in the Fickmobile with Harper in the front and Felicity and Orbey in the back. No one said much, for the hours before war could be some of the toughest hours, minutes and seconds on a human body.
“You two okay back there?” Logan asked.
Orbey nodded, but Felicity said, “If having your guts rearranged every thirty seconds is okay, then I’m fantastic.”
“It’s exactly the same thing,” Logan said.
The body’s only job in times of strife was to survive. There was a conservation of function that took place as it fought off death, a systematic process by which it tried like hell to survive. In other words, if you didn’t die a grievous, brute force, bloody freaking nightmare of a death, the body was, and would forever be, on a relentless pursuit of life. But the second you went against your body’s wishes by putting yourself in harm’s way, your body would load you up with warning signs to stop what you’re doing. Those signs could be emotional sickness, vertigo, the flight version of your fight or f
light instincts. That’s where everyone was at, Logan reasoned to himself. That place. The silence that was the calm before the firestorm. A body wants to survive. Even after all he put his body through, he was still thinking he’d make it out of this alive.
He snuck another glance in the rearview mirror at Felicity. She was looking out the side window, that thousand yard stare in her eyes, like she was caught in a nightmare and looking a hundred miles up the road hoping for a way out the other side. The only way was victory, he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to break her gaze in case she was thinking of better things. But how could she be? His eyes shifted ever so slightly to the side and saw Orbey’s eyes locked on his. She didn’t smile; he didn’t look away.
“Logan,” Harper said as they started to drift out of their lane.
He corrected the car, returning his eyes to the road. But he thought a lot about Orbey, about what she was going through. If he was right, she was the only one going into battle to die. For her, it was not about winning the war, or killing as many of those commie pricks as she could. For her, this was about getting back to Connor.
“Are you okay?” Harper asked.
He glanced at her, read the concern on her face, and said, “I’m good. Just doing some soul searching.”
“Are you still feeling good about this?” she asked, lower, so the two women in the back seat couldn’t hear her.
“I never felt good about any of this,” he answered honestly, “but I’m looking forward to ventilating as many of these rats as humanly possible.”
The look that crossed her face was not sadness, but madness. The homicidal side of her he knew in San Francisco was front and center and here to stay. “No matter what happens, I’m going to find you on the other side of this, be it heaven or hell, and we’re going to have that life we always wanted.”
“I’m not dying,” he turned and said, resolute. “And neither are you. It doesn’t matter what happens, we’re not dying.”
She sat back straight, lifting her chin and appraising him. “But if you have to you will,” she said.
