by Hunt, Jack
Darius hurried down the hallway and made it roughly halfway down before he stopped and pointed to a door. Sensing something wasn’t right, Murphy told him to enter first. He did, and upon opening the door, they found an empty room.
Losing his cool, Murphy grabbed him by the collar.
“What is going on, Darius?”
“They moved her. That’s not my fault.”
They backed up to the stairwell and Keith confirmed he hadn’t heard anyone. No sight. No sound. Murphy was beginning to feel they should pull out while they had the chance. Back in the stairwell, he addressed them. “The mission has changed. From here on out, the risk just got higher. If you want to pull out, now is the time to tell me. I’m ready to go either way.”
They looked at each other and glanced back up the stairwell.
Jake was the first to respond. “I say we try a few more floors. If she’s not there or we encounter more soldiers than we can handle, then we pull out.”
They agreed with a nod and began to descend.
With time not on their side, they didn’t have the luxury of being able to clear every room on their way down, that had been a mistake. Upon entering floor nineteen, it all happened so quickly. One moment there was no sound, no sign of hostiles, the next, soldiers came out of every door behind them, rifles locked on them. Voices bellowing for them to drop their weapons.
Although he knew all of them were ready to die right there and then, the will to live was stronger. One by one they lowered their weapons and placed them on the floor as they were swarmed and thrown on their bellies, their wrists zip-tied.
From the floor, Murphy lifted his head as a door at the far end of the corridor opened and General Yong appeared, walking confidently toward them.
Before he was even a few feet inside, Darius started blabbing at the mouth.
“I told you I would deliver them.”
“That you did. For a moment I thought you might go back on your promise after we cut you loose. Now I can see you are a man of your word.”
“You bastard,” Murphy said.
“Screw you. There’s more at stake than what you know.”
“Is the first lady even here?”
Yong answered that, crouching down in front of him. “She’s dead. And soon her husband will join her.”
In a defiant act, Murphy spat on Yong’s boot. Yong calmly wiped it off, rose, and then kicked him full force in the face, breaking his nose instantly. “Patriots. God, I hate them.”
“C’mon man, cut me loose,” Darius whined.
“Sure, allow me to do that.” Yong took out a knife and got behind him and released his binds. Darius rubbed his wrists and smiled, even taking a moment to crouch in front of Murphy and mock him. “This is why you will never run the Midwest. You see…”
Before he could get the rest of the words out, Yong came up behind Darius and cut his throat, dropping his body. Murphy turned his head and stared into a shocked face as Darius choked on his blood.
“Can’t stand disloyalty. If a man is willing to do that to his countrymen, can you imagine what he would do to us, given the chance?”
23
August
Chicago
August’s frustration had reached a boiling point. All attempts at finding Miles’ father had come up short, and news of Santiago’s demise and Gunnar’s escape only added fuel to the flames. His hatred for his long-time friend had only amplified after the death of Scarlett. He’d loved her but her betrayal had sent him over the edge. If he couldn’t have her neither would Miles. Upon returning to Chicago to assist General Yong in the war against America, he was pleasantly surprised to see an influx of resistance members, a few he recognized. They were being housed in the Metropolitan Correctional Center, a wedge-shaped building on Van Buren Street, in the Chicago Loop not far from Monroe Harbor. August had volunteered to interrogate them for intel. Not only would it give him an outlet for his pain and anger but it offered the chance to learn the whereabouts of Miles.
As it would happen he wouldn’t need to search far.
Murphy spat a glob of blood with a tooth in it while August rubbed his knuckles. He’d been at it several hours, taking each of them through a series of torturous assaults.
“Where is he?”
“Don’t you think if we knew we would have told you by now?”
“No.”
“Then why do this?” Murphy asked.
“Because it’s fun.”
Murphy sneered at him. “You’re a traitor to your country.”
August unleashed another furious flurry of hooks, jabs, and uppercuts. Each one hitting with bone-cracking power. He was pretty sure he’d broken the jaw of one of Murphy’s pals already.
A door opened, and one of the collaborators called out to him. August loomed over Murphy, glaring at him. “I’ll be right back.” He chuckled as he wiped blood from his hands and strolled across the tiled floor and through a door to join Harris, another American with a taste for blood. Harris hailed from Chicago, a former trash collector for the city, this was a step up for him. With collaborators no longer wearing face coverings, they’d seen a decrease in the number of attacks by militia, those who had sneaked in under the guise of being one of them.
Still wiping his hands with a rag now scarlet in color, he asked, “What is it?”
“A resistance member has been found. Surrendered without a fight. Says he needs to speak to you.”
August chuckled. “I expect he does. Probably to beg for his life. Who is it?”
“Miles Arrington.”
