“I have some questions for her,” Beatrice said. “Questions only she can answer.”
As her husband continued to sort and unsort his paperwork, Beatrice casually looked around the office. It was dirty and in total disarray and it made her undeniably crazy to see it this way. August wasn’t the tidiest person in the world and he had a habit of making messes everywhere he went. It was almost as if it brought him pleasure to be a slob and live in a pigsty. Beatrice was a neat freak and wished so much that her husband would learn to be the same. She’d heard that opposites attract, but considered the cliché to be true in every other regard but this one.
“Amazing. Heh—she’s still here,” August said as he held up some papers so his wife could see. “Conex D. She’s been in there for months, though. People locked up in the dark for that long end up going a little crazy, if you know what I mean. I’m not sure how much good she’ll be to you.”
“Yeah, well, I still need to find out,” Beatrice said. “Keys?”
August held up a hand. “First—some answers. What are you so worked up about, Bea? I’ve never seen you this bothered before—I mean, with some minor exceptions.”
“I’m worked up because we have a problem.”
August stood up lazily from his chair, his eyes narrowed. “What? What sort of problem?”
“Keys. Please, Augie,” Beatrice said with a sigh.
“Tell me what’s going on first.”
Beatrice sighed again, this time loudly, and turned her head away. “Something’s materializing. I can’t prove it just yet. But I think there’s an organized resistance being developed inside the camp.”
“Really? Organized resistance, huh? You mean like those four infiltrators we hunted down and killed?” August huffed his disbelief. “Buuullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit. It’s happening right in front of my eyes. It’s been going on for months.”
“And you’re just now starting to worry about it?”
“No…I’ve been worried about it fo—”
“Bea, I love you,” August interrupted while leaning over his desk. “But you’d better start making sense. If something’s going on that threatens security, we need to crank down on it now. Hard.”
Beatrice’s eyes locked on her husband’s. “There’s this lady. I knew she was trouble the moment I first met her—so proper and well-spoken. So holier-than-thou. So…conceited and, well…goody-goody. She’s way more perceptive than she lets on. It’s like she has a second set of eyes or something.”
“And?”
“And she’s developing a…following.”
“A following?”
“She’s building a fucking army, August,” Beatrice barked. “Ever since Faith Gallo started helping old man Wigfield with his ministries, she’s managed to garner the favor of several hundred camp detainees—several hundred. They follow her around now like she’s David Koresh or the next effing Messiah or something.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious. Augie, they literally deify her. Something’s going on, and I need to get to the bottom of it. Karen Mitchell knows her better than anyone else here. I need to question her.”
August nodded. “Okay,” he said, and tossed her a set of keys. “Just so you know, it’s my job to inform you that it would be in your best interests to write up a formal report about everything you’ve witnessed and hand-deliver it to HQ. If it’s substantiated, Bronson will be all over it. If he finds out you withheld information, he’ll be all over you.”
“It is already done.”
“Good. Want me to go along?”
“No,” Beatrice said resolutely as she thumbed through the keys. “I may have to ask her some hard questions.” She patted her sidearm. “No witnesses, Augie.”
“I see,” said August. He stared down at the corner of his desk and the name on a folder snagged his attention. He smiled. “Hey, Bea, before you go, I may have another suggestion for you—if you’re interested.”
“And what might that be?”
August pointed at the file folder on his desk. Beatrice looked down at it and then shuffled to the desk hastily to pick it up.
“Really.”
“Yep,” August said with a nod and a satisfied grin. “And I guarantee you he knows her better than Karen Mitchell.”
Chapter 24
The cabin
Trout Run Valley
Hardy County, West Virginia
Wednesday, October 20th (Present day)
Lauren snapped a tactical battle belt around her waist that she hadn’t worn since her last visit to Point Blank Range. She meticulously secured the thigh rigs attached to it around her legs. As she slipped the remainder of the load-bearing gear over her shoulders, her eyes moved back and forth from her reflection in the mirror to her right, to the black Pelican case that she’d placed on her bed earlier to her left. Even though it was floating in a sea of other gear she’d pulled from her closet, the case stood out to her as if it had a flashing strobe light mounted to it. It might as well have been screaming her name.
After adjusting her gear’s harness to make up for some of the body weight she’d lost, Lauren opened the Pelican case and began removing the items inside it one at a time.
She picked up the customized Ruger LCP and slid it out of the pocket holster. She released the magazine and counted the cartridges by using her thumb to push them out one at a time onto the bed. The extended magazine held seven rounds. She reloaded it and then verified a round was in the chamber. Eight rounds total, she thought. Lauren had never trained with this weapon before. She’d never had the opportunity to develop muscle memory or know how the weapon felt when being fired or how reliable or accurate it was. There wasn’t any time left to fool with those notions now. The LCP was a defensive tool. It would give her an advantage if and when she needed it.
Lauren placed the pistol back into the pocket holster and slid it down into her front pocket. She then practiced drawing it from her pocket a few times. An identical spare magazine for the LCP went into her other front pocket.
