Outlaws of the Midwest | Book 3 | Havoc Endures

by Hunt, Jack

  Seated before him was a man that at a glance resembled the one they called the Hunter. He wore form-fitting camo attire and a quiver on his back, the only two things missing were the mask that covered the lower half of his face and his bow.

  “I’m sure you’re aware of who I am. If not, my name is Miles Arrington. Though you are probably more familiar with the term, the Hunter. I understand you have a friend of mine, Gunnar Nelson. I’m told you don’t care who you work for or what you do, only how much you get paid. My message to you is simple, tell me what you want and perhaps I can get it in exchange for Gunnar’s life. He’s of no use to you in this war and I’m sure by now you have realized he doesn’t care whether he lives or dies. So the question is what do you want? Now, I assume with all that’s occurred in Branson, you want to avoid more bloodshed. Let’s be honest, the only ones who seek to benefit from any of this are the PLA. You’re American. Whether you love this nation or despise it, you know as well as I do that the PLA only works with people for as long as they are of use to them. Once you cease to be of use, they toss you out with the trash. Trust me on it, I’ve seen it. So it’s up to you. Do we do this the easy way where you get what you want or the hard way? Once you have recorded your decision, place the phone back on the drone where you found it and we will go from there.”

  The video cut out and Santiago chuckled, clutching the phone tight.

  He mused. What do I want?

  What he wanted changed often.

  But this time he knew.

  “What do you want us to do?” Hargrave asked.

  He lifted a finger as he turned the phone on himself and recorded a message. “Hunter. I agree to your terms. I also want to avoid further bloodshed. However, what I want is simple… it’s you.”

  With that said, he switched off the phone and handed it back to Hargrave. “Return it to where you found it, pull back and wait for it to rise, then take a team and follow it. A high-end drone like this can’t go further than three miles at the maximum. Stay hidden. Report back what you see.”

  He turned and walked away, stifling a laugh. The nerve of the man. Did he think that sending a drone would avoid a confrontation? That he would simply ask for a stack of gold and be done with it? This went beyond a business exchange, it was personal. His eyes roamed the bright morning sky and the heavy woodland that surrounded Cementland.

  Upon making it back to the tower, he found the man he had beaten barely alive. He’d bled so badly that he was nearly unconscious. Santiago yanked his head back and slapped him a few times to get his eyes to open. The moment he did, he said, “Now where were we?”

  North, only a mile away, a young scout dashed through woodland, clutching the cell phone that had purposely been dropped from the drone. Miles and a small group were awaiting his arrival at a campsite on the other side of the Missouri River on Cora Island. The blond, blue-eyed kid couldn’t have been more than twelve, his bandy legs pounded the earth as he burst into view. “I’ve got it. I’ve got it,” he said, beaming from ear to ear as he shook the device above him.

  “And the drone?” Miles asked.

  “I made it go east.”

  Miles made his way over. “Did you see them follow it?”

  He nodded.

  Miles ruffled his hair. “Well done, Scott.”

  He would have gone and done it himself but with a heavy bounty on his head, being seen or trusting locals was getting harder by the day. Miles had stopped wearing the flag and baseball cap and made himself look like any one of the militia. The only time he put the quiver on his back was to go on camera for Santiago. Miles returned to Snow, Tex, Lucius, and Grady. Grady was among the thirty-four that had survived the attack outside the cavern. They’d joined up with local militia and after several weeks he’d rejoined the group. Seeing him again was a relief and yet hard, as he knew he’d lost close friends in the attacks, people he’d known for most of his life.

  “So what did he have to say?” Lucius asked, bouncing up, curious.

  Miles’ interactions with him had improved over the past few weeks. While he occasionally took the odd potshot, he’d eased off the whole hero thing after finding his place among the group. Miles had come to learn that a lot of his angst, his issue with him, wasn’t personal, it came from a lack of attention growing up and going from one foster home to another. Threats were common, the need to act tough even more so.

