Dissolution: The Wyoming Chronicles: Book One

by W. Michael Gear

  “For a minute,” Breeze whispered hoarsely.

  Come on, Sam.

  She kept expecting him to clamber up onto the breastwork. Pictured how he’d shoot a look back, just to make sure, and leap to the ground before trotting across the open area, that old Marlin hanging from his right hand.

  But he didn’t.

  Her radio crackled. “Sis? You okay?”

  “Yeah. You and Shanteel?”

  “We’re out of their range now. Keep catching sight of Willy across the way. He’s okay.”

  “I’ve got the hostages. What we could get anyway.”

  Should she go back? Look for Sam’s body?

  Torn, Breeze shook her head. The Polaris now erupted in a ball of smoke and fire. Rounds were detonating in the heat, cooking off with hollow popping.

  “God bless you, Sam.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead. “When you get there, tell your Shyla she’s got herself one hell of a man.”

  She turned, meeting eyes with the hostages—singled out the women who’d stopped at the barricades. Crap on a shingle, they looked like field mice come face-to-face with a bobcat.

  “Why the hell did you stop?”

  The ash-blonde cried, “Just run off into the wilderness? Just because we’re told to by people with guns?”

  Breeze raised her M4 their direction. “People died to save your worthless skinny asses. Two good people. If you don’t follow my every direction from here on out, I’ll shoot you myself. Now, get your asses up that trail. They can still send a party after us, so we’re not even close to out of this yet.”

  The panting hostages from the wire enclosure just nodded, turned their clumsy and stumbling steps to the trail.

  Breeze watched them line out.

  Think any of them are worth Sam and Amber’s lives?

  With one last look, she touched the M4’s barrel to her forehead in salute to Sam and Amber and turned her weary feet to the trail and the long climb ahead.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Coming out of disorganized and fragmented dreams, Sam blinked his eyes open to a blurry white light.

  Heterodyne.

  The whole world...vibrating out of tune.

  Worse than any hangover, his tongue had no feeling and just rattled around between his teeth.

  As his mouth finally began to water, he had the first glimmering of understanding: The heterodyne. The dissonant ringing, it was his body. Like that stunned feeling after landing hard from a long fall. His head was filled with a dull, deep-inside-at-the-core ache.

  Thoughts wouldn’t come, just the endless ringing tingle in his body, and as his vision cleared, a sense of vertigo, nausea, and being really, really sick.

  He had no clue where he was. Had no sense of time or place. Just floating misery.

  A door opened, and he realized that his vision had cleared enough that he could recognize a room. Even knew the kind of room if he could just put his thoughts...

  He frowned, having lost track as the man walked across to his bed. Older man. Black short hair. Blue-green smock. Stethoscope.

  The man did something with a little wheel on an IV tube. Bent over Sam, flashed a light into Sam’s right eye, and then left. Took his wrist and lifted his right arm. Poked Sam’s finger, and nodded when he flinched.

  Even as this happened, the room came into clearer focus. Scattered thoughts beginning to fuse.

  “How are you feeling?” the doctor asked. Doctor. That’s right. The room...In a hospital.

  “Who’s paying for this? I only have student insurance.”

  The doctor laughed. “It’ll take a couple of minutes for your brain to clear. You’re lucky to be alive. They found you under a wrecked Polaris.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, that seems to be the subject of a great deal of debate.” The doctor leaned close. “Do you have a name?”

  “Samuel Michael Delgado. My mother was an Alvarez.”

  “Where are you from, Sam?”

  “New York.”

  “How long have you been working for the Director?”

  Sam blinked. Director? His scattered thoughts were running around in circles. “What director?”

  “Director Edgewater. Up at Clark Ranch.” The doctor watched him carefully.

  “Piece of shit.” He swallowed. “Edgewater. Killed Shyla. Wanted her for his...”

  Image by image, it began to coalesce in his brain. “They had hostages. In a fucking wire enclosure. Like Nazis did. And women. Out-of-state girls. Locked in the stable. Sex slaves. Had to save them.”

