Outlaws of the Midwest | Book 3 | Havoc Endures

by Hunt, Jack

  Grady’s eyes bounced between him and the blade. “What, so you can shoot me?”

  “They won’t shoot. Will you, boys?”

  Jeering and shouting ensued followed by laughter.

  Grady knew this wasn’t going to end well. Santiago lifted his hands to show he had nothing on him. “I’m unarmed. Come on. I’ll only give you one chance. Take it.”

  Grady backed up. “I lose either way. Even if I kill you they’ll kill me.”

  “No, they won’t. Just like I told Jacob before I broke his neck. If you have the balls to waltz in here and take out what is mine, my men will let you walk. Won’t you, boys?”

  They nodded. “See. Now PICK IT UP!” he bellowed.

  6

  Gunnar

  St. Louis, Missouri

  Through the foggy haze of a drug-fueled mind, Gunnar saw the world like a kaleidoscope. One moment he was on the ground, a flood of colors swirling before his eyes, the next, monstrous faces loomed over him. Skulls. A wide grinning nightmare that he couldn’t escape from. Although still unsure of what was real and what was a bad trip brought on by the drugs they’d forced into him, his brain seemed to know who these monsters were – Death Dealers.

  “Put him with the others while I take care of this matter,” he heard a familiar voice say. The synapses in his head tried to make connections, tried to make sense and put a face to the voice, but couldn’t. Meaty hands grabbed him by the arms and hauled him up, dragging him backward. Concrete scuffed his boots. He lifted his gaze and saw a blur of figures, a crowd, and heard jeering. His heavy eyelids closed and he disappeared back into the hallucinogenic world of beauty and horror.

  He’d lost all sense of time.

  Gunnar couldn’t remember when Morgan Jefferies handed him over to Yong, or the savage beating he must have been given, or how long it lasted. Nor could he recall how many days, weeks, or months it had been since he’d wound up in the hands of the Death Dealers. Each second, minute, hour, and day blurred into the next, an endless array of confusing colors, sounds, and torment. Vivid memories of water splashed in his face, knuckles splitting his lip and angry voices repeated on a cycle as if he was stuck in some sick time loop.

  For a moment they stopped dragging him and lowered his body gently to the ground, his sleeve was pulled up and something jabbed his arm.

  A sharp sting.

  More drugs?

  How much more could his body take?

  Hadn’t they given him enough?

  Lifted again, this time his tormentors seemed to support him.

  “How long before that kicks in?” a voice said.

  “Shouldn’t take long.”

  That voice? Familiar. Again his brain tried to make a connection.

  It wasn’t long before the light of day was overshadowed. Gunnar felt numb as they dragged him through a series of rooms, down a flight of steps, through a wrought-iron gate, and then to what looked like a holding pen.

  More voices. It was difficult to discern if he’d heard them before.

  “We’ll take it from here. Santiago wants you topside.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Keys!”

  “Sorry, here you go.”

  A blur of images before his eyes, legs, boots, darkness. The sound of a key clattering as it was inserted into a lock then another voice. “You guys took long enough to get here.”

  “We’re here now, that’s all that matters. You’re responsible to take him out.”

  Gunnar was leaned up against a cage and a monstrous face appeared close to his own, head turning side to side. “How much longer?” the voice asked.

  “Do I look like a doctor?” someone asked.

  “You said it would get him out of this state.”

  Fingers snapped in front of his eyes.

  “No, I said it was a known toxicity treatment and that it works fairly quickly. I don’t have a…”

  “All right. Whatever,” the dismissive voice cut the other person off.

  Gunnar blinked hard. His vision began to improve. The dizziness and nausea he’d experienced along with deep-seated fear was subsiding.

  More fingers snapping in front of his face.

  A slap on the cheek.

  Then his eyes adjusting.

  “Where am I?”

  No reply. The mask of a skull was clearer now. He could see it wasn’t real. Before in the hallucination, it kept morphing and changing shape, the grin widening, but now he could see it was fixed, nothing more than a Halloween costume. Disoriented, he was having difficulty understanding who he was, where he was, or even if what he was seeing was real. Although now, objects appeared solid, not like the shifting sand or endless nightmare that had been his world.