  Miles powered on the cell phone and they watched the short message.

  None of them reacted as it was to be expected. The truth was the option of raiding Santiago’s settlement was never in the cards. They weren’t slow to react like the PLA, or wet behind the ears. They were trained mercenaries. The ones government sent in to handle jobs others couldn’t do. Any plan they had in mind would have been expected. Besides, their numbers were small, and with little to no tree coverage around Santiago’s den, it would have been near impossible to make it in without one or more being injured.

  Ideas were tossed around, the first being the most logical. A man like Santiago was used to being paid by others, perhaps he would be open to bargaining for the right price.

  The problem was it wasn’t money he wanted, it was him.

  “Well that figures,” Snow said, taking a seat on a log.

  “No offense but I saw that coming,” Lucius added.

  Tex leaned against a tree, a reed in his mouth, chewing on the end. “Next.”

  Miles was hoping, really hoping that he would go for it. It wasn’t like he’d killed any of his men. The only agreement Santiago had with the PLA was gold related, he had no problem with him. Then again, Miles didn’t know what the full picture was. “Well, I guess we move on to plan B.”

  “Plan B?” Snow asked. “You mean suicide.”

  “No, he wants me,” he replied.

  “Yeah, you, not us. He wants you, we’re dispensable.”

  “You wouldn’t be going in,” Miles added.

  “So, you’re just planning on waltzing in there?”

  “Something like that.”

  “There we go again with the hero stuff,” Lucius said, lifting his hand in the air.

  “Worked last time, right?”

  Lucius was the first to jump on that. “It worked but we lost several good people, including Scarlett, or have you forgotten?”

  Miles glared at him for even mentioning Scarlett. They knew how close he was to her and that he’d done everything he could to get her out. “Of course not. I’m not asking any of you to go in. It’s me he wants.” Miles went over to a horse and collected his bag and slung it over his shoulder as the others watched.

  “And then what? Miles, you know he’s not going to release Gunnar,” Snow said.

  “He won’t kill us, Yong wants us.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that.”

  “I have an idea,” Grady piped up. “I mean if you’re willing to listen.” He lifted his eyes from his place beside the fire. Grady had for the most part shown a lot of leadership skills in the past according to Gunnar. He was the one Gunnar was convinced should have been leading the group, not Demar or Arianna. Still, since his return, he had remained quiet, contemplative, almost like a fly on the wall, lost in thought and only tossing in his two cents when asked.

  Miles looked at the others and shrugged. “I’m all ears.”

  4

  Grady

  A light rain pounded hard against the city landscape of St. Louis. The wind seemed to know what was about to take place as it howled, blowing furiously, spinning grit in the air and creating mini-tornadoes and then vanishing only to reappear. Riverview Drive wound its way through the heart of the city and around the perimeter of the Mississippi River. Clogged by burned-out vehicles and the bones of the fallen, the road revealed its own story of the war that had swept through the city. Many buildings had been leveled by bombs, and those left standing looked eerie with smashed windows and graffiti sprayed all over. In as little as five years, Mother Nature had taken over, weaving green
ery through every crack, covering walls, and growing over vehicles.

  On any other day, the road they traveled would have been a path that even the bravest might have given a wide berth out of fear of roaming gangs, but now it was the only way to reach Cementland, a 54-acre site that was formerly a cement factory.

  At one time it had been the dumping ground for construction crews looking to get rid of excess dirt and rock when the cement factory had been abandoned. Not long after the factory’s closure, a local sculptor had decided to turn the place into an art amusement park, filling it with statues and sculptures and archaic machinery in the grand hope of drawing in crowds. Unfortunately, his vision fell victim to an accident which led to his death and the work remained unfinished. An eyesore among the many modern buildings surrounding the old factory, the courtyard of cement, rock, metal, and machinery now blended in nicely as nothing more than ruins shrouded by overgrown vegetation.

  It seemed an appropriate location for a vile traitor like Santiago.