  “You sure?” the doctor asked. “Word around here is that the stables were a barracks for the director’s men.”

  “We used a Cat. Tore down the fence. Hostages...they all ran.” Sam smiled to himself. “The girls. The hostages. Old guy, red face. We got them out. Breeze and I.”

  “Tell me about the soldiers who raided the director’s ranch. Where did they come from?”

  “Soldiers?”

  “Some kind of paramilitary force. Commandos. Twenty or thirty men. Whose unit? National Guard?”

  “Just five of us. Students, can you believe?”

  The doctor’s eyes narrowed, voice even lower. But then, he’d been speaking softly the whole time. “This is important, Sam Delgado. Whose side are you on?”

  Sam blinked. “Wyoming’s. With Governor Agar. Us...or Edgewater.”

  “Who ordered the attack on the ranch, Sam?”

  “No one. We did it to get the prisoners out.”

  “Sam, this is a really important question: Where are those hostages and girls now?”

  “Some ran the wrong way. Got the others up the canyon. Breeze would have taken them up. High. Back to field camp.”

  The doctor’s lips pursed; the man was obviously thinking. “Can anyone prove that?”

  “Tank. Lehman. They were at the meeting. Down in Cheyenne. With Governor Agar.”

  The doctor took a deep breath. “Wow. Okay. Outside of them, do you have a contact here in Cody? Someone you’d turn to in the event of an emergency?”

  “Cody? Sully Richardson?” Sam frowned, something inside yelling for him to shut up.

  “Sully would vouch for you?”

  Sam was finding it hard to breathe, his chest was really beginning to hurt. “At Tappan’s. Meggan gave him a sandwich and thermos of the last coffee.”

  The pain began to intensify. “What hurts so bad?”

  “Broken ribs, cracked pelvis, fractured cheek bone, internal bruising.” The doctor stood, fiddling with the little wheel on the IV.

  Sam felt a slight rush of relief flow through him like a cool breeze as the doctor said, “You go back to sleep now, Sam. I think things are going to get a little grim around here.”

  Sam watched the doctor step out the door where a guard with an AR15 stood; dressed in black, hair close-shaved to his scalp, the guard didn’t look happy.

  “How’s he doing, Doc?” the guard asked. “The director really wants to talk to him.”

  “He’s in critical condition,” the doctor said. “Be a couple of days. If I can keep him alive that long.”

  The floating sensation was coming back, the pain receding. Sam almost sighed in relief.

  Down the hall, he heard a man shouting, “My son’s been shot in the genitals, damn you. He’s going to spend the rest of his life without manhood, dribbling into a bag, and that son of a bitch in there might know who’s responsible!”

  “Now, now,” a reasonable voice replied. “One thing at a time, Commissioner. We’ll get to the bottom of this, and when we do, the punishment will be excruciating. Ex crux. Meaning from the cross. Crucifixion. Yes. That’s how we’ll punish the people responsible.”

  Sam knew that voice. Had heard it... Where?

  A face drifted out of the mist that his thoughts were descending into. A round face, with a small mouth, a dinky nose in too much skin. Obsessed gimlet eyes, fixed on Shyla...

  ...The people responsible.<
br />
  Sam floated deeper into the mist, thoughts beginning to scatter. Responsible. Re spon si ble. Four syllables. Nice word. Meaning... Meaning...

  And then even that question drifted into a gray oblivion.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The similarities to herding cattle weren’t lost on Breeze Tappan. Like pushing beeves, the freed hostages balked, bawled, and just didn’t have it in them to hurry as they lined out on the trail. Also, like cattle, some moved the herd better than others. Especially Shirley Mackeson, the gray-haired woman. Turns out she was a Park County commissioner who’d defied Edgewater’s takeover of the county government.

  Others just couldn’t get it into their heads that they had to travel. Including Tom and Sally Visange, who’d owned one of the auto dealerships. Also slow and stunned were Harry Nelson and John Baker. Both bank presidents who’d had their vaults cleaned out by Edgewater’s goons.

  Unlike beeves, however, the freed prisoners understood a verbal threat.