  His senses came online. Each one firing. His mind becoming aware of the temperature, the ground beneath and the figure crouched before him. It smelled damp, grimy, a mixture of earth and steel. Even as his mind reassembled, the nightmare he’d been in was still pulling at him, trying to claw him back into that pit of despair.

  While this was happening, the figure kept turning away and speaking to two others, one had a mask on like his, and the other… He squinted. Something familiar. I know that face. Who are you? As if suffering severe amnesia, and recalling bits and pieces as they fell back into place, he didn’t dwell on what he couldn’t fathom and simply rode out the wave of confusion until it broke on the shore of reality and allowed his mind to fill in the missing pieces; one, being handed over to Yong; two, Arianna crying; three, being restrained and tossed into a truck, and then finally the Death Dealers.

  Death Dealers.

  As fear took hold, he struggled to push the figure away from him only to be forced back against the cage. Words of protest formed in his mouth but sounded garbled as they spilled from his lips. Wake up. Wake up! he told himself, running a hand over his face and…

  “Gunnar. Hey, it’s me…”

  A confused expression washed over him as he extended fingers toward the skull mask only to have the figure lift it. He squinted. Blinked hard. Then it came back to him.

  “Miles?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  Gunnar nearly broke down.

  “Listen, Lucius and Snow will take you out of here. How are you feeling? How are your legs? Can you walk?” The questions came at him fast and furious.

  “Lift me,” he said, raising an arm. Two figures moved forward out of the darkness to assist and he laid his eyes upon a pale-faced individual. He gasped in shock as his brain tried to understand what was before him.

  “It’s all right. I have that effect on people. I’m Snow,” he said as he put an arm around him.

  “Get him out of here,” Miles said.

  “And you?” Snow asked.

  “I’m going back for Grady.”

  “Hold on. Miles. No. Don’t be stupid.”

  “We all leave. That was the deal.”

  “Yeah, well the deal changed. You can hear what’s happening. How do you expect to help?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

  “No. I didn’t come all this way to get him out only to have you be caught.”

  They heard movement, footsteps approaching. Miles pulled his mask back down. “Go!” he said in a firm tone. Snow cursed but relented and with the help of Lucius carried Gunnar out, through a thick bush and away from Cementland to waiting horses.

  Seconds. That’s all he had before the alarm would be raised. Miles pulled back behind one of the concrete walls waiting for whoever was coming. His heart sped up, sweat trickling down his back. He removed a Karambit knife from its sheath and stepped back into the shadows, pressing his back against a crumbling wall.

  Another Death Dealer came around the corner, he had made it a few steps inside the makeshift holding area when Miles attacked. Unfortunately, the guy parried the blow, slapping his knife hand away, and followed through with an elbow to his face. The mask took the full brunt of it, preventing his face from being h
armed, but he was sent hurtling back into the wall. Without missing a beat, Miles lunged forward, scything the air, but the man dodged it by ducking and plowing a fist into his gut and driving him back into the wall. Miles stabbed the guy’s back multiple times but instead of the knife penetrating soft tissue, it banged up against a bulletproof vest. As quick as a flash, the mercenary lifted and tossed him like a rag doll down onto the ground, then mounted him, delivering a serious pounding. One of the punches knocked off his mask and the guy paused for a second. Shock. He knew who he was. Even behind the mask, he saw his eyes widen.

  The jig was up.

  “Hey!” A yell exited his mouth but quickly stifled as Miles brought his legs up and around, locking the guy’s head between his calves. Instantly, they both rolled, shifting into a new position where the mercenary was now on the ground, his hand raking at his side trying to go for his handgun, but Miles stopped that by jamming his knife through his hand and pinning it to his hip.

  A cry escaped the Death Dealer’s lips but was silenced with a twist of the legs.

  His neck broke with a sickening crack and his body went limp.

