by Jake Bible
The grin on Lowell’s face falters slightly. Lu’s grin widens.
“Oh, what? You thought those records were sealed? Seriously? A teenager kills two judges and there’s no way to hide that, Lowell,” Lu says as she turns back to the tablet and keeps reading. “Juvy until eighteen then transferred to the Oregon State Penitentiary. Another three years there and you actually figured out how to escape.”
“Wasn’t hard,” Lowell shrugs. “Not exactly built by rocket scientists.”
“On the run for three months before a state trooper spots you in Enterprise,” Lu says. She pauses and looks at Lowell. “Why’d you stay in Oregon, Lowell? Three months and you only get from Salem to Enterprise? Doesn’t take three months to get across the mountains to eastern Oregon.”
“I’m a slow walker,” Lowell shrugs again.
“But quick to kill,” Lu responds.
She can see the other prisoners are listening intently. Most of the men in the convoy have been in solitary confinement for most of their stays at the Federal facility in Colorado. Getting to listen to something other than their own bodily functions must be quite the treat.
“You stabbed that trooper eighty four times,” Lu continues. “Eighty three wasn’t enough?”
A few prisoners laugh.
“Show some respect,” Muldoon grumbles. Lu glares at him and he turns away.
“Killed that trooper, then you waited around for his backup to show before killing them, taking a hostage and heading north for the Washington border,” Lu says.
She keeps reading, and then looks at Lowell for a long time. The man doesn’t flinch under her gaze, but some of his cockiness is gone. Lu shakes her head and sets the tablet aside.
“Who was she?” Lu asks. “The little girl you took hostage? You made it across the border and into Washington, kept going until you hit Lewiston, Idaho. Then you dumped her at a Denny’s and headed for Canada.”
Lowell says nothing.
“Crossing state lines brought in the FBI and all of a sudden, you are the manhunt du jour,” Lu says. “That’s French for-”
“I know what du jour means,” Lowell says.
“Yes, you do,” Lu responds. “You taught yourself Spanish, French, Italian, Chinese, and German while in prison. You have an IQ in the 160s.” Lu waves her hands at the other prisoners. “Most of these guys are barely smart enough to remember to wipe their asses after taking a shit, but not you. You are as smart as a rocket scientist. Yet, you get rid of your one bargaining chip. Why?”
Lowell doesn’t respond.
“Yeah, that’s the answer you gave the FBI,” Lu states. “They checked through your past and couldn’t find a single connection between you and the girl. Couldn’t have been your kid since she was what, four?”
“Five,” Lowell says.
“Five, right,” Lu nods. “You would have been in prison when she was born. The parents weren’t even from Oregon, just some tourists on vacation with their little girl. Violent man like you and you let her go. You could have kept her with you all the way to the border. Might even have gotten across if you had. The Canadians are a little easier to negotiate with than the FBI.”
Lowell only stares at Lu.
“Kill two judges, stab a state trooper to death, kill a couple more,” Lu says. “But you let a little girl go. Unharmed and untouched. A little hungry and dehydrated, but not a mark on her.” Lu looks at the other prisoners. “Treated her better than some of the guys here would have.”
A few of the prisoners look away from Lu while others meet her gaze head on, their eyes filled with violence and desire. She looks back at the tablet.
“Within the month, you killed four other inmates,” Lu says, looking back up at Lowell. “One after the other. Just went down the line in the cafeteria and executed them. The first body hadn’t dropped by the time you’d killed the fourth. Guards had no idea what was happening until inmates started shouting.”
Lowell shrugs. “Weren’t enough fish sticks to go around,” Lowell says. “Had to thin the herd.”
“Checkpoint, Marshal,” the driver says as the convoy begins to slow. “Looks like they’re blocking the connection to I-90.”
“We knew this was coming,” Lu says as she stands up. She picks up the clipboard once again and moves to the bus doors as it comes to a stop.
All along the convoy, the US Marshals stand outside their buses, clipboards in hand, as they wait for a checkpoint guard to come to them. Slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, a soldier casually walks from marshal to marshal, looks the paperwork over, walks up into each bus, comes back out, and looks the paperwork over again. Then he nods and moves to the next one.
“You having fun?” Lu asks when the soldier gets to her.
“Just doing my job,” the soldier replies.
“Your job pay by the hour? Because mine doesn’t and I have a time schedule to keep,” Lu snaps. “Let’s move it along, Sergeant.”
The sergeant stops just as he’s about to board Lu’s bus and turns to look at her. “I think you should get your boss and follow me to the checkpoint. I’m not liking how this bus looks.”
Lu stares at the man for a couple seconds, and then struggles to keep from bursting out laughing. “You’re a fucking asshole, Bolton.”
“Takes one to know one, Lu,” the sergeant grins then lets it fall away quickly. “Your crew know who I am?”
“Not a clue,” Lu says. “How many guys you got?”
“Four,” Bolton replies. “Want me to give your folks a scare?”