He stopped wiping his knuckles and felt a surge of excitement with a healthy dose of skepticism. “Does Yong know about this?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Good. Let’s keep this between us.” He motioned for him to lead the way. On route, he asked if he was found alone and was told that he was but they had soldiers searching the streets in the surrounding area. Upon making it to the ground floor of the twenty-eight story building, he was brought into a processing area. All the while as he made his way to the room, he couldn’t help but think that this was some trap, some ploy, a joke even. Maybe they’d mistaken him for someone else or one of the resistance was trying to impersonate Miles. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Word of his acts of valor had spread far and wide, and become somewhat of a myth among Americans. It had inspired many to rise and take back their towns and gave others the courage to hide resistance members.
As a door was opened for him and he entered, his eyes widened and a smile formed. Surely it couldn’t be this easy. All this time pursuing him. All the questioning, the torture of militia, and he simply surrenders?
He didn’t look much different from when he saw him last, in Branson on top of the hotel. His wrists were bound in front of him, and he’d been placed on a seat in a room that might have been used by cops to question inmates. As soon as they locked eyes, Miles straightened in his chair.
Without saying a single word, August strode over and struck him with as much force as he could directly in the face. Miles soared back, the punch knocking him and the chair down.
He leered over him, then turned to the soldiers. “Leave us alone,” he said. They closed the door behind them and August paced, not saying anything but simply soaking in the moment.
“Why did you kill her?” Miles asked as he wiped blood from his lips with both hands.
In an instant, August darted toward him. “You don’t get to ask why. You don’t get to ask any questions.”
He unleashed a hard kick to his stomach, and Miles groaned.
August stepped back and observed him. “So what’s the plan, huh? Because there is no way you would purposely walk in here without something up your sleeve. What are you, the distraction?”
Miles spat blood and shook his head.
“A sacrificial lamb?” August asked. “No, I know why you’re here. You think you’re going to negotiate. Isn’t that right? You’ve bought into your own hype and n
ow you think you’re untouchable.”
“Scarlett didn’t do anything to you.”
August fired off another kick, this one to his face. “Did you not hear me?”
“It wasn’t a question.”
Infuriated, he grabbed him by the collar and lifted him, slamming him against the wall and holding on to him tightly. “You killed my father.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“DON’T LIE!” he bellowed in his face, spit covering him. August delivered a few more hard blows to his stomach and tossed him on the table, pressing his head down with one hand and pushing his handgun against his temple. “Your arrow was found in him.”
“That’s what Morgan wanted to you to believe.”
“Lies,” August bellowed. He struck his head with the butt of his gun, slicing open the skin.
Breathing hard, Miles spat out, “In my pocket. There is a recorder. Listen to it.”
“I don’t need to. I already know.”
“Listen to it!”
August stared at him, teeth gritted together. It was taking every ounce of willpower not to pull the trigger. He planned on killing him but he wanted Miles to suffer first, and a bullet would be too quick. He glanced at his pocket and considered his request. “Please, August.”
He removed the hand holding him down and fished out of his pocket a small recorder. He hit play and walked away.
A few seconds and then…
It was Morgan. He could recognize that voice anywhere. There was no stress in his voice. No one was forcing him to confess. He sounded relaxed, at ease, without fear. He heard Arianna talking to him. August cut Miles a glance as it continued to play. As the confession came out, his steely demeanor changed.
“Of course the Hunter didn’t kill him. I needed to fabricate a story. He fit the bill and it worked. August bought it, hook, line, and sinker as did the rest of the town.”
Miles remained quiet as he listened to the rest, then August switched it off.
“Then who killed him?”
There it was, the question.
“He killed himself,” Miles said, his words coming out short and fast as he tried to catch his breath. “The day I helped you and Scarlett escape the transport truck, he came to my home. Gave me what I needed. He arranged the support of the militia. Helped me get you out.” He paused for a second as he leaned back in his chair. “I heard the gun go off and found him inside.”
“He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“I don’t know what to say, August. I just know I never did it. I looked up to that man like he was my father.”
August looked over at him. He’d known Miles long enough to know when he was lying or telling the truth.
“But that’s not all,” Miles said then paused. “August. You’re my brother.”
He squinted hard, took a few steps back, confusion taking hold
“What?”
“We share the same mother. My father told me.”
How could this be?
“So Grant is alive.”
Miles nodded but didn’t tell him where he was.
“Brother? That’s impossible. We are the—”
“Same age?” Miles interrupted, shaking his head. “No. You’re older by a year and a half. After you were born, my mother handed you to Demar and told my father that she’d had a stillbirth. Look at your skin, August.”
His father had told him his mother was white and yet every photo he’d seen of his father with women, they were black. August took a few steps back, shaking his head. It was a lot to take in, too much. First his father, now this? Miles — his brother?
“But…”
“I know,” Miles replied. “I couldn’t believe it either but my father has no reason to lie, August. My mother told him before he left for the war. That’s partially why he never returned. She didn’t think she’d see him again… and I guess she wanted to unload the secret she’d been carrying for years. You’re my half-brother.”
