by Joseph Storm
Joe rose, returning the focus to his wife. He examined the broken rib as if checking to see if she was all right.
“She didn’t feel a thing, kid,” Gunner called out. “I promise.”
An embarrassed Joe Striker snapped back to reality. “It just doesn’t seem possible.”
“It will get better with time,” Becky said.
“Time...what will that bring?” he asked.
“Well...I can’t assure you much...but I know time will bring a whole mess of their buddies knocking on our door. Once they release that animal from his cage, he’ll be coming for blood,” Gunner said.
Joe nodded, as he picked up Jenny. The four of them headed deeper into the woods, trying to find the perfect spot for the burial.
******
Leader-One landed outside the warehouse, as the two men of importance headed through its doors. They were led by one of the mercenaries, who had his weapon drawn. The man was ready to fire upon a moment’s notice.
As they entered the execution room, Under-Leader Arnold stopped in disbelief. He was almost frightened by the blood stained floors and shooting posts. Leader Judas on the other hand seemed to block it out, not studying the details at all. It was something he was trained to do from a small child.
Under-Leader Arnold said, “I saw the plans...but...it just seems so much worse when you see it with eyes.”
“We don’t have time for remorse, Under-Leader. It’s done...move on.”
“Yes, Leader Judas.”
They continued moving, arriving in the hallway of holding cells. The chair was wet and silent with inactivity. Two bodies of mercenaries lied dead on the floor.
“What could have happened here?” Leader Judas asked. “Where is that cop? Where’s the two traders with the chip?”
“Your force isn’t what it’s cracked up to be,” the raspy voice of Commander Xavier Sin called out from behind the bars. His empty eye socket was caked with dried blood.
“You’re alive!”
“Death would’ve been a greater honor.”
“Open this cell at once,” Leader Judas demanded. The mercenary freed the commander from the cage.
He slowly exited, cracking his knuckles to the point of breaking. “I failed...by trusting these cowards in black.”
“Why are you still alive?” Under-Leader Arnold asked.
“Because I traded information for my life.”
“What type of information?” Leader Judas asked.
“The type you don’t want known,” he said coldly. “It’s time to get it back...along with the microchip. I saw the look in his eye...he has it.”
A panicked look marched across the leader’s face. “The unearthed bodies! They must have been there...infiltrated the area.”
“Then they can’t be far,” Commander Xavier said. “It’s time to release my restraints...no more questioning, no more reason...no more gloves. Let me do the job the way I wanted to from the beginning.”
“And what way is that?” Under-Leader Arnold asked suspiciously.
“No more mercy,” he said, in such a cold, calculating way, it sent chills up the spines of everyone in the room.
“Do what you must,” Leader Judas proclaimed. “Bring that chip to me...and only me, do you understand? The glory will be mine!”
“I have no use for some damn piece of plastic,” Commander Sin proclaimed. In reality, he was aware of the favor it would gain him with his real boss, Mika Sorka. The plan was to lead Judas along, and take the glory for himself. “All I want is that congressman’s head,” he slyly assured him. “Enough talk...time for action.”
The four men rushed out the door, heading back to the Leader-One helicopter. The hunt for the fugitives began.
******
Striker fought exhaustion. He pushed through the rough terrain, covered with rust colored ferns which hadn’t died off for the season. The sad man carried his deceased wife Jenny in his arms, as Gunner and Becky stayed behind him. They gave him space for the final moments with his wife.
Gunner kept looking back, gripping the dead mercenary's gun tightly in his hands. “We’ve gotta get this over with soon,” he said in a paranoid tone. “He needs to pick his spot and do the deed.”
“You can’t rush a moment like this,” Becky said in an annoyed tone.
“You can when your life’s on the line.”
“I can see why you’re no longer married.”
“And I can see you’ve clearly never been on the run before.”
“You’ve been on the run? A fugitive?” she asked.
“No...but I’ve been the one to chase a-hell-of-a-lot of them down. They don’t give a shit about wives, grief, or burials. Frankly...neither do I.”
Becky shook her head in disgust. “Well, maybe you should try someday.”
“And what the hell do you know about marriage? I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
“And you never will...though common compassion doesn’t require a ring. It just requires a heart,” Becky said. She hurried ahead of Gunner, avoiding any further opportunity for conversation.
“Ouch,” he replied. “Harsh chick.”
Joe continued on, until he stopped dead in his tracks.
“What’s wrong?” Becky asked in a panic.
“Not wrong...exactly right,” Striker responded, focusing on a massive maple tree. It still hung onto most of its red leaves, burning like a low setting globe of sun. He walked over to the tree, placing his wife at the base of it.
“This is the only one still left intact...it must have been a late bloomer,” Becky said. “A strong one at that.”
“It was where we had our first kiss.”
“Here?”
“No...though a tree just like it. A crisp fall day, cold...bright, fire-red leaves. It was the type of moment that seems to freeze in place, like a permanent picture in an unbreakable frame. She crawled into my arms, her body heat warming every inch of my skin. I’ve never felt so right in all my life.”
Becky looked down in sadness. “You truly loved her...didn’t you.”
