“How very polite of you. You people really are so friendly. It’s sickening.”
“Friendly has its limits, Lucas. Now let’s get back to the plan.”
“We need more people,” Eli said.
Lucas didn’t argue that. “We need that stupid army.”
Eli sighed. “I think we have to count the Resistance out. They won’t listen to us.”
There was no argument with this. Each of them had gone before the town’s Resistance and each had been sent away. Joshua sat back down on the fountain and took a deep breath. “Maybe the new guy will have better luck.”
EIGHT
When attempting to contact an underground resistance force, one has several options. Perhaps the most common is hanging around the more disgruntled citizens and sharing in their complaints. This method took time and often several drinks before one could let it slip that they, too, “wished something could be done.” There would be some hesitation on the disgruntled citizen’s part before they would cautiously lead you out a back door or, rarely, through a secret door in a bookcase to meet with the faction in question.
This had its perils. Many times, one was truly being led through a back door for a thorough mugging or merciless beating. Of course, since one was most likely drunk by this point, it made them easier to mug or beat. This happened less with secret bookcase doors. This is why one hoped for the secret bookcase door. Few mugging and beatings happened in bookcases.
The other risk one took with mouthing off at the bar was that the counter-resistance forces were usually on to this approach and were more often lying in wait for people trying to contact the resistance than the resistance themselves. If that happened, one usually had to kill the counter-resistance agent to get the attention of the undercover resistance agent and it was just really a lot of wasted time that could be better spent planning an assault.
A second method for contacting a would-be rebellion was to eavesdrop all over town until you identified a resistance member and approached them. This was shaky at best, as it was difficult to build a relationship on trust when you introduced yourself with the phrase, “I couldn’t help but overhear your secret conversation…etcetera,” because nobody likes a Nosey Nelly.
It was for these reasons that Jerry chose the third approach to contacting a resistance movement. He walked up to one of the Alasis Legionaries and punched him in the face. As luck would have it, it was the Legionary that had frisked him earlier in the day, so Jerry enjoyed the sucker punch more than he had expected. His fist made a satisfying smack when it hit the soldier’s face, and the man’s helmet made an amusing clang when it hit the brick wall behind him. Either hit ensured that the guard was going to wake with a ringing headache.
His partner was on the whistle before the Legionary hit the ground. The wail would bring more soldiers, but that was a crucial element in the plan. Hitting one or two was certainly enough to get arrested. But it was hardly enough to cause a scene. And a scene was required.
The guard dropped his whistle and leveled his rifle at Jerry.
Before he could shout Halt, Jerry had stripped him of the weapon, pulled the helmet over the soldier’s eyes, and smacked him in the head with the rifle.
Finally lashing out felt good. His rage had been building for weeks and the restraint he had been using was frustrating. Having to take the soldier’s abuse earlier in the day had pushed the limits of his willpower. This fight was exactly what he had needed. He’d known it would be a satisfying release when he finally got the chance to strike out, but he hadn’t expected it to be so much fun. The soldier’s costumes made it so.
The Librarian stepped behind the blinded guard as he struggled to pull his helmet from his head. Jerry waited for the helmet to hit the ground before he pulled on the guard’s cape and brought the man stumbling back into his fist.
Summoned by the whistle, three other guards raced to the scene. They were firing their rifles in the air and demanding that Jerry get down on the ground. This was good. But not good enough. Taking out two guards and then getting arrested would get him nowhere except a jail cell. He needed to get people talking about what he had done.
He kicked the fallen helmet from the ground into the air. The polished metal caught the light just right before it hit the soldier’s gun and caused a burst of wild fire. This got him his first round of cheers from the bystanders on the street. But it also got him shot at. Jerry dove for cover behind a nearby shanty as the other two guards opened fire.
This whole plan was more art than science. Punch a guard. Get arrested. Take out three or four and you were going to get yourself shot. This was where he was in the process. These weren’t warning shots. Bullets tore through the plywood home and bounced off the surface of the old parking lot. It was easy at this point in the plan to think you had gone too far when, in fact, you hadn’t gone far enough.
There was a certain level of anger and frustration beyond bloodlust that he had to reach. It was the same level of mad that turned swearing into angry gibberish. It was simple enough to get someone to want to kill you. It was something else entirely to get them so mad that they couldn’t even pull the trigger. Where they would rather torture than kill. That was the level of pissed off he was shooting for.
He doubled back through the shantytown as the trio of guards raced around the corner after him.
The commander held up a hand and barked at the other two, “Wait here.”
The two subordinates stood shoulder to shoulder with their guns trained ahead of them as their commander moved through the shantytown’s street. They watched as he peered in the hovels the citizens of Alasis called homes with rapt attention. Their focus made it fairly easy to tie their capes together.
A large crowd had gathered now and, to their credit, they were able to hold their giggles until Jerry had the capes tied together in a solid knot. Their laughter finally erupted and the two guards spun to see what was so funny.