  Breathing hard, Miles got up, put his mask back on, and checked to see if he had blood on him before he removed the Karambit and slid it back into its sheath. He dragged the limp body away and dropped it down a hole in the ground. He heard it hit the bottom with a dull thud.

  Next, he made his way topside, his thoughts on the plan, on the deal he’d made with Grady. It had worked. They knew it was impossible to pull the wool over Santiago’s eyes and yet that’s what they were counting on.

  From there it would go one of two ways; either he would buy into Grady’s story of being a collaborator who’d nabbed a friend of the Hunter, in which case there was a fifty-fifty chance of getting Gunnar out with someone on the inside, or Santiago would dismiss it as another attempt and while they were distracted, he would enter.

  That’s exactly what they had done.

  Distracted them, then he and Snow had snuck in.

  Once they killed two of the Death Dealers, it was simply a matter of inserting themselves into the chaos and being the ones called upon to drag Gunnar away or being available later to get him out while the others weren’t looking.

  It had worked, but now Grady was in the thick of it.

  Exiting the building and entering the overgrown courtyard with a bridge slung between structures, he joined the rest of the maniacs amped up over a brawl that was taking place between Grady and Santiago.

  Miles slipped unnoticed through the knot of people, just another Death Dealer, a curious onlooker to the madness. Making it to the front, he arrived in time to see Santiago kick Grady in the face while he was down. Battered and bloody, Santiago walked the perimeter of his group, whipping the crowd up into a frenzy as Grady staggered to his feet. The knife was still in the middle, untouched, exactly where it was placed before.

  “Go on, pick it up!” Santiago said.

  Grady shook his head.

  “You’re telling me you won’t take the chance to slit me from ear to ear?”

  “You’re one of us,” Grady replied to Miles’ astonishment. Here was a man that had taken one hell of a beating and if continued would die, and he was comparing Santiago to them? He was nothing like them. He was an animal. A disgrace to the flag. He deserved to die like the rest. Miles’ eyes roamed the rest of the Death Dealers and the collaborators that were assisting. Where was August? Zhang?

  “This is the last chance I’m giving you, then I’m picking it up,” Santiago said. “And trust me, once that blade is in my hands there’s no telling what I’ll do with it.”

  Miles looked over his shoulder, toward the horizon. By now, Snow would have Gunnar loaded up on a horse. He was safe. Out of harm’s way. No more pain would be inflicted on him. He looked back at Grady. Pick it up. Pick it up, he muttered under his breath. With the knife in hand, the odds were in his favor, without it, he might as well… his thoughts trailed off as he stared at Grady’s reluctant demeanor.

  Had he wanted this? A realization came over him. Had Grady offered up this idea with the intention of not making it out? He was beginning to think that he had pulled the wool over his eyes. The plan was clear. It was all a distraction for them to enter and take on the role of a Death Dealer, the only ones masked in the settlement.

  Grady sat down on his haunches and wrapped his arms around his knees. “I’m done.”

  Santiago couldn’t believe it nor could the crowd. He looked surprised at first, then he began to laugh as he went and scooped up the knife and shook it at him. “That’s it? That’s it?”

  Grady lifted his eyes as Santiago sauntered over.

  “Then I guess this is the end of the road for you. Seems the Hunter sent you up the creek without a paddle.”

  He raised the knife but Grady didn’t even flinch.

  Miles’ hand went to his handgun. He could shoot Santiago in the back but there was a fifty-fifty chance the rest would unload on him, or he could…

  “Stop!” he yelled, stepping out and removing his mask as Santiago turned and locked eyes with him. Rifles went up at him so even if he wanted to kill him, he would have been signing his death warrant. “You want me. Here I am.”

  Miles dropped the handgun and it clattered on the weed-overrun concrete.

  Santiago’s brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes darting to where Gunnar had been then back at him. “Don’t bother, Gunnar is far away from here now,” Miles said.

  The news sank in and a smile formed.

