Trojan

by Brandon Clark

  Josef winced and shook his head. Haley wanted to smack him but decided it wouldn’t help the situation.

  She bit back a curse and reached for her own phone.

  Her hand came away empty, and she groaned.

  “What?” Josef asked.

  “My cell is on the workbench,” she said. “You were about to say something when Miguel got shot. What is it?”

  Josef looked at the metal siding of the room hesitantly.

  “There are explosives behind the walls,” he said. “We’re surrounded by a giant bomb.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Would they kill the Volkags?”

  He shrugged.

  “Maybe,” Josef said. “But I don’t know if this room can withstand the blast.”

  “It’s a steel encased room.”

  “I’m just saying, I don’t know what all he used.”

  Josef motioned toward Miguel.

  “Can we just wait them out?” Haley asked. “If Francesca has a cell phone in the house, maybe someone, maybe they can scare the Volkags off.”

  “Even if we could, it’d take at least two hours for anyone to get here from DC.”

  Haley eyed the door at the back of the room.

  “Where does that go?”

  “Back to the house,” he said. “It links with the panic room in the basement.”

  “Well, let’s go,” she said.

  “If we try to move him, he could die.”

  “If we don’t try, they’ll kill us all.”

  “They can’t get in,” Josef said.

  They stopped talking as the sound of footsteps on wood floors echoed down the ladder. Haley kept one hand pressed to Miguel’s chest, and waved Jacob over with her other.

  The voices were muffled, but clearly Russian. They grew quiet, then louder as the men came back. Haley could practically see Vlad standing over the metal trap door.

  Suddenly, the room was filled with the ringing of metal. Haley gritted her teeth and tried to cover Jacob’s ears.

  When it finally stopped, Haley rubbed her own ears, trying to get the high pitched ringing to stop.

  “I know you’re in there,” Vlad yelled, his voice rumbling through the compartment. “Come out, and I’ll let your boy live.”

  “He doesn’t know I’m here,” Josef whispered.

  “He’s going to kill anyone he finds,” Haley hissed back.

  “I’ll give you two minutes,” Vlad said. “Don’t abuse my generosity.”

  Haley looked back at the door.

  “If we get to the other panic room, is there any way to get away?”

  “My aunt has a car in the shed,” he said. “But we’d still have to get out of the house to get to it.”

  Haley frowned. She didn’t like the idea of running out in the open, but the alternative was to wait for Vlad to dig them out.

  “We have to give it a shot,” she said.

  “What about him?”

  “Try to be gentle,” she said.

  Josef shook his head but walked to the back and opened the door. A line of lights flickered on when the door opened, casting shades of light every ten to fifteen feet.

  She took Miguel’s belt off and looped it around his chest, tightening it down on the makeshift bandage. He groaned again as she did, which was probably a good sign, but she didn’t like the pale sheen on his face. Josef helped him stand, slipping one of Miguel’s arms over his shoulders.

  Haley grabbed one of Jacob’s hands and tucked the laptop under her other arm. Together they started down the passageway.

  The tunnel was tall enough to stand in, but Josef had to turn sideways and practically drag Miguel through the door.

  Haley pushed Jacob in front of her, partially closing the door. From the room behind, she could hear more yelling and banging. Apparently, their two minutes were up.

  The walls of the tunnel were dirt, with support beams at each light. Haley tried not to think about what it must have taken to dig the tunnel or the lack of engineering expertise that the men doing the digging possessed.

  The tunnel curved slightly, and Haley tried to see around Miguel and Josef to see how much farther they had to go, but she nearly tripped over Jacob when she took her eyes off him.

  She nearly ran over Jacob and into Miguel when they finally stopped. Josef banged on another metal door, and Haley cringed, hoping the Russians were far enough away that they didn’t hear.

  Francesca yelled something in Spanish from the other side, and Josef answered.

  “Move back,” he said over his shoulder. Haley pulled Jacob a few steps back and Josef shuffle Miguel out of the way. The metal door swung open, and Francesca stood with a shotgun held out in front of her.

  She leaned around, trying to see who was behind Josef, and her face grew pale when she saw Miguel. She quickly stood aside and started peppering Josef with questions in Spanish.

  Haley hustled Jacob inside as well, and then pulled the door shut behind her. The room was larger than the barn’s bolt hole, but it had the same padded benches along the side and LED light strip overhead. The door at the end was level with the ground and looked like it belonged in a bank vault. The only other difference was a faded La-Z-Boy chair that was still rocking gently back and forth.

  Josef was starting to set Miguel down, but Haley stopped him.

  “We need to keep moving,” she said. “He’s dead without a doctor.”

  “What happened?” Francesca asked.

  “He got shot,” Josef said.

  “No shit,” Francesca said.

  Haley raised her eyebrows at the profanity.

  “Does your car work?” she asked.

  Francesca nodded. “It’ll be a tight fit, though.”

  “We’ll make it work.”

  “Did you bring any weapons?”

  Josef pulled a Glock out of his waistband.

  “That’s it?”

  “I’m a liability with a gun,” Haley said.

  Francesca sighed and hefted her shotgun. She broke it open, double-checking that both barrels were loaded, before snapping it back into a firing position.

