“Hey kid,” said the head voice. “I think you better listen to your old man. He’s in a lot of trouble. Maybe you can help him out.”
Chase turned around.
“Whoa,” said the voice. “Slowly. C’mon down.” The guy motioned for him to enter the lab as cavalierly as one would ask someone to sit down and watch a game. Finally, Chase could put a face to the voice. The guy was tall and thin, dressed in a khaki-colored jacket and jeans. The butt of his rifle rested on his shoulder, and the smirk on his bearded face was that of a man who’d done this sort of thing so often that he now took pleasure in the details.
Chase walked slowly down a short flight of steps into the lab and stopped. The entire room was viewable now.
Witherspoon was on the right side of the room, leaning on one of the machines that had terrorized Chase the most. He looked a mess. Sweat-ridden and clutching his shoulder, he bled profusely. Two henchmen flanked him on both sides. One held a gun to Witherspoon’s side and the other pointed a gun directly at Chase. The doctor’s breath was increasingly labored as he changed positions, leaning against the back of a chair—the gun digging into his flesh the entire time.
“Chase,” Witherspoon said, “now’s not the time to play games. As you can see, these guys are serious.”
“That’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said thus far.” The ringleader chortled, looking at Witherspoon, then back to Chase. “He’s right,” he said, “we aren’t here to play games. We’ve driven a long way and we do mean business. If you’ve got something to show us, I suggest you show us now.”
Witherspoon looked at Chase, responding rather evenly. “Yes, son. Show them what you’ve learned.”
Chase had fully intended to comply. At least that’s what his head told him to do. But his head wasn’t in charge here. His anger was. And his anger told him to do something else. “Dad, you said that we wouldn’t have to play this game anymore. That we had more than enough money. You said they’d never find us.”
“Chase. What are you talking about?” The doctor shot him a quizzical look. “Show them!”
“Please, just give ‘em the money back!” Tears streamed down Chase’s face.
One of the lackeys turned toward the ringleader, rolling his eyes. “Another worthy investment by Mr. Daneer.”
“No, wait. The boy’s just nervous,” said Witherspoon, shifting nervously. Chase smiled inwardly at the sound of desperation in his voice. “Chase.” He said his name as if he were trying to regain control. “You have to do this. That’s an order.”
“Dad. You’ve taken this whole thing too far.” He looked at the ringleader. “If we give you the money back, will you let us go? Tell Mr. Daneer, he can have all of this. The house…all of this equipment, everything. And if it’s not enough, I’ll work. He can have my paycheck. Just, please—don’t hurt my dad. He hasn’t been well.”
The men exchanged glances. The ringleader used the gun’s barrel to scratch his forehead. “Kid, if it were up to me, I’d probably give him half a chance, but it’s not. I can see that your dad’s one sandwich short of a breakfast combo, but that’s not Mr. Daneer’s problem, and it’s not mine. This is what I get paid for. No hard feelings.”
“No!” yelled Witherspoon. “This is a mistake. He’s worth a fortune!”
Chase gulped hard, glancing at Witherspoon, who was crying now. “Can I go?” asked Chase.
The leader paused. “Yeah,” he answered.
Chase shot one last look at Witherspoon and exited, his bag slung over his shoulder. As he left, he heard one of the guys say. “You know we can’t do that. We can’t have witnesses.”
“Yeah, I know,” said the ringleader. “I got a kid around his age. I just didn’t want to kill him right here in cold blood. After we take care of Witherspoon we’ll catch him on the road. He won’t get very far on foot.” Chase heard the sound of keys jiggling, and realized they took the keys to Witherspoon’s car too. He sighed and stopped right in the middle of the living room. Dropping his bag, he returned to the lab’s doorway.
“You forget something, kid?” the leader asked. Witherspoon’s head was pinned against a table in the room. They could’ve shot him already, but he guessed they wanted to make him suffer.
“Yeah,” said Chase. “I guess I did.” As he spoke, he heard a buzzing sound. The lights in the lab flickered; so did the machines.
“What the f—” said one of the thugs. His words were cut short by his screams.
“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” It was the leader, sounding alarmed.
“Get it off me, get it off!” The man continued to howl in pain.
“What in the devil?” Through strobe lights, a man appeared. Half his face was shot clean off, and what was left was shredded and bloodied. He lifted his head from the thug’s back and hissed, revealing chunks of fresh meat and blood, dripping from his mouth. Everyone screamed. Shots rang out. Witherspoon used the distraction to get to his feet. He half stumbled, half ran toward the lab’s door, looking directly at Chase as the other men hollered. He smiled as he climbed up the steps, and then he fell. Something grabbed his foot. It was another dead man, crawling on the floor.