“Nah,” Lu says. “But maybe a nice demonstration is in order.” She looks the man up and down. “I like the National Guard uniform.”
“Easier to blend in,” Bolton shrugs. “What kind of demonstration you thinking of?”
“Over the top?” Lu replies.
“You got it,” Bolton smiles.
The man is a good six and a half feet tall with a broad chest and arms almost as thick as his legs, but he moves with a hidden grace that Lu knows very well. He presses two fingers to a flesh colored wire around his neck and speaks in a low voice.
“Hey, boys? Let’s give our rides a nice welcome,” Bolton whispers. “Maybe a wave from above?”
Bolton nods at Lu and they stand there, nose to neck, looking like they’re ready to throw down and fight. The other marshals watch them closely, puzzled by the aggression. Hal tosses his clipboard onto the bus steps and moves his hand towards his sidearm. He watches Lu and Bolton for another couple of seconds, and then begins to step towards them.
“Best you stay where you are, Marshal,” a voice says from above.
Hal looks up and the first thing he sees is an M-4 pointed at him. The second thing he sees is a smiling soldier. Then the soldier lets the carbine dip and he gives Hal a wink.
“Boo.”
“What the fuck?” Hal says and turns and looks at the other buses. Soldiers have appeared on top of all the buses but Lu’s. “LU!”
Lu turns and looks at Hal and starts to laugh. “Sorry, Hal. I couldn’t help it.”
She waves at the marshals and they all jog towards her, the looks on their faces ranging from pissed to confused. Hal’s is pissed.
“Guys, this is Sergeant Connor Bolton,” Lu says. “Bolton, this is Hal Stacks, James Talley, Steven LeDeaux, and Tony Whipple. Bolton and I go back a long way.”
“High school prom,” Bolton nods. “I was her first.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Lu snaps and punches Bolton in the shoulder. “You were not!”
“I wasn’t?” Bolton asks, honestly surprised. “Jesus, Lu, when did you start fucking?”
“None of your damn business,” Lu says, and then looks at the other marshals. “Bolton and his men need a ride to Seattle.”
“You guys SpecOps?” Tony asks.
“If I answer that I’ll have to kill you,” Bolton replies. “Just fucking with ya. I’ll only wound you.”
The other marshals don’t smile at the
joke.
“We have to get moving,” Lu says. “Do we need to actually check in with the real checkpoint guards?”
“Nope, all covered,” Bolton says. “You want a man per bus or do you have room for all of us on one?”
“Gonna have to be a man per,” Lu answers. “Space is tight.”
“Fair enough,” Bolton nods and gives the orders to his men.
The other four soldiers climb down from the tops of their respective buses, sling their carbines, and climb inside.
“My guys will stay out of your hair the whole ride,” Bolton says. “It’ll be like they aren’t even there. But you need any help, do not hesitate to ask.”
The marshals look at Lu.
“What?” she says. “Let’s get rolling.”
They move off to their buses, climb aboard, and soon the convoy is up the onramp and onto I-90, headed for Coeur d’Alene.
“Who’s this guy?” Muldoon asks as Bolton takes a seat next to Lu on the bus. “Marshals can’t handle the work and have to call in the Guard?”
“Yep, that’s it, Muldoon,” Lu replies. “You’re so smart.”
Lowell snickers from the back, as do a few other prisoners.
“I’m guessing there’s history here,” Bolton says.
“Just some friendly ribbing,” Lu smiles. “Right, Muldoon?”
“Yeah, right,” Muldoon grumbles.
The bus shakes and rattles and everyone grabs onto anything they can to stay steady.
“Tremors are coming closer together,” Bolton says. “Hope we make it to Seattle before it all falls apart.”
“Don’t you mean before it erupts?” Muldoon sneers. “That’s what volcanoes do, they erupt.”
“Heis a smart one,” Bolton nods at Muldoon. “Yes, Officer, that’s exactly what volcanoes do. I was talking about our country. Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better.”
Lu looks at Bolton for an explanation, but the sergeant only shakes his head.
***
“Jesus,” Stephie cries out as she watches a small crack appear in the road ahead. The bus in front of her hits its brakes and the whole Champion convoy comes to a screeching halt.
“Talk to me, Eric,” Stephie says into her radio. “The road damaged up ahead? That why we stopped?”
“No, Sheriff, the road is fine,” Mikellson’s voice replies. “But you’ll never guess whose car is broken down and blocking the highway.”
“You have to be kidding me,” Stephie growls as she turns the wheel and drives her patrol car around the buses and up to Mikellson’s.
The deputy gets out of his car, his hand on his sidearm, and slowly walks up to the sedan that blocks the road. The hood is open and Linder is standing there staring at the engine as ash continues to fall around them.
“Forget to change the air filters?” Mikellson asks.
“No, Deputy, I didn’t,” Linder says. “The new ones I put in must have been defective.”
“That so?” Stephie asks as she comes up behind Mikellson, her hand on her sidearm as well.
Linder looks at the two and frowns.