Jerry dashed off, but not so fast as to miss the two men smash into one another and realize their predicament. The crowd cheered as the two soldiers collapsed to the ground, each blaming the other for the situation they found themselves in.
The crowd followed him through the shantytown now, cheering him on in anticipation of his next move. They made it more difficult to maneuver. Hands patted him on the back as he tried to move through the crowd down the makeshift street.
The commander stepped out ahead of him and Jerry turned to run. At first the crowd was too thick. He pushed against the wall of people and they began to part for him. They stepped aside more quickly toward the back and he assumed he would soon have an opening. Unfortunately, the parting of the crowd was at the behest of the two other soldiers he had left in a bind. They had figured out their wardrobe situation and didn’t look at all pleased.
He tried to break through the crowd to the right, but the first guard he had attacked was there. He was back on his feet and extremely pissed off. The soldiers began tossing people out of the way while screaming insults and threats at the thinning crowd.
The people moved under threat but were shouting at the Legionaries.
There were the normal boos and hisses, but other shouts rang out.
“Let him go.”
“Leave him alone.”
“You always were an asshole, Mangler.”
“Set him free.”
It wasn’t long before Jerry was surrounded. He didn’t try to run or fight. The fervor of the crowd was right where he wanted it, so he sat down on the pavement and waited patiently.
His original victim raised his weapon to fire. The crowd roared and took a collective step forward. Under threat it had thinned to let the soldiers in, but the spectators hadn’t gone anywhere and the crowd rematerialized behind the guard. The man was red with embarrassment and rage as his finger moved toward the trigger.
But before he could pull the trigger, another soldier caught his attention and directed it toward the crowd.
They grew
quiet, but to a man and woman their conviction showed on their faces. If the Legionary pulled the trigger, they wouldn’t make it back to their side of the river alive. There would be no execution today.
The Legionary withdrew his finger from the trigger and lowered the barrel of the rifle.
Jerry smiled at the guard to aggravate him more. Even over the cheers of the crowd, he could hear the man growling at him.
“Seize him,” the commander barked, and Jerry was yanked to his feet by two of the subordinate soldiers. They bound his hands behind him with zip ties and shoved him through the crowd.
The people of the city cheered. It was a victory for them. They could claim that they had saved a life that day even though they knew the soldiers would probably just march the prisoner into an alley a few blocks away and put a bullet in his head. But in this moment, they had saved a man.
The Legionaries marched Jerry down the street. Initially the crowd followed, but the farther the group moved from their homes, the more people peeled off until the mob shrank to a gathering, the gathering to a group and the group to one guy with not enough sense to realize he was all alone. That guy finally panicked and ran, leaving the Librarian alone with the guards.
Even they started to reduce in number until it was just the two he had encountered that morning.
They shoved him down the street. Jerry tripped several times and received a kick in the ribs for each stumble.
“You think we should take him to Invictus?” asked one.
“I’d rather just kill him here,” said the one Jerry had sucker punched.
“They need someone to ride the Falls, you know?”
“He can’t ride them if he’s already dead,” the Legionary replied while surveying the street. The would-be witnesses had fled. He pointed to an alley. “In there.”
He fell once more on the way to the alley and was dragged behind a dumpster. They pulled him to his feet and forced him up against a wall.
“I warned you,” the first soldier said.
“He did warn you,” the second guard agreed.
“You should have listened.”
“You really should have listened.” The second guard didn’t seem to have much of his own to add to the conversation.
“Shut up.”
“Shut up,” the second guard said.
“Not him. You.”
“Oh,” The second guard replied, and shut up.
“All right,” the Legionary drew his pistol and thumbed off the safety. “Hold him.”
“Wait, what?”
“Hold him against the wall. I don’t want him to move out of the way.”
“What? You think he can dodge bullets?”
“He can make a run for it. Hold him still.”
“While you shoot?”
“I won’t hit you.”
“Not on purpose. What about a ricochet?”
“It won’t ricochet.”
“Oh now you’re Mr. Physics?”
“Don’t be such a coward.”
“I’m not being a coward. What about the blood? I don’t want this guy’s brains all over me.”
“Why are you being such a baby about this? It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve executed a guy.”
“I’m not worried about killing him. I’m worried about cleaning blood out of my clothes!””
“Oh my God, you are such a wuss.”
“How about you hold him and I kill him? How about that, Mangler?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m in charge.”
“No, it’s because you know I’m right and you don’t want blood all over you.”
Normally, this plan called for a fair amount of stalling. Often it took time for word to get back to the resistance group, so some witty banter or subtle subterfuge was required to distract the would-be killers until the rescue attempt took place. But these two morons saved him the trouble by continuing to bicker until the Resistance made their move.
A rock bounced off the one called Mangler’s head with a delightful clang, denting the helmet and successfully stealing his attention from the argument. Both guards turned to face the new threat and saw several men in ski masks at the end of the alley and more rocks being hurled their direction.