  “How the hell do I end up getting sucked into these insane plans?” Lucius asked.

  Grady shook his head. “Because you and I haven’t been seen by Santiago and his crew.”

  “And August?”

  “He’s not there.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Grady stopped walking as he held on to a handcuffed Lucius. “You had the opportunity to back out but you said you wanted to do it.”

  “I was under pressure. Okay! What was I meant to say, no, and then look like a giant pussy in front of Miles and the others?”

  “Seriously, you’ve got to get over your need to impress others. You’re a grown-ass man. Besides, no one cares.”

  They continued walking. Grady was outfitted in a collaborator’s uniform while Lucius had donned militia fatigues with a patch on the left shoulder that made it clear he belonged to the resistance. “What about Jacob?”

  “What about him?”

  Jacob was a resistance member who’d volunteered to go in under the guise of wanting to join Santiago’s crew.

  “If this infiltration method could have worked, don’t you think he would have gotten Gunnar out by now? He was meant to be back four days ago and no one has seen or heard from him. They have probably put a bullet in his head, which is exactly what they’ll do to us.” He scuffed his boots as they walked down the empty road, smoke rising in the distance from buildings, a few pockets of fire still burning. Smoke drifted across the road, giving the place an even more ominous feeling. He continued, “I still think my idea of attacking them at night would have worked.”

  “Maybe, and it might have gotten Gunnar killed in the process.”

  Lucius shrugged. “I don’t get what the big deal is with this guy. Jo Greene — I understood. She had some bearing on this war but Gunnar, he’s just a face, another American, another…”

  Grady turned on him and grabbed him by the collar. “That guy is the reason you are alive. So show him some damn respect.”

  With both hands raised, he backed up and replied, “All right, man, all right, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

  “Just stick to the plan.”

  “I’m just saying, I don’t see why we’re sticking our neck on the line when it’s Miles they want.”

  Grady ignored him. Lucius didn’t have a clue about what was happening. The reason they hadn’t attacked Santiago was far more complex. They still didn’t have the full backing of militia. A lot had changed. Even though he’d escaped with a large group, most of them had chosen to go their own way, fearing for their lives. He couldn’t blame them. Sticking together brought its own risks. Instead of banding together and working toward the same cause, most preferred to go it alone, or run in smaller groups.

  They also weren’t stupid. They knew that Gunnar was being used as bait to draw them out. No doubt if they had charged in there with fifty fighters, the PLA would have been on hand ready to scoop them up. No, instead they’d contemplated a few different approaches. The first was to send in Jacob, a guy who had volunteered to go scope out the place.

  Sure, Lucius might have been correct. There was a high chance Jacob was dead as he hadn’t returned, just like Darius hadn’t, but there was also the possibility he had escaped but chosen not to return out of fear of leading Santiago’s crew to their camp.

  They wouldn’t know until they arrived.

  As they got closer to Cementland, Grady soaked in the sight of the overgrown lot. The old cement plant had a row of silos and a 250-foot smokestack. Most of the chain-link fencing that had been used to keep out oddity explorers, graffiti artists, and late-night teenagers were now on the ground, hidden beneath wild, unruly bushes and knee-high weeds. “All right, keep your eyes peeled,” Grady said as they stopped short of the site and studied the drab and dreary concrete structure that loomed in the distance. Grady kept a firm grip on Lucius’ arm, guiding him through a thicket of trees.

  “You are aware if this goes south, it won’t just be me who goes down,” Lucius said. “Have you considered breaking away from Miles, doing your own thing like some of the others?”

  “Shut up, Lucius,” Grady replied, his face a mask of seriousness.

  “Look, I’m just saying. We’re risking a lot here. What if they shoot me?”

  “Maybe then you’ll shut up.”

  “Grady.”

  “I’m joking. They won’t. Okay? You know things.”

  “Things? Oh, great, so I’ll be tortured.”

  “We won’t be here that long.”