  “You’re going to move,” Breeze insisted as she leaned down from Joker and pointed a finger at the black-haired young woman with startling blue eyes. She claimed her name was Joelle. “If you don’t, we’ll leave you for the wolves.”

  “What do you people want with us?” Joelle cried, fists knotted.

  “Is it so hard?” Danielle asked, striding up. “We’re trying to save your lives.”

  “Here?” Joelle stared around at the slopes, trees, and sky. “In the wilderness?”

  “Where are you from?” Breeze demanded.

  “Marin County,” Joelle declared. Then, seeing it made no impact, added, “That’s in California. Across the bridge from San Francisco.” She pointed at another woman, a busty brunette. “Michaela and I were trying to get home from Minneapolis when they...they...” Her expression began to cave.

  “So, get it together,” a strawberry blonde in her early twenties said as she came walking up.

  Breeze recognized the woman—one of the few who’d taken immediately to the situation back in the stable and led the way up the canyon. The strawberry blonde—who she’d heard called Mary Lou—looked to be in her early twenties, pale pink in complexion with green eyes and a perfect body. But then the freed women were all physically attractive. Apparently, that was the single criterion that damned them, along with being from out of state.

  “So, let’s move it, huh?” Shirley Mackeson snapped as she strode up. “Or would you rather be back in that stable still being gang-fucked by whatever shit heels unlocked that door.”

  Joelle—who’d been the center of attention—nodded, and added, “Do you trust these people? I mean, they’ve got guns and they’re marching us into the wilderness.” She shot a suspicious glance at Brandon and Willy where they were leading the pack mules up the trail.

  Mackeson snapped, “Get your ass moving, California.” Then she raised her voice. “All of you! We’ve got to move. Get away from here. There will be a time for payback, but we’ve got to stay free in the meantime.”

  “Shirley?” Harry Nelson asked. “Where’s Frank?”

  “Who’s Frank?” Breeze asked.

  “From the Buffalo Bill museum,” Harry told her. “You know. Older guy. He was with us. Why isn’t he here?”

  “Yeah. White shirt. They shot him when he couldn’t go any farther.”

  “They shot a lot of people,” Shirley said bitterly. “Now, let’s go. From here on out, everyone does what Breeze orders. Got it?”

  They nodded, glancing uneasily among themselves, and started along the trail again, letting Breeze bring up the rear with Danielle.

  “Should have brought more horses,” Danielle said, glancing at the sun easing past its noon high. “How fast can they walk? How far?”

  “Maybe we can make five or six miles today,” Breeze answered, looking back across the meadow to where their camp had been. Would there be pursuit? Would Edgewater try and take the prisoners back? Hell, was he even alive? Or had he been crushed when the house collapsed?

  The strawberry blonde had dropped back, looked up from where she walked. “You’re Breeze Tappan,” she said. “I know you.”

  “From where?”

  “Saw you ride. I did some rodeos. Wasn’t nearly good enough.” She paused. “I’m Mary Lou Finch. From Greybull. Finch Ranches.”

  “I know some of the Finches. How’d you end up back there?” Breeze nodded back toward the South Fork.

  “Got accepted to the University of Washington. I’d driven out to check out the campus. Figure out which dorm and all. I was headed home when a couple of Frederick’s guys stopped me at a roadblock north of Cody.”

  “Thought they didn’t take local girls,” Danielle said as she walked her horse behind Joker.

  “Yeah, well, lucky me.” Mary Lou spit the words. “Figured that if I was coming back from Washington, my folks would think I vanished somewhere along I-90. Edgewater told me that as long as I ‘held his interest’ he’d keep me alive. After that, I’d join the rest along the south fence.”

  “The south fence?” Breeze asked.

  “Yeah,” Shirley Mackeson called back. “That’s where they buried the people they executed. Anyone they’d arrested who was no longer useful to them. Made us watch so we’d understand. They’d shoot the person, toss the body into the bucket and drive the backhoe up to the south fence. Dig a hole and drop them in.”

  “How many?” Breeze asked.

  “Maybe twenty-some that I know of. Probably a lot more.”