  Santiago nodded, scoffed as he slid the knife into its sheath, and then clapped his hands. “Bravo, bravo. I’ve gotta give it to you, Hunter, you have some brass balls.” He paused for a second. “I gather the man who wore what you have on is dead?”

  Miles confirmed with a nod.

  Santiago slowly approached, walking around him.

  “Oh, the stories they tell about you. I’ve been looking forward to this. Miles Arrington, in person, the great Hunter.” He stopped in front of him, lips pursed, studying him like a lab specimen. “Pity August couldn’t be here, he would have loved this.”

  Without breaking his expression Miles asked, “Where is he?”

  “Dealing with business. But that’s neither here nor there.”

  Santiago walked backward, away, studying him, getting closer to Grady who hadn’t moved. “I should have seen this. You know, I went through all kinds of ways that you would enter. Attacking was off the books because that would have been a surefire way to get Gunnar killed, slipping in as a collaborator, well,” he pointed to Grady. “That was to be expected after Branson but you’re not like that, are you, Hunter? You think outside the box.” He stopped and stuck his tongue in the side of his cheek as if he was contemplating a hard equation. “Except you didn’t think this one through, did you? Which makes me think this was someone else’s botched idea.” He looked down at Grady then his eyes darted to Miles. “Oh… I see.” He tutted, shaking his head. Grady stared at Miles. “You see, that’s your weakness, Miles. Your humanity is your downfall. Coming back to save a friend.” He tutted. “Let me take a wild guess, Gunnar isn’t the only one that is far away from here, that little runt that came with him is too, right?” he said, grabbing Grady by the hair and yanking his head back while extracting his knife.

  “Wait,” Miles said, taking a step forward, his hand extended. “Just…’”

  “Just what? Huh? Tell me, Miles, how did you expect to get him out? I mean look around you. There’s not one rifle that’s not pointed at you. This only ends one way and you know it.”

  Miles gave him a hard pensive stare.

  There was a long pause

  “Fine. Kill him then.”

  Grady’s eyes bulged.

  “What?” Santiago asked as if he hadn’t heard him correctly.

  “You heard me. I mean that’s what you’ll do anyway, right? So go on. Slit his throat. Kill a defenseless man.” Santiago stared back at Miles
as he looked around at the crowd. “Come on, Santiago. You’ve got your audience. I’m sure you’re waiting for the applause. I mean, that’s why you need to do this, right? To work out some of those childhood anger issues. To be accepted by these people. This is what you want. All eyes on you, am I right?” Miles strolled around the perimeter, eyeing the collaborators and Death Dealers. “Because I mean without all these people, who are you? Just another bum, another traitor to the flag,” he looked back at him, “a spineless coward.”

  Santiago gritted his teeth and waved the knife at him with narrowed eyes. “I know what you’re doing. I know.”

  “Really? Then do something. You asked Grady to pick up the knife. Are you willing to give me the same opportunity? Huh? How about you and I go toe to toe? I win, we walk. You win, well, you will have every single person here telling a grand story of how you buried the Hunter.” Miles’ hand went to the handle of his knife and he heard guns cocking. His eyes roamed as he slowly reached for it and withdrew the knife. “What do you say?” He flipped the knife in the air and caught it. “You think you can take me?”

  Santiago offered back an incredulous look that quickly changed into a wry smile.

  “Unfortunately, Hunter, your story doesn’t end here, but his does…”

  In one smooth motion, Santiago slit Grady’s throat. Time seemed to slow as Santiago released him and his body fell forward. Before Miles could see if the knife he’d thrown at Santiago hit its target, he felt the impact of a rifle butt to the back of his head. Laughter, jeering, the world turning sideways, only to see the life fading in Grady’s eyes. These were the last few fleeting moments of consciousness.

  7

  St. Louis, Missouri

  Ammonium carbonate attacked his senses, drawing him back to reality. He felt a dull pain at the back of his skull, a constant throbbing. One of Santiago’s men was leaning forward, waving smelling salts below his nose, when his eyes blinked open. The very second he recognized the face, he lashed out, head butting the guy on the nose with his forehead and bursting it like a fire hydrant.