  “Do we know where they are?” she asked.

  “They cut the cable line, so we lost the camera feed,” Josef said. “But they were in the barn.”

  “Hopefully they’re still trying to get in the panic room there,” Haley added. “And I don’t think we want to be here when they do.”

  The ragtag group pulled together, Miguel still under Josef’s arm and Francesca leading the way with her shotgun. Haley pushed Jacob along in front of her, trying to ignore the way the boy’s eyes were glued to Miguel’s bloody back.

  The door slid open silently, and Francesca swung the shotgun across the basement with more grace than Haley had expected for the old woman. She looked back and nodded, then started hobbling into the basement. The rest followed. The sound of footsteps and Miguel’s wheezing, pained breaths were the only sounds to break the silence.

  They went up the stairs and through the kitchen. Haley was grateful that the kitchen was around the back of the house but wished she could at least see if there were any Volkags out front.

  Francesca eased the back door open. The backyard was empty, but they could hear shouting and loud banging coming from the barn.

  Francesca held the door open for the rest of the group. Haley moved past Josef but stopped to peek around the corner of the house.

  The two vans were right where she’d expected them to be, not that either one was going anywhere. The back door on the one that Miguel had shot to pieces was open, tools and weapons strewn across the gravel behind it.

  She started to step beyond the house when the barn door opened.

  She ducked back and held up a hand to the others. They stopped, and she put a finger to her lips. She looked around with one eye.

  Vlad and another man who only came up to his chest, walked to the van. Between the banging coming from the barn and the crunch of their feet on the grave
l, she couldn’t make out their voices. Not that she’d have been able to understand what they were saying if they were still speaking Russian.

  The smaller man climbed in the van while Vlad waited outside. The enormous Russian surveyed the house slowly, and Haley eased back to avoid being seen.

  She looked back to the others and held up two fingers. Francesca nodded and pointed at the two barrels of her shotgun.

  Haley considered, but then shook her head. There were probably at least three more in the barn, and she didn’t want to risk a stray bullet hitting Jacob.

  She heard a car door slam, and she leaned around the corner again to see the two Volkags returning to the barn, the shorter one hauling a large saw.

  She waited until they had slipped inside, then waved the rest of forward toward the shed. As Jacob started past, she scooped him up with one arm. They ran across the yard. Haley didn’t bother to try to watch the barn. If any of the Russians came out, they were all dead anyway.

  Haley reached the shed first. She cringed as the hinges squealed as she pushed the door open. Francesca clearly didn’t get out much.

  The others hustled inside, and Haley decided to leave the door open rather than make more noise. The garage itself was dusty and cluttered. Metal shelves lined most of the walls, and an old wooden workbench that came halfway up to Haley’s stomach was littered with tools and scraps of wood. It stood under a window that dominated most of the back wall.

  In the center of the garage was a car with a dirty brown dust cloth over it.

  Josef leaned Miguel against the garage wall. Even in the low light, his face was deathly pale. His eyes were closed, and breaths came shallow, rattling gasps.

  Josef started to pull back the cover, and Haley set Jacob down to help him. Francesca stood next to Miguel.

  “Don’t you die on me,” she hissed.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he whispered.

  “I’m serious,” she said. “I’m going to have to bring you back just so I can whip you if you do.”

  “Wouldn’t—” he cut off in a wheezing cough. Francesca slipped under his arm and tried to lift him up.

  He got his breath under control and tried to take a deep breath, but his face scrunched into a wince at the effort.

  “Wouldn’t want to be a burden,” he said.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “It’d be a pleasure to whip you one more time. Just like you were ten again.”

  He started to laugh, but the smile died as soon as his chest started moving.

  Haley and Josef finished uncovering the car, and Haley realized it was a Crown Vic, probably from the nineties. The paint was chipped and scratched, and Haley could see several tears in the leather seats through the windows. Even with the dust cover, there was a thin film of dirt and grime covering the hood.

  “Sure this thing works?” Haley asked.

  “Did last time I drove it,” Francesca said.

  “And that was . . . ?”

  “Last year,” she said.

  “Just get in,” Josef said. “It’ll either start or it won’t.”

  Haley took a deep breath and held up her hand for the key.

  Josef looked like he wanted to argue, but instead grabbed it off the ring by the door and tossed it to her.

  She popped the driver’s side open and climbed in. The car smelled musty. A cloud of dust popped into the air when she sat.

  She put the key in the ignition, said a quick prayer, and turned the key.

  The engine whined, and the lights on the dash flickered, but it didn’t turn over. At least the tank was still half full.

  She tried again, this time pushing the gas.

  The engine sputtered twice, then thundered to life.

  Haley breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Get in,” she shouted.

  No point in being quiet now. The Russians had to know that they were there.

  Josef helped Miguel and Jacob in the back before hitting the garage door and jumping in beside them. Francesca took the front seat. She immediately rolled down the window and leaned out, her shotgun aimed at the garage door.

  The door crept open slowly. Dust and dirt rained down on the hood of the car as each section rotated up, and it seemed intent on making as much noise as possible. Haley willed the door to open faster, but it continued its constant creeping.

