Taking the girl had been easy enough, once he’d drugged her and the two teenagers that seemed to be with her constantly. When he’d slipped the Ambien into their hot chocolates, he’d considered giving some to the others in the house, but had quickly discarded the idea. If Paul didn’t relieve Serafina, she’d notice, and if Daniel didn’t relieve Paul, he’d notice as well.
It would simply introduce too many variables, and variables jeopardized plans.
So he waited.
Something about the woman concerned him; he’d seen her watching him, and he knew it wasn’t because she found him attractive. In his life few had. No, her eyes evaluated his movements, checking to see if there was any reason for concern.
It was why he’d spent time he normally wouldn’t spend charming and cajoling the young girl. He needed the woman to relax a bit, to let down her guard just the slightest amount, so that he could do what he needed to do.
One thing was certain: he didn’t want to fight her.
He’d seen the way the woman absentmindedly played with her knife, spinning it deftly in her hand in a way that was both mesmerizing and terrifying.
A close quarters fight with her was too risky. She’d likely end up gutting him like a fish.
Instead, he waited for the easier target, the awkward teenager who’d been in the car with him and the soldier. The kid was trying to fit in, but he was clearly out of his element.
Sneaking up on him had been easy.
Taking the boy down had been surprisingly hard, though, Reilley thought, wincing in pain as he shifted in the driver’s seat. His ribs had taken two hard shots from the young man’s staff (who the hell was skilled at using a staff these days??) before he’d managed to simply overpower the teenager, tackling him to the ground and placing his forearm on the young man’s throat. Reilley had kept his weight atop him, pinning him down while cutting off his oxygen. The teen had thrashed violently, but with Reilley’s 60 pound weight advantage, it hadn’t done any good. Soon enough, the thrashing stopped as the boy passed out from lack of oxygen.
Once the boy was out, Reilley quickly dragged him to the side of the house, placing him face down in the grass underneath the kitchen window. It was at that moment when the light inside the kitchen came on, startling him. Staying low, he crept back towards the front of the house as he tried to figure out what to do.
Realizing it was most likely Daniel, who seemed to consistently wake well in advance of his scheduled guard shifts, he’d decided to tell the man that he’d simply taken over for Paul because he hadn’t been able to sleep. He dusted himself off quickly, then used his shirt tails to wipe off his face and hands before stuffing the two ends back into his pants. Running his fingers through his hair, he walked over and sat on the steps of the porch where Paul had been keeping watch and waited for Daniel to come outside.
Sitting there, he listened intently as the man moved from the kitchen back towards the front of the house, where he did a series of exercises. Reilley rolled his eyes at the sound of the man’s movements, wondering why the guy would even bother.
Just as the man finished, Reilley saw Paul’s wooden staff on the ground near the base of the steps. Leaning forward quickly, he used his heel to kick the staff back under the porch, then sat back down on the steps just as the front door opened.
As he made small talk with the man, it’d taken all of his will to keep from letting on that his ribs were absolutely killing him. Pain throbbed in his side, radiating throughout his entire midsection, but he managed to act as if nothing were wrong.
After a few minutes of chit chat, he’d risen and walked away, making his way across the porch while watching Daniel’s back over his shoulder. The man didn’t turn at all as he sat there, gazing outwards.
He knew he had to take the man out, and do so in a quick, efficient, and, most of all, quiet manner.
When he saw Daniel lean forward, looking down at where he and Paul had struggled, he sprung into action. Crossing the porch in quiet steps that seemed impossible for someone of his size, he pulled the handgun from the pocket of his jacket. Holding it tightly in his hand, he swung downward with all his might, hitting the other man in the back of his head.
Daniel collapsed to the ground with a soft thud.
He’d waited for a moment to be sure the man was out, but after twenty seconds, it was clear the man wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.
Returning to the house, he’d tiptoed across the living room and into the short hallway that led to the bedrooms. Fortunately for him, the girls were sleeping in the room closest to the living room, assuming their proximity to where Daniel and Serafina were sleeping would provide additional safety.
Opening the door slowly, he peered inside, verifying that the three girls were asleep before entering. Snores echoed in the small room as the three of them slumbered.
Within seconds he was back on the porch carrying Isabella’s limp form over his shoulder.
He tossed her in the back seat of the Prius, then got into the driver’s seat and started the car.
The silent engine of the vehicle was a blessing even he hadn’t considered.
Smiling in appreciation, he pressed down on the accelerator gently and drove away, keeping the car’s lights off and his speed under five miles per hour until he was back on the highway.
He waited until he was over ten miles from the ranch house before stopping to tie Isabella up. After pulling the car to the side of the road, he used the ropes he’d found in the barn behind the house to tie her arms and feet, then wrapped an old t-shirt over her mouth.
They didn’t have any reason to talk.
She was simply a piece of property.
One he’d sell for a profit.