For a moment he stood by the door, looking at him with an expression of disbelief, then he started to think that perhaps this was it. This was the ploy, a plan of the resistance, a way to infiltrate or distract so they could attack. “No, no, no, you’re lying.” He could feel his anger rising, his finger twitching near the trigger of his gun.
“It’s not a lie.”
“Where’s the resistance? Huh? Are they planning on attacking?”
“They already have, August, it’s just a matter of time before this city is wiped off the map by our military. The anti-missile system and the weapons the PLA were expecting to arrive, aren’t coming, but something far worse is and…” He looked up at a clock on the wall. “We don’t have time for this. We need to get as far away from here as possible.”
His brow furrowed. “No. This is a lie.”
“Think, August. Why would I surrender and put my own life at risk if it was a lie?”
“Better question, why would you come to the city that you say the military is about to wipe off the map?”
There was a pause.
“Isn’t it obvious? You, August. I came back for you.” August studied him. “Look, we don’t have much time. Hell, I don’t even know if we will get out of here. But neither you nor I will escape this place if you don’t believe me. Now, where are Murphy and the others?”
“In a holding cell.”
Miles held out his wrists, expecting to be cut loose.
The thought passed through his mind as August contemplated what he’d told him but before he could decide, the door opened, and in strode General Yong.
“The Hunter. They said you were here. I had to see it for my own eyes.” Yong glanced at August. “Has he told you anything?”
August carefully slipped the recorder into his pocket without him seeing and shook his head.
Yong snorted. “Well, I’m sure we can remedy that.”
24
The vicious beating to extract information had failed, Miles had simply gone unconscious and they’d decided to try again later. When he came to, he found himself looking up at Murphy and crew. Jake was dabbing his face with a cloth. He swatted the hand away as he shuffled up onto his elbows. “Where am I?”
“The common area of the jail,” Murph said. “You look like shit.”
“You obviously haven’t seen yourself,” Miles said, stifling a laugh as it hurt too much to smile. His face was swollen, he could barely see out his left eye and his lips had been pulverized. Helped into a sitting position, he took in the sight of even more prisoners, people he came to find out were residents of Chicago. Dissidents. Those who had fought back, caused trouble, or been found to have worked with the resistance.
The common room consisted of eight long tables with bench seating, a staircase, a huge beam in the middle of the room that held up the next floor, and cells dotted around them as well as on the second floor. There was minimal lighting, mostly hand-wound lanterns that every so often the inmates had to wind up to keep them going.
“Where’s Tex?”
“Probably miles away from here if he has any sense. After our capture, we never saw him. He was on the roof.”
Miles nodded then grimaced as a wave of pain coursed through him.
“Better question, why are you here, Miles?”
“The bombing was a success.”
As soon as he said that, the others fist-pumped the air.
“That’s good news but it doesn’t explain why you’re here. Did you come with others?”
“No. Just me.”
That garnered a confused expression from them all.
“So they caught you entering?”
“Not exactly.”
Murphy stared back intently as if he was trying to figure out a math equation. “Look, help me up,” Miles said, lifting an arm. Keith and Jake assisted him to his feet. He winced as his every nerve ending in his body cried out. “Where’s Darius?”
“The bastard sold us out. But he got what was comin
g to him.”
“Yeah, it was too late to tell you guys.”
“We saw your pal. August.” Murphy touched his own face. “Did this.”
“Sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry about?”
Miles responded as he walked a few feet by himself, “He’s my half-brother.”
“What?”
He waved him off. “Long story.” Miles surveyed his surroundings, looking for a way out. They were locked up tight. There was no getting out of here without help, that was for sure.
“They’re going to bomb this city with us in it, aren’t they?” Murphy asked from where he was sitting. Miles turned back to him and nodded. The others around him reacted in different ways. It was one thing to know the intentions of the mission, it was another to find themselves caught in the middle. They should have been out of here by now.
“The first lady is dead,” Miles said.
“Well no shit,” Keith replied. “We kind of figured that out when Darius sold us down the river.”
Nearby, Jake took out his frustration, kicking over a large trash bin. Although they knew the odds were against them when they came into the city, no one wanted to die, especially not with the PLA. They’d come so far and achieved so much. It wasn’t meant to end this way.
“Please tell me you’ve got a plan,” Keith said. “And that’s why you’re here.”
“I don’t. I came to speak to August.”
Keith got up from his seat and walked away shaking his head.
Miles continued to scan the room. “The guards. How often do they come in?”
Murphy didn’t reply, he wasn’t done with his line of questioning. “Miles. After all you’ve done, why take that risk?”
“Family,” he replied without looking at him. “It’s all we have. Right?”
He nodded. “Right.” Then he lowered his head and sighed. “You know, I admired what you did back in Camdenton. You fought back when most of us had turned away from the fight. I thought it was over. I thought all that was left to do was hide, strike back from the shadows and maybe get a few wins, but you approached it differently. Leaving collaborators alive. Was that your idea?”