  When it was halfway up, she saw the barn door swing open, and Vlad and two others bolted out. They stopped at the front of the door, mouths agape. Two of the men had sledgehammers, but Vlad was empty handed.

  Francesca fired once, and one of the men staggered back, his jeans ripped and blood spouting from his leg. The others fled back inside.

  Haley smashed the accelerator. There was a horrible scraping sound, and the roof of the car buckled as the bottom of the door scraped the front half of the roof.

  Gravel flew back into the garage as the tires spun out. Haley had to let off the gas a bit, but she spun the wheel and headed toward the driveway entrance.

  The Russians came back out. The smaller man had an AK, which he brought up to bear on the car. But Francesca fired first.

  The man’s upper body disintegrated in the red mist.

  Vlad stepped forward, a pistol in his hand. He fired twice, and Francesca jerked back. The shotgun clattered to the ground behind her.

  Haley yanked the wheel sideways, but bullets broke through the glass, leaving holes in the windshield. From the back seat, she heard more gunshots and realized that Josef was shooting as well. Haley didn’t have time to look in the rearview mirror, but she was glad Jacob was on the opposite side of the car.

  Vlad ducked back into the barn, still firing, but Haley only heard one more bullet hit the car.

  She pulled around the van Vlad had been in, keeping it between them and the barn. She angled toward the driveway, pushing the accelerator as much as she could without losing control.

  “Pull her in,” Haley yelled.

  Josef reached up between the seats and grabbed the back of Francesca’s dress. He tugged and pulled until she was back inside.

  Haley glanced at the older woman and wished she hadn’t.

  Her eyes were glassy, and a ragged red hole stared up from the base of her neck.

  “She’s dead,” Josef muttered.

  Haley could hear the suppressed rage in his voice.

  They didn’t have time for that.

  Haley swerved as another bullet hit the trunk. Josef was thrown sideways into Francesca’s lap.

  Haley reached over with one arm and yanked him back up, then pushed him into the back seat.

  She swerved again and sideswiped the van that had been hit by Miguel’s mine. Metal screeched, and the driver’s side mirror snapped off.

  Then they were around the corner, and the safehouse and barn disappeared from view.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A warrior’s greatest desire may be to go out in a blaze of glory, fighting for their comrades, and serving the country they love.

  Miguel died in a chipped porcelain bathtub in the slums of DC.

  Haley tried to take him to a hospital, but Josef had said they could get a doctor to the house.

  But the doctor wasn’t a trauma surgeon. And the bathtub wasn’t an operating table.

  The man had done what he could, but when he’d tried to get the bullet out, Miguel’s heart decided it’d had enough, and no amount of shocks from the doctor’s portable AED would get it to restart.

  They’d stood in the cramped bathroom, looking at Miguel’s pale face, eyes closed and teeth still biting down on the leather belt, for several minutes before the doctor stood. He pulled the blood soaked latex gloves off and tossed them in the bathtub with the remnants of Miguel’s clothes. Then he turned and pushed past Haley and Eric and went to wash the rest of the blood off in another bathroom.

  Eric paid the man in cash, and he squeezed Eric’s shoulder once before leaving. His converted ambulance roared to life and was a gone a few minutes later. />
  Eric and Josef wrapped both Miguel and Francesca in plastic sheets and loaded them in the back of Eric’s van before leaving.

  Haley put Jacob to bed before taking a long, hot shower. She scrubbed until her skin felt raw, but she was positive she could still see bloodstains. Eventually, she gave up and just sat and cried as the water streamed over her.

  When she’d finally cried all the tears she had, she realized the water had gone cold, and the shivering was not from the exhaustion. She got out of the shower and toweled off, wrapping her hair in another towel and throwing on a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt.

  She checked on Jacob once more. He was sleeping like an angel. Closing the door quietly, she went to the kitchen table and opened the laptop.

  “You’re sure you’re OK?” Clyde asked.

  “I’m fine,” Bonnie snapped. “Just a few bruises and scrapes. Nothing serious.”

  “How did they find you?” Rogue asked.

  “Probably the same way we found them,” Bonnie said. She didn’t mention that it’d probably been Stryker that they’d tracked down.

  The kid sat in his green power armor in a corner booth, staring at the Glock in his hands. His armor scraped and sparked against the tan clay walls any time he moved, but Bonnie hadn’t seen any sparks in a while.

  A band of alien minstrels was playing on a stage at the front of the bar. The light reflected off of their massive black bug eyes and bulbous heads. There were a few stormtroopers and more than a dozen men were walking around in tan shirts, dark brown vests, and trousers, with a distinctive blaster on their hips. The bartenders served drinks from large vats. Transparent tubes snaked down to various drafts, the liquid brightly colored enough to look like glow sticks in the dingy interior.

  Their table was back in a corner booth, though every time Bonnie glanced up, it seemed there were more corners in the room. The table itself was covered in sticky gunk from years of spilled drinks, but it was quiet enough to talk.

  “Are you guys safe?” Clyde asked.

  “As safe as we can be,” Bonnie said with a sigh. “I think the only way they tracked us was through the proxy logs, and we didn’t do anything from here.”