By the time the sun began to rise, he estimated he’d put a good forty-plus miles between himself and those he’d left behind at the ranch house. He figured they’d probably realized what he’d done about two, maybe three hours ago, about the time the woman would have gotten up to relieve Daniel for her shift.
While he was certain they’d come after him, he reasoned his lead was too great for them to catch him before he accomplished what he’d set out to do. They’d have to wait for Daniel to recover - something that wouldn’t happen anytime soon - and somehow figure out how to fit all six of them into the little Prius.
Feeling confident, he reached for one of the bags of beef jerky on the passenger seat. He tore it open and took a piece out. Stuffing it in his mouth, he chewed on it as he relaxed in his seat, looking at the road ahead. His plan was working, and though he was far from being done, so far everything had worked in his favor.
The girl in the back seat moved around violently again, the t-shirt in her mouth muffling her crying protests as she struggled to free herself.
“Give it up, you little shit,” he said through the piece of dried meat he chewed. Keeping his eyes on the road, he reached for the bottle of water in the cup holder between the two front seats.
His hand mistakenly found the tactical radio instead.
‘Yeah, probably time,’ he decided. Grabbing the bottle of water, he took a quick swig, clearing the bits of meat from his mouth. Setting the bottle of water back in its place, he picked up the radio and brought it up in front of him. Leaning it against the steering wheel, he turned the device on, then selected the ‘Emergency - All Channels’ setting.
Pausing for a moment, he considered his words. He knew what he wanted to say, but he wanted to say it clearly and concisely. After a few minutes, he nodded to himself and keyed the mic.
“San Francisco Protective Zone, come in.”
He waited for a response, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove. This would be a one way conversation.
Twenty seconds later, a voice came through the radio’s speaker.
“This is San Francisco Protective Zone Control, over.”
Grinning, he brought the radio back up in front of his mouth.
“Listen closely, San Francisco. I’ve got w
hat you want,” he said, brimming with confidence.
The voice on the other end hesitated, then said, “Station calling, request you repeat your last, over.”
Reilley felt his blood pressure rise at the other person’s words. Incompetence wasn’t something he was used to accepting.
“I said, I’ve got what you want, San Francisco. I’ve got someone who’s immune. Now put someone on the line who’s got a fucking clue!”
“Standby.”
‘Son of a…’ Reilley shook his head in frustration.
A woman’s voice replaced the previous one on the radio. “Station calling, this is Lieutenant Colonel Woodworth. Request you identify yourself and state your purpose.”
Reilley pulled the mic away momentarily as he thought about the woman’s demand. He did need a name, a moniker of sorts, that he could use to identify himself when speaking to them. After a moment’s thought, it came to him.
Smirking, Reilley keyed the mic again. “Call me Hermes,” he said smugly.
“Say again?” The woman’s voice asked, incredulity in her voice.
“Hermes, Lieutenant. If you don’t understand, look it up.”
“I - ”
“Shut up and listen, Lieutenant. I’ve got a girl, a little Mexican girl here who’s immune. I’ll bring her to you, but you’re gonna have to pay if you want her.” Satisfied, he lowered the radio and waited.
As expected, there was a long pause before the woman responded. “Sir, what do you want?”
Reilley smiled. ‘Sir, I like that,’ he thought to himself before speaking into the radio again. “I’ll tell you what I don’t want, and that’s money. It’s worthless now, Lieutenant. The government’s going to pay me in gold.”
“We don’t have gold here, sir. This is a Protective Zone. We’re set up to provide medical attention and physical security.”
“Bullshit. You’re in San Francisco. There’s a shitload of banks there. Get the gold. I want a hundred pounds.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible, Sir.”
“Find a fucking way. I’ll be there sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
“San Francisco Protective Zone, come in.”
“This is San Francisco Protective Zone Control, over.”
“Listen closely, San Francisco. I’ve got what you want.”
“Station calling, request you repeat your last, over.”
“I said, I’ve got what you want, San Francisco. I’ve got someone who’s immune. Now put someone on the line who’s got a fucking clue!”
“Standby.”
“Station calling, this is Lieutenant Colonel Woodworth. Request you identify yourself and state your purpose.”
“Listen to me, Lieutenant. I’ve got a girl, a little Mexican girl here who’s immune. I’ll bring her to you, but you’re gonna have to pay if you want her.”
“Sir, how much money do you want?”
“I don’t want money, Lieutenant. The government’s going to pay me in gold.”
“We don’t have gold here, sir. This is a Protective Zone. We’re set up to provide medical attention and physical security.”
“Bullshit. You’re in San Francisco. There’s a shitload of banks there. Get the gold. I want a hundred pounds.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible, Sir.”
“Find a fucking way. I’ll be there in two days.”
Smiling, The Scorpion extracted herself from the Humvee, her mind working rapidly as she began formulating a plan.
There was no way that fucker was going to make it through her territory with something that valuable.
Daniel, Serafina, Ashley, and Brenna stared at the radio in disbelief.
“Fuck…” Ashley muttered before catching herself and slapping her hand over her mouth.