“Chase!” Witherspoon screamed, his bloody hand outstretched toward him. Chase lunged forward and grabbed the door handle, looking intently into Witherspoon’s eyes. Then he slammed it shut. All of the men were screaming now, their cries echoing throughout the house. Chase walked calmly over to his bag, picking it up and surveyed the room. He’d spent his entire life here, and yet, there was nothing else he wanted from this godforsaken place. He looked at the sofa, imagining what it would look like engulfed in flames. And then it was. A tiny flicker of flames at first and then it grew. Party’s over, he thought.
His footsteps creaked upon the wooden floor as he walked out the front door of the house, feeling lighter with each step. The trees, the air, the earth—never smelled better. He stopped under the moonlight, dropped his bag and fished out the black book. The pages crinkled as he thumbed through, until he found the one that he was looking for. “Samantha York,” he said, under his breath. “Time to find Mommy.”
Dear Reader…
After all is said and done, this book was really a pleasure to write and I would love to write more. If you enjoyed it, would you please leave an honest review on Amazon or wherever you made your purchase? Reviews are the only way the book will get visibility on such sites. Truth be told, there are lots of amazing books out there that haven’t made much traction because nobody knows they exist. I am really hoping this book won’t end up in that pile. So please, if you could spare a moment, I would greatly appreciate it. Thanks again!
Now, back to writing the next installment of Chronicles of the 13th Tribe. Stay tuned….
Acknowledgments
Dear God, thank you first and foremost
for making this possible!!
This is more than a “book”, it’s a piece of me. I have so many people to thank for helping me to give it life.
Tyler, you are the sole survivor. Thank you, my love, for reading this book ad nauseam without going on strike. And, for offering your crucial edits and valuable feedback whenever I asked and even when I didn’t. I love you to pieces.
I would like to thank my dear parents, John and Cassandra Williams, for loving me and raising me to feel special and proud of the skin I’m in. For instilling pride in our heritage and lineage from God. Kids need that. I needed that. I love you.
My rock-head Brothers: John, Julian, Keane, Kevin and Chris. Thank you for toughening me up and for providing cherished childhood memories that will last a lifetime and then some. We kept one another sane and laughing and to this day, when I want to smile, I think of you.
To my Grandparents: Mary & Eddie Mustin, Katherine & Damon Williams, and my honorary grandfather Dr. John Henry Clay. You are with me in spirit and I will always cherish the time we spent together—you hold a special place in my heart.
To my Hubby: I should’
ve taken the red pill, haha. JK. I love you. You are the one person in the universe I was meant to be with. Thanks for being the husband that I’ve always wanted and for encouraging me to keep on truckin’ regardless of what was going on in our lives.
To my Children: God has truly blessed me with you. I am so proud of who you are and look forward to seeing who you will become. Thanks for telling me everyday I could do this!
Special thanks to Annetta Ribken, Richard Crasta and Tyler Hendricks for their editorial prowess, love and support throughout this journey. Thank you Nathalia Suellen for your patience and for a brilliant cover. Thank you Cassandra Williams, Onica Ross and Jennifer Bourgeios for your insightful beta-reading and for cheering me on.
Thank you, Sandra Kinji, for the love and laughter. For allowing me to sit at your table and dream out loud.
Ernie Fields Jr., thank you for being a silent angel, looking out for my family and offering love and support when we needed it most.
Special thanks to Andrew, Andrade, Kinji, Onica, Sydney, DeVawn, Sicily, Tonisha, Paul, Cedra, Tiffany R., Vince, Uncle Donald, Tiffany B., and Raquel for your love and encouragement.
Special thanks to the Mayfield Family. Love you!
Thanks to the Diamond Point Elementary family, Mrs. Saucedo, Ms. DiMauro, Ms. Douglas and all the angelic families from Cal State Fullerton and elsewhere who supported us. Love you!
Last but certainly not least, thanks to YOU—the reader. For taking time out to read something I wrote. I am humbled and appreciative.
About the Author
I guess this is the part where you’re supposed to talk about yourself in the third person and tell the world you enjoy spending time with your cats. Nothing wrong with that. I like my cats, hehe. What I really enjoy, however, is spending time with my family. No lie. That’s what keeps me ticking. If I could spend quality time with my family and write, I’d be happy.
My kids are trying to help me learn how to use Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. You can catch up with me on:
http://cassandrahendricks.com
[email protected]
or
For Blood & Glory Page 35