  Mary Lou said, “Most of the girls don’t make it past their first night with Edgewater. I kind of had special dispensation because the director knew that Frederick wanted me for his private property.”

  “Private property?” Breeze asked.

  “His alone,” Mary Lou said. “The alternative was communal property, which means anyone, anytime, in any number up to what they called group screw.”

  “Jesus,” Danielle whispered. “How long were you there?”

  “I stopped counting days,” Mary Lou replied. “After the director was done with me, I did what I had to do to keep Frederick happy.” A pause. “You never know what you’ll agree to, how far you’ll go to justify it to yourself. Wasn’t any ambiguity left. Either I was one un-Godly fucking machine, or I was dead.”

  Mary Lou glanced back at Breeze. “Doesn’t get much simpler than that, does it?”

  “Nope.” Breeze shook her head. “Shit. Wish I’d killed more of that trash back there.”

  “I can’t believe this is real,” Danielle cried. “It’s America, for fuck’s sake!”

  “Yeah,” Shirley Mackeson almost spat the words. “It’s real.”

  “Then maybe what we paid is worth it,” Danielle told her. “Amber and Sam? I mean, they were our strength. Kept us together. But for them, there’s no telling where any of us would be now. If we’d even be alive.”

  Breeze narrowed her eyes. She’d had her doubts about Amber Sagan and Sam Delgado, but would she have been willing to sacrifice herself like they did?

  Did these people—especially the ones like Joelle—understand?

  “Mary Lou?” Breeze called, “Do you get it that people died to get you out of there?”

  “Yeah. As much as I ever can.”

  “I’m relying on you. We’ve got to keep all of you alive. You understand that don’t you? The fight’s not over. We’re going to bring Edgewater down.”

  “So, like, what’s the plan?” Shirley Mackeson asked.

  “It’s a hard, three-day hike to the field camp. Then it’s a couple of days to check out the situation. Get a hold of the right people. Get your statements.”

  “What are you thinking?” Danielle asked.

  “People can stand giving up property when the country’s against the ropes, but they won’t stand for the executions or what Edgewater and his goons did to these women. Word gets out, it won’t matter how many men he’s got. As long as these witnesses are alive, he’s vulnerable.”

&nbs
p; “So he’s going to come after us?” Danielle asked.

  Shirley Mackeson shot a look over her shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about what you did back there to Edgewater. Taking us. Ruining up his ranch. Killing his men. The guy thinks he’s an emperor.”

  “No shit,” Mary Lou told her. “Dressed in a sheet one night and made me call him Caesar while he raped me. You better bet he’s going to send someone after you. And they’ll be coming for blood.”

  Breeze nodded, seeing it unfold. “Change of plans,” she said. “Today we make tracks. Tomorrow, we take to the timber and the rocks, figure out how to hide our trail.”

  Danielle asked, “What if they’ve got someone as good as Brandon?”

  “Then we’d better figure out how to kill him before he can kill us.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Like a mouse surrounded by flames, Sam’s soul shrank back, tried to cringe, and would have done anything to escape the pain. Nothing had ever hurt like this. He hadn’t known he could hurt like this.

  Words would not describe.

  The truck bounced, and Sam gasped, wishing for silence, wishing any hint of movement would stop.

  “How are you doing?” a woman’s voice asked.

  He pried his eyes open, surprised when even that hurt, as if a spear where thrust through his brain.

  In the dim light he could barely see her, aware that he lay on a gurney, and was riding in the back of a van. Ahead of him, a driver and another man were illuminated in the dash lights.

  “He’s coming out of it,” the woman said. “His pulse is elevating.”

  Sam caught the doctor’s profile as he turned in the passenger seat. Yes, the same doctor from the hospital.

  “Hang in there, Sam. It won’t be long now.”

  “Long for what?” Sam whispered dryly.

  “You’re a very important person,” the woman told him. In a flash from an overhead light, he caught a glimpse of her. She had clipped her hair behind her head. Looked to be late thirties and was wearing scrubs. A name tag hanging from a lanyard was too dark to read.