Ignoring her, Daniel stared at the radio. After a moment, he shook his head.
“He just told a shitload of people where he’s going and what he’s going to do. Now that they know Isabella is immune, they’ll want to take her for the same purpose. He just put her life in danger.” Looking down at the table he shook his head before adding, “And Logan is following him.”
“And Logan has no idea…” Serafina finished.
Daniel nodded. Looking around the table, his eyes met each of theirs before he spoke. “We’ve gotta get there.”
“Stupid fuck,” Serrano said from the chair near the window.
Sarah looked up at the SEAL, her eyes questioning.
“Whoever the fuck he is, he just put a big ass target on his back, and by doing so, put one on the girl’s back, too.”
“Oh no…”
“Yeah,” Serrano said, shaking his head. “He went out on all channels, so anyone who has one of these radios and had it on heard his message. Now they know where he’s going and what he has. They’ll want the girl.”
Looking towards the kitchen table where her own children sat, quietly eating Pop Tarts, Sarah’s heart raced at the thought of people trying to take them. “What can we do?”
Movement behind her made her look back at Serrano. The man was already on his feet and pulling his pack on.
“We find them first.”
The fork shook in his hand as rage ran through Sommer’s body. Breathing heavily through his nose as he struggled to control himself, it quickly became too much. He slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the dishes and cups that sat on its surface.
“We cannot let this happen!” He screamed, startling the men around him.
Part IV
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Vietnam, 1971
‘Deep breath. Shut everything out.’
Looking through the scope of the rifle, the sniper watched as the heavily armed men stopped the school bus in the middle of the road. One of the men shouted loudly, giving instructions as he pointed his rifle at the driver while another walked around to the door.
From his position atop the building 400 yards away, he could hear every word that was said, and his extended time in the country, along with the time and effort he’d put into learning the language both before and after arrival, allowed him to understand exactly what was being said and what it meant for the driver.
If he understood correctly, things were about to get really bad for the driver.
And likely the children inside the bus.
The driver yelled back at the man, shaking his head back and forth.
“Mở cửa!” the soldier yelled, aiming his rifle at the man’s head through the glass.
“Không! Để chúng tôi một mình! Họ chỉ là trẻ em!” The shooter’s mind translated the driver’s words: ‘Leave us alone, they’re only children.’
The soldier fired his rifle, breaking the glass of the window inches above the driver’s head.
The door swung open.
Within seconds, the driver was dragged out into the street and forced to his knees in the dirt. The first soldier stood over him, pointing his rifle at the driver’s head as he continued to yell at him.
“Kẻ phản bội!”
‘Traitor.’
‘This is not good,’ the man atop the building thought, as he watched the scene unfold. Moving his rifle to the left, his view through the scope slowly panned in that direction as he searched for his target.
The only reason he was here. Not for the driver, not for the children.
There were only him and Chuck, who until they’d arrived in this godforsaken place, had gone by the name ‘Charlie’, and they were in no position to take on fifteen heavily armed men.
Saving the children wasn’t the mission.
Eliminating the target was.
Sweat ran down his face as his scope settled on his target.
He ignored it. He’d learned to do so within days of deploying to the Southeast Asian country they were in, just like he’d learn to block out the smell of death that was a constant presence.
The man he’d been sent here to kill sat behind the d
river of a covered military vehicle, almost completely blocked from view by the driver in front of him and the roof of the vehicle.
‘No shot,’ his mind told him in a voice much like that of his mentor at Camp Geiger. Whenever he was on a mission, waiting for his shot, the voice was there, subtle, forceful, and, when his mind strayed from his training, condescending in its reminders.
Below him, the bus driver pleaded for his life.
“Xin vui lòng! Tôi có một gia đình!”
‘Please. I have a family.’
The man with the rifle pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into the man’s head. Blood and bone splattered on the dirt of the road behind the man before his body fell backwards and to the side, coming to rest in a position that left him facing the man atop the building.
It was as if the man was staring up at him, boring holes into him as the dead man asked why he hadn’t intervened.
‘Ignore it. Wait for the target,’ he told himself.
Next to him, Chuck’s voice whispered, “These fuckers…”
“Stay focused, Chuck.”
“I know, I know.”
The shooter looked back towards the man in the military vehicle and pointed towards the bus.
“Còn họ thì sao?”
‘What about them?’
The other man shouted something.
Screams of children filled the air as the men began pulling the children from the bus.
“Shit.” Chuck muttered.
One by one, the children were forced into the middle of the street. The young girls, in their all-white outfits, huddled together, crying loudly. The boys stood in front of them, trying to protect them as they stood there in their white button up shirts and dark shorts.
“This is not good,” Chuck said, shifting next to him uncomfortably.
“Just wait,” He ordered, moving the scope’s view back towards the man in the vehicle. When the man emerged from the vehicle, the driver did as well, effectively blocking the Viet Cong Officer from his sight.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 41