“With everything inside me...and now I’m empty,” he said, dropping to the ground, beginning to dig a hole.
Becky dropped down next to him, joining in. She stopped for a moment, placing her hand on his. They gazed deeply into each other’s eyes. “Take it from a girl who understands emptiness...you will never be empty.”
Striker fought back the tears. “I was a lucky man, that’s all I really know,” he replied.
Becky gripped Joe’s hand, as a look of jealousy covered Gunner’s face. “Can we continue the love affair at another time...we’re about to be hunted down like bloated hogs on a pork farm!”
Becky shook her head in further disgust. “You know how to kill a moment, don’t you?”
“It’s what I was born to do...now let’s get this over with.”
Striker and Becky Fox began to dig down into the ground, straining to make good time. Gunner wanted to help, though to him, sensitivity equaled embarrassment. After a few moments of feeling stupid, he finally gave in. “Since this could take all day...I guess I’ll help hurry it along,” he said, tossing down his weapon, joining the others.
Fifteen precious minutes passed, when they finally reached an acceptable depth of three feet into soft earth. Gunner and Becky backed off, leaving Joe Striker a respectful distance to say his goodbye.
Joe lifted Jenny into his arms, and pulled her to his face. He moved in towards her dirt-covered lips, placing a last kiss upon them. “There will be a day we meet again...though I can’t go yet. I’ll find out what happened to our son. If he’s still alive, I will find him...I will avenge your death. If it’s the last thing I do...you have my word. I know I promised to love you until death due us part,” he said. “It won’t stop there...it will live on forever.” He placed her body gently into the ground, as if she was resting upon a pillow of clouds.
He had shed all the tears inside him. The hurting husband shoveled
the dirt back into the hole, covering the body of his beloved wife. As he smoothed out the dirt, a red maple leaf drifted from the tree, landing on top. Joe Striker picked up the leaf, placed it into his pocket, and looked over the picturesque gravesite. She always said she wanted to be laid to rest under a beautiful tree, he thought. At least I could give her that wish. For the finishing touch, he grabbed a sharp rock from the ground, carving her name deeply into the strong bark. It read: R.I.P. Jenny Striker.
He realized it was time to accept the inevitable. His wife Jenny was gone.
“Goodbye,” he silently said, as his words were drowned out by another sound. It was the sound of a chopper.
“I’m guessing they didn’t come to pay their respects,” Gunner said, while picking up the gun from the floor.
“Don’t bother,” Striker said. “We’re no match for that machine.”
“Where do we go? We’re in a forest of nothing but bare trees!” Becky asked.
“Not all the trees are bare,” he said, looking up at the full maple tree in front of them. “Climb it!” He shimmied up the thick trunk, into its secure arms.
“I’m a reporter...not an athlete,” Becky said.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Gunner responded. He gripped Becky by her behind, set her on his shoulder, and pushed her up into Joe’s grasp. Striker pulled her into his arms, allowing Gunner to make his own path. Each of them immersed themselves into the group of leaves in the healthy, strong tree.
******
Leader One crept its way through every inch of the forest, making multiple passes around the area.
“They couldn’t have gotten far,” the commander said. “It’s not possible to cover that sort of ground in such time.”
“It appears they outsmarted us,” Under-Leader Arnold said. “We didn’t get them or the chip.”
“They outsmarted your goons in black,” Commander Sin said, his eye socket stuffed with gauze. “I suffered the effects of those incompetent retards.”
“Yet!” Leader Judas proclaimed. “We did not get them or the microchip yet, Under-Leader...but mark my words, we will. They are in that forest. Commander, I want you to assemble a team and search the woods inch by inch. More men are being deployed by the moment. They will not slip through our fingers again...correct, commander?”
“I will make them suffer. Don’t underestimate me.”
“My estimations do not matter. Mr. Sorka...that is a whole different story.”
******
Hours passed, as the last flyby of the day concluded. The waning light of day started to decline, as the team of three descended from the maple tree.
“Where do we go now?” Becky asked.
“We run,” Striker said.
“Run where? Will they just give up the search?”
“Hell no they won’t,” Gunner replied. “That one-eyed bastard isn’t the quitting type.”
“Ok, then where to? I don’t even have shoes!” Becky asked.
“Anywhere but here,” Striker said.
“That is not exactly building my confidence in the plan,” Becky replied.
“Plan?” Gunner asked. “Listen honey, no one planned for any of this. We’ve got to think outside the box...or we’re dead meat.”
“Outside the box?” Striker pondered. “If the box is the forest...then...we go where they would least expect us. Right under their noses.”
“D.C.? We’ll get caught for sure,” Becky yelled.
“Not D.C., but a town close enough to watch them, without stepping into their web. We need to buy time...spread the flame of resistance. We can’t do this alone. We’ll need arms...an army for God’s sake. In the meantime...since we can’t beat them...”
“We join em,” Gunner said. “There just might be hope for you, after all, kid.”
“We split up, lie low, and wait for the right moment to strike.”
“And just what if that moment never comes?” Becky asked.
“Then we help get it started,” Striker proclaimed. Suddenly, the sound of dogs echoed from the location of the warehouse. “Search dogs!”