The sight of a ballistic knife in the flesh was perplexing to Lauren. The only ones that she’d seen before were the animated ones in video games or the ones used as props in movies. She carefully palmed it and studied the mechanisms in detail. It was a simple weapon that had a gruesome task assigned to it. It would also be another advantage for her if and when she needed it.
The knife’s sheath had two sets of straps, one each on the top and bottom. Lauren slid her pant leg up to her knee and began adjusting the straps to conform just above and below her calf muscle. The sheath fit as if it were made for her and it wasn’t terribly uncomfortable. Her pant leg fell freely over top of it, providing concealment.
After Lauren hoisted all her gear, she reached for her rifle and walked out of her room, but collided with her mother as she left the doorway. Michelle was wearing a large backpack, had an AK-47 slung over her shoulder, and was carrying an armload of other equipment. Norman followed right behind her, carrying an olive-green ammo can in each hand, and two more—one tucked underneath each arm. Neither said a word to her as they passed, which wasn’t unusual under the circumstances.
Lauren continued into the living room, where Christian and Grace were getting ready. The looks on their faces weren’t the usual ones that had been on display since they’d met each other. The gravity of what was about to happen was evident. Christian, who was usually smiling and cracking jokes even in the most difficult of situations, had seemingly lost his sense of humor—his expression had flatlined.
When Lauren entered the room, Christian reached over to the corner and picked up the other suppressed M4 rifle that he’d acquired from the DHS agents while on the trail with her.
“You know, Lauren, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said at the range earlier,” he said with an underpowered grin. “It’s called fire superiority, by the way.”
Lauren dropped her fully stuffed pack, alo
ng with her rifle and other assorted gear, on the floor, in an improvised staging area just beside the front door. “I know.”
Christian nodded. “Yeah. I kinda figured you did.”
He approached her and presented the M4, and as Lauren looked it over, she remembered the time when she’d first seen it.
“So what do you say we leave the M&P at home today and use this instead.” he said. “For the sake of…fire superiority.”
Lauren thought for a moment and then nodded, offering Christian no dispute, much to his surprise. She returned her rifle to the gun safe and, a moment later, came back to retrieve the M4 from him.
“There’s a selector switch—”
“I can figure it out, Christian,” Lauren said while giving the government-issue rifle a once-over. “Thanks.”
“Okay,” he yielded.
He stretched down into the corner again and picked up the spare armor plate carrier that he’d also acquired from one of the agents and held it up for display. Lauren eyeballed it for a moment and then turned her attention to her sister and motioned to her.
“Give it to Grace,” she said.
“Me?” Grace asked as Christian handed her the armor. She struggled when she first took hold of it, its heft taking her by surprise. “Why me?”
Lauren gave her a stern look. “Please, Grace. Just wear it. And no matter what happens, stay as close to Christian as possible. Trust me—it’ll be the safest place out there.”
Regarding Lauren’s grave expression, Grace provided no further argument. She solemnly replied, “Okay. I will.”
Megan Mason arrived at the cabin and entered through the open front door with a bewildered look on her face. “Well, guys…Dad isn’t happy—with me or with anything right now. I’ve never seen him so stressed out.” She approached and presented a sheet of folded graph paper. “He wanted me to make sure everyone saw this.”
Lauren took the sheet first, unfolded it, and looked it over as Christian moved in for a peek. On the sheet was a penciled sketch of Trout Run Road that included all their planned positions.
Having heard Megan’s voice in the cabin, Lee stepped out of his room with what gear he had and joined the others. John wasn’t far behind.
“Lauren, for what it’s worth, Dad said you were right,” Megan said.
“Right about what?”
“Me,” Megan replied. “He said if I wanted in the fight, he had no right to tell me otherwise. In his own way, he actually apologized. I couldn’t believe it.”
Lauren smiled grimly. “Do you have all your stuff?”
Megan nodded.
Christian pointed at Fred’s sketch. “Your dad’s a good man, Megan. With you here, we can add another shooting position. Where should we put you?”
“Put her with me,” Lauren said. “We have some prior experience with this type of thing.” She turned to John and reached for his hand. “Would you mind taking up position five with your brother?”
John squared up with Lee and gave him a thin smirk. “Well…I guess,” he jested. “I mean, he is my brother.”
“I don’t get it,” Lee said in protest. “Why can’t Megan and I shoot together?”
“Fred’s plan,” Christian said. “We pair a strong shooter with a weak one.”
“So?” asked Lee defensively.
“Lee, I’m not trying to sound like a bitch,” Lauren began, “but do you recall our last gun battle?”
Lee hesitated, shrugged, and after a moment, relented. “Point taken.”
As the cabin cleared out of bodies, weapons, and gear, Lauren walked back inside to check around one last time and make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. On her way back out the door, Michelle was on her way back in to do the same, and the two walked into each other. They stared at one another for a long moment, neither saying a word—neither knowing what to say. Michelle looked her daughter over and, although she admittedly was more worried now than she’d ever been before, couldn’t help but be impressed with what she saw.
While keeping her composure, Michelle reached out and pulled Lauren’s head into her chest. She kissed the top of her forehead and then positioned Lauren’s head so that she could look into her eyes.