The Legionaries shouted several warnings while seeking cover and struggling to return fire. They opened up with their rifles and the Resistance members sought a safe place of their own. The encounter hadn’t lasted long. But it was long enough for another Resistance member to signal Jerry from the other end of the alleyway. He raced unnoticed from the wall and met the woman in the mask.
“This way,” she said and ran down the alley.
Jerry followed the woman as she wound her way through boarded-up buildings, broken fences, narrow passageways and debris-filled streets. He would have found keeping up with her easier if she cut him free, but his hands remained bound behind his back.
He stumbled several times and received no help in getting back to his feet. The only words of encouragement from the woman were, “C’mon, asshole. I’m not getting caught because of you.”
“This would be easier if my hands weren’t tied.”
She gave no response and refused to slow her pace. He was begging once more to be cut free when she held up a finger to silence him. She had stopped at the edge of the street and was peering around the corner. A moment later she visibly relaxed and said, “I think they’re gone. And you’re an idiot. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I wanted to talk to you.”
“You don’t even know who I am.”
“I mean talk to the Resistance.”
“And this was the best you could come up with?”
“I had a couple of other plans,” he shrugged. “Not as good as this one though.”
“You’re lucky you’re not dead.”
“I had a way out if you hadn’t shown. Could you untie me now, please?”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Yes, you’ve said that.”
“You made yourself a target. An enemy of the state. They’ll be looking for you now.”
“They were already looking for me.”
“So were we, dumbass. We were about to make contact when you attacked the guards.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Jerry said. “Why were you looking for me?”
“You were in Charlie’s Arm this morning, right?”
“Is that the bar?”
She nodded.
“Yes, I was there this—“
“We were just about to approach you. Then you started that fight like a moron.”
Well now he did feel dumb. Before he could say anything—not that he knew what to say—she looked over his shoulder and spoke.
“He says he wanted to talk to us.” She wasn’t talking to him.
Before he could see who she was talking to, the bag was over his head and he couldn’t see a thing. This wasn’t how it usually worked.
NINE
The Coyote pulled up to Charlie’s Arm on the Coy-O-Te late in the afternoon. He killed the motorcycle’s engine, stepped from the bike and looked around. The bar itself looked like the town—run down and dangerous. It was probably filled with troublemakers and tough guys looking for a fight. Willie would have liked this place.
Just thinking about his friend agitated the ball of rage in his stomach. The familiar feeling had formed weeks ago and had confused him at first. Because he had been fed his friend strip by strip, he thought maybe the feeling was Willie being angry at him. Coy didn’t necessarily believe in ghosts, but he didn’t necessarily not believe in them either, and he had assumed that anger and dread and frustration may be what a haunting felt like if that ghost was haunting a person’s belly. After a few days he knew that it was his own rage causing the feeling because he was certain by then that Willie had passed.
Now that he knew it wasn’t his friend causing the discomfort, he welcomed this feel
ing. He drew power from it. Coy had been a bit of a scoundrel, he would admit, but he was a nice enough guy really. Mostly harmless, if you wanted to put it on a scale. But, from this anger, he became The Coyote. And no one was going to fuck with The Coyote. He was filled with righteous anger and driven to kill the man responsible for his friend’s death and embarrassing end. Nothing would stop him. No one would get in his way. He was living rage. And to prove it he put on Christopher’s stupid hat, pulled a box from his bike and walked toward the bar.
The bouncer sat outside the entrance. He was the width of the door and nearly as tall. The man’s arms were impossibly thick and, from The Coyote’s point of view, he was all chest. He would be hell in a fight.
The bouncer made no move to stop The Coyote from entering the bar, but as he passed the giant reached out and lifted the hat from Coy’s head and placed it on his own.
Coy would have pretended not to notice. Hell, Coy may not have noticed at all, but The Coyote would not be slighted. He set the box down, turned and nodded to the hat. “That’s my hat.”
The bouncer grunted and stood up from his stool. He folded his arms and loomed over the smaller man. Even his voice sounded like it could kick his ass. “What hat?”
Coy knew the man knew damned well what hat. He was playing him. Coy would have let it slide. The man was one of the biggest he’d ever seen and Coy would have been terrified to even talk to him, much less press the issue. But he wasn’t Coy. “The one on your big, fat, ugly head.”
The bouncer didn’t seem to like one word of that. He uncrossed his arms and put a finger in The Coyote’s chest. “Listen you little—“
Coy snapped the finger and drove his boot through the giant’s right knee. The bouncer screamed, dropped to the ground and screamed again when his shattered kneecap hit the sidewalk.
The Coyote plucked the hat from the bouncer’s head and picked up the bouncer’s wooden stool.
“Take the biggest guy in the world, shatter his knee and he’ll drop like a stone.” The Coyote broke the stool over the bouncer’s head and laid the man out cold. “I figured all bouncers knew their Road House.”
Revenge of the Apocalypse (A Duck & Cover Adventure Post-Apocalyptic Series Book 4) Page 7