“Into the lion’s den...ready or not,” Gunner said.
Gunner and Becky started to run. Striker took one last gaze at his wife’s grave, blew a kiss, and mouthed the words, “Goodbye.”
The forest had descended into shadow, though still had another hour of ambient light. They knew that every moment of it would be necessary.
******
“I must say, Leader Judas, I am quite disappointed with the return on my investment,” crooned the Russian accented Mika Sorka. He sat at a large oak desk, in his dark Moscow office. A Cuban cigar sent a ghostly plume of smoke into the air, lit only by a beam of sunlight, fighting its way through the shaded window.
Leader Judas’s trembling voice echoed into the smoky air from the telephone. “I am truly, truly sorry, Mr. Sorka, sir. You know that I am committed to your vision, and will stop at nothing to catch these criminals...find out who was behind this act of treason.”
“That is the correct response, Leader Judas...though I’ve heard this promise before. Your words are beginning to sound like hollow lies, void of action.”
“No, sir. Please, understand that I am still your man. I will not sleep, until I turn over every rock in that forest. I will find and punish those perpetrators. In fact, I will release a squad of elite, Authoritarian Guard, led by Commander Sin himself.”
“I was hoping not to use the guard so early in the game. We are jumping the gun of our phases. I was expecting more from you...Commander Sin as well.”
“I assure you, I am up to the task. I will personally see to it that the commander will succeed or be dealt with. You can count on me! But please understand, Mr. Sorka... the mercenary civilian force just isn’t cutting it. We need more muscle to track the treasonous holdouts down. They are the type that can’t be bought.”
“And you know what I think of those type, Leader Judas.”
“I do, sir. And that is why I will spare no expense to bring them to justice. We can put this in the past and move towards the next phase.”
“Ahh, yes. Phase two. Have the beginning stages yet to be hatched?”
Simon Judas smiled with pride, as he activated the phone’s camera. Mr. Sorka now had the exact view that the leader was gazing at himself. Simon stood in the large hallway of a top secret, medical guard base. He peered past a massive pane of glass, overlooking an even bigger room. Hundreds of incubated newborns slept peacefully, awaiting their fate.
“Phase two has begun, sir. These children have been collected from the best of the best. These aren’t foreign. No, they are natural born Americans...the future of our global empire.”
An even bigger smile came across Mika’s face. “If you can’t change minds...you breed them. To the future, Leader Judas.”
“To the future, Mr. Sorka.”
PART II
Chapter Six:
The New Order
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 2024
Four Years Later
“John Smith...reporting for duty,” Joe Striker said. The once bald man had grown back a full head of hair to further hide his identity. He also had Becky Fox lend him some skin-toned concealer make-up, along with tips on how to mask the easily identified scar across his throat.
The 27 year-old man entered a large, open tent, which served as a site office. It was up on a hill, overlooking a large, cleared area in the middle of vast forest. The land was bordered by stakes, ranging in length about a mile between each corner. Thousands of men were hard at work, hammering in fence posts that outlined the rectangle edges of four total miles.
“ID,” the mercenary in black said. Joe Striker handed him a small card, which had his pseudonym and ID number. It was the new system of identification. Every person was issued one, and if they didn’t possess it at all times, they were subject to arrest.
The mercenary scanned it, as a beeping noise sounded into the air. Striker took a deep, but
subdued breath, trying to mask the anxiety which crept upon him at every card request. “Card check out,” he said, allowing Joe to slowly exhale.
Striker took the card back, placing it into his pocket, “Thank you, sir,” he said, trying to be as non-confrontational as possible.
The mercenary turned, grabbing a sledge hammer from a large pile of tools. He handed it to Joe. “Assign sector three. Lunch at two. Water break at one and four. Quit time eight. Any question?”
“No.”
“Work,” he demanded.
Striker headed to his position. He arrived at large groups of men in progress of hammering stakes into the ground. “Where do I start?” he asked one of the men, who ignored him. “I asked you a question.”
The man kept working, side-eyeing him. “Are you crazy? There’s no conversation...we can be punished for such a...”
“You!” a mercenary in black called out.
Striker looked over at him. “I was just asking...”
“No talk!”
“Sorry.”
“Do again, you very sorry!” he yelled, grabbing Striker by the shirt. He pulled him to the end of the line, which had fence stakes lined up and laid out on the ground.
The mercenary walked away, as Striker started emulating the routine. He pounded the stakes deep into the dirt. Joe paused for a moment, looking at the vast amount of action that was currently in progress.
Shanty looking buildings of gray block were being constructed, as raw materials lay everywhere. The most disturbing of them all were the miles of coiled barbed wire, which had yet to take shape. The project was many years away from completion, but whatever the administration had planned was massive in its nature.
Joe realized that the wire would eventually be used for the fences, but he knew that it couldn’t be used for the purpose of good. It wasn’t his first day at a labor camp. In fact, the camps started two years into the administration’s rule. However, most of the camps were in mining country, ranging from the pits of coal-filled chasms, to blasting the sides of granite-faced mountainsides. There was nothing to mine here, and it didn’t appear to be about extracting anything. It possessed the opposite feeling; keeping something trapped inside.