“I’m proud of you,” Michelle said. “And I’m sorry for being so overprotective.”
Assuming she was in for another lecture, Lauren tried to turn away, but Michelle held her in place.
“No,” Michelle pleaded. “Don’t turn away from me right now, Lauren. Please?”
Lauren took in a deep breath and exhaled rebelliously through her nose, but gave in to her mother’s request.
Michelle hung her head and sighed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen in the coming days, L. We have a good plan, but I know there’s always a chance this thing could turn out very bad for us.” Michelle paused while fighting back tears. “No matter what happens, know this—I have never loved anyone more than I loved you or your father. The two of you have always been my everything—my entire world.”
Michelle began to cry and quickly lost her composure. Her arms fell to her sides and her body started to go limp. Lauren grabbed her and helped to steady her. After a moment, Michelle wiped the tears away and exhaled through what remained of her wails. She reached out slowly and lovingly toyed with Lauren’s ponytail. She put her hand onto her daughter’s shoulder and regarded her with somber eyes.
“Do what you have to do, L,” Michelle said. “Whatever it is…you just do it.”
The expression on Lauren’s face was uncompromising. It displayed her resolve.
“I will.”
Chapter 25
Town of Edinburg
Shenandoah County, Virginia
Thursday, October 22nd (Present day)
Sasha Ledo took the H&K MP5 submachine gun from her husband as he handed it to her. She closed her eyes and rocked her head back and forth in rejection. She knew she didn’t want this. She looked up at him, and in the process of trying to find a worthy excuse not to go, she started to feel sorry for the damage she’d done to his face. Then she hung her head shamefully, knowing that she’d officially betrayed him. It felt good when she’d done it, but now, standing before her husband, she almost wished she’d chosen differently.
“Is this really necessary, Danny?” asked Sasha. “Do we really have to do this—again?”
“You’re goddamn right it’s necessary,” Danny said. “You saw the footage, Sasha. Those people have our men’s blood on their hands. They killed Jesse, Vance, and Jared, and they’re holding Mickey hostage…and they’re gonna pay for everything they’ve done.”
Sasha looked down at the weapon in her hands. She gave it a once-over, rotated it, and thumbed the selector switch. This wasn’t the first time she’d held a weapon such as this and she recollected the first time she’d been exposed to one. She remembered the fully automatic action catching her off guard at first and then recalled how she’d gotten used to it over time. Then she remembered the first life she’d taken. Images of a body riddled with bullet holes began to manifest. She pushed the thought from her mind.
“Maybe they deserved it,” Sasha uttered. “Maybe we all deserve it. Have you ever let that thought creep into your mind?”
In a flash, Danny reached forward and violently grabbed Sasha by the back of her neck. “No,” he said with a voice that had dropped at least two octaves, “the thought never crossed my mind.”
Danny took a long look at his wife. He gazed into her sultry eyes and saw the look she’d given him so many times that at one time had served as an indicator of how she’d often took pleasure in feeling pain. Now, they just made her look weak and defeated to him. As he slowly released his grip, Sasha’s expression yielded. He removed the gun from her grasp and then hung the weapon’s sling over her neck. The gun found its place comfortably upon her shapely torso and Danny couldn’t help but find it arousing—even with other pressing matters on his mind.
“Do you remember how to shoot it?” Danny as
ked, his attention swaying back and forth between the love of his life and the weapons he was now adorning himself with. He took particular care in the presentation of the knife that was now hanging from his belt. It had served him well in the past and had become his close-quarters weapon of choice. It had never once betrayed him.
“How could I forget?” Sasha replied as she rocked her neck back and forth, shaking off the remnants of Danny’s fierce grip.
“Good,” said Danny. He smiled and leaned in to press a wet kiss onto her cheek. “Be outside in five minutes.” He then left the room.
As she watched him exit, thoughts of fear and uncertainty began to swim in Sasha’s mind. There was a part of her that wanted desperately to escape all this. She wanted to just run the hell away from here, but that was impossible now. The family that had chosen her years ago were preparing themselves for a war, and despite her feelings, she had a duty to go along. This had become their way of life. At one time, battles like this one had been fought to defend or extend territory or to assert supremacy over a rival gang. After the world changed, it’d become their primary method of survival. But Sasha had grown exhausted of it, and if she found an opportunity, she was going to free herself from it once and for all. Even if it ended up killing her.
After she finished gathering herself, Sasha joined the rest of the Marauders in the cul-de-sac not far from the Anderson home. She mounted her cycle and watched as Damien pranced back and forth in front of his mob of fellow devoted MC brothers and sisters as he bristled—his face displaying his wrath. His breathing was steady—his eyes black and cold. His hands were clasped together behind his back, where they could feel the protrusion of his sidearm through his kutte.
Just like he’d always done before a big fight, Damien had spent all night winding his men up, using whatever means he had at his disposal. Some of his men were the most brutal killers he’d seen when they were three sheets to the wind, so he made sure that they got that way. Others preferred a fix of some type before they’d willingly kill with impunity. After spending the better part of a year raiding the medicine cabinets of their victims’ homes, there were plenty of options to choose from.
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