  Lucius shook his head. It was clear he was scared and fear was getting the better of him the closer they got. “You seem confident and yet I haven’t heard how you plan to get Gunnar out.”

  “I won’t know until I’m in there.” He stopped walking. “That’s the risk we have to take, okay? Any more questions?”

  “If I think of any, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  Grady rolled his eyes.

  They trudged on, over a desolate patch of road covered in dirt and grass until they reached mounds of dirt that had been piled high, most of it now covered in untamed weeds. “Seriously, if this was meant to be an amusement park, the guy was way off base,” Lucius said. “I mean, I guess you can just make out what looks like the remnants of a castle, but where are the water slides, the rides? Sounds like our man bit off more than he could chew.”

  “Would you just shut up,” Grady said.

  They noticed a gazebo, and steel bridges that linked buildings, and a dug-out depression in the ground that was either going to be a swimming pool or a small pond. The place was silent. He was expecting to see armed guards patrolling but there was no one. That soon changed as they rounded a huge mound of dirt. The sound of guns cocking could be heard, then orders were barked as Death Dealers, outfitted in black trench coats and faces hidden behind hockey masks, came into view. Nearby, collaborators were emerging in openings in the building’s structure, rifles angled at them.

  “Get on the ground, now!” a voice bellowed.

  “Do as they say,” Grady whispered.

  Both dropped to their knees but Grady was quick to identify himself. “I’m bringing in a militia member. Says he knows the Hunter’s location.”

  He figured getting that out there fast would avoid them being shot.

  Swarmed by armed guards, their faces were pressed to the ground as they were frisked for weapons. They removed a handgun from Grady but that was it. They’d purposely made sure not to carry anything that might seem like they were in communication with anyone, or planning to attack. Hauled to their feet, both were shoved aggressively beneath a bridge that spanned over a spillway and toward a main building that resembled something out of the Oklahoma City bombing.

  Nothing but concrete, rubble, and rebar.

  Someone had strung up sheets of thick, clear plastic in front of openings to prevent the wind from entering. Inside, they were guided around multiple holes and up several flights of crumbling steps, each o
ne as precarious as the last. One slip and they could find themselves falling thirty feet to their death. Grady wasn’t sure what was more unnerving, the condition of the place, which felt like a house of cards ready to fall at any second, or that they’d chosen to take up residence here. Of all the places in the city and they chose this shithole, it didn’t make any sense.

  The grinding of guitars, the beating of drums, and a melody could be heard. A solar generator was churning away, providing electricity to make their lives a little less dismal. Light from a series of bulbs hanging loosely from cable snaked along the ceiling above them, offering some additional illumination. Grady scanned every opening looking for a sign of Gunnar but the Death Dealers made a point of surrounding them to ensure they didn’t see more than they should.

  Eventually, they passed through an archway that led into an expansive room full of rusted metal beams, grates on the floor, and huge rusted funnels hanging from the ceiling with peeling paint.

  One look at the place and it was clear why they chose here rather than one of the many hotels throughout the city, it was rough, remote, and less likely to be targeted by militia as most if not all the attacks on PLA occurred at hotels where soldiers were stationed.

  “Wait here,” one of them barked.

  Grady looked either side at the men holding M4 rifles on them. He watched one of them approach a bald man sitting on a leather sofa with scantily clad women either side of him. There was a table in front of him covered in bottles of alcohol, cigarettes, bowls of bread, and slices of dried meat along with fruit. His eyes drifted as a woman wearing nothing but a thong slid down a pole, gyrating to the beat of the music. The bald guy looked past his friend who was bent over whispering a few words into his ear. He listened intently then nodded. He motioned with a wave of his hand for the music to be turned down. A hush fell over the room. He was an intimidating man to look at, his tattoos of skulls, a grim reaper, and a dragon caught Grady’s attention. The upper half of his body and arms were covered in them. There was hardly any skin that hadn’t been touched by ink. Accompanied by two Death Dealers, he crossed the room.