“There a problem, Sheriff?” he asks. “Kind of aggressive body language there.”
“How about we cut the shit and speak plain?” Stephie says. “I know who you are, Agent Linder. And after my conversation with your supervisor, now he knows who you are and why you abandoned your post to come all the way to Champion. It’s over, Tobias.”
Linder watches the woman for a couple of seconds, and then shakes his head.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Linder says. “We’re both in law enforcement and you should have shown me more respect.”
His tone of voice changes and his body language shifts in the blink of an eye. The slick FBI agent he’d been presenting is gone and the predator that Mikellson spotted right away comes out.
“Respect is how things work,” Linder says. “Respect for authority, respect for your elders, respect for your family, respect for your blood, respect for God. Respect. Without it, we’re just animals fucking in the mud.”
“Sheriff?” Mikellson says. “What’s the call?”
“Stay cool, Eric,” Stephie says as she takes a step past the deputy towards Linder. “I’m really not sure what you are babbling about, Tobias, but I think you need to show me your hands. You can ride with me in the back of my patrol car the rest of the way.”
Linder laughs and looks up into the winter clouds. He blinks against the falling ash, and then closes his eyes.
“She’s been with you this whole time, hasn’t she?” Linder says, his eyes still closed. “Hiding the boy in your dyke love nest, that it? You two abominations make him watch? You force him to sit there as you lick each other’s pussies?”
“Jesus Christ,” Mikellson whispers. “You’re crazier than they said.”
Linder opens his eyes and glances over at the deputy, but keeps his head tilted towards the sky.
“You a faggot, Deputy Mikellson?” Linder asks. “That why you work for this bull dyke? You take it up the ass and suck cock? I’ll bet you do.”
Before either the sheriff or deputy can move, Linder spins and fires, a 9mm suddenly appearing in his hand. The back of Stephie’s head rips open as the slug tears through her skull. Mikellson lets out a yell as he’s spun around by a shot to the right shoulder, causing him to drop his pistol just as he gets it out of the holster. The deputy falls to the ground, blood pouring from the wound.
There’s screaming from the lead bus and the driver floors it. Linder is barely able to dive out of the way as the bus rams into his sedan, shoving it from the road, and speeds off down the highway. The other buses follow and Linder lets them go, unconcerned with the townsfolk of Champion. He only cares about two people at the moment.
“How about you and me have a nice chat, Deputy,” Linder says as he puts a bullet each into the backs of Mikellson’s thighs as the man tries to stand up. Mikellson screams and Linder just shakes his head. “I bet this isn’t how you expected the day to go, is it?”
“They’re already gone,” Mikellson gasps as he lays back on the pavement, Linder nothing but a shadow against the winter sky. “You won’t catch them.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s true,” Linder says. “I think they were tipped off that I was following them and they’re somewhere close, just waiting for enough time to go by so they think I’m long gone.”
“Fuck...you,” Mikellson says and spits at Linder.
“Now that’s not respectful,” Linder says and slams a fist into Mikellson’s right thigh.
The man’s screams echo up and down the highway.
Linder places the muzzle of his pistol against Mikellson’s head, then the thumb of his other hand against the gunshot wound on Mikellson’s left thigh.
“How about you tell me which side roads they may have taken?” Linder says. “You know the ones I’m talking about. The local roads that aren’t on GPS.”
“How about you fuck off?” Mikellson snarls then screams as Linder’s thumb slips inside his thigh.
“I don’t have all day, but what time I do have, I can use to make your last moments excruciating in ways you can’t imagine,” Linder smiles. “So...those roads?”
***
“You have to be joking,” Kyle states, his eyes wide as he stares at his grandma. “There’s no way that guy can be my-”
He’s cut off as the whole ridge shakes and Biscuit lets out a long howl followed by several sharp, loud barks from the backseat. Kyle watches his grandma’s face get tighter and tighter with worry and frustration.
“We need to go, Grandma,” Kyle says. “Whoever you say he is, he has to be gone by now.”
“Stephie’s not answering her phone,” Terrie says as she dials the number again, letting their previous conversation drop.
“Maybe the cell tower fell,” Kyle says. “These earthquakes are getting stronger.”
“Maybe,” Terrie says as she puts her phone b
ack in her pocket. “Try the radio.”
Kyle switches on the CB bolted to the Bronco’s dash and grabs the handset. An ear piercing squeal of static forces him to shut it off quickly.
“Too much interference,” Kyle says. “They said this might happen once the volcano gets more active. Do you think that means it’s about to erupt?”
“I don’t know,” Terrie says as she looks out the windshield and watches the ash come down. “But those flakes look thicker.”
“So what do we do?” Kyle asks. “We staying or going? Mom can’t wait for us forever. We get too far behind and she’ll have to leave us.”
“I know,” Terrie says. “She has a job to do and I raised her to always see a job through.” She sighs and rubs her face. “Drive.”
“What?”
“Drive, boy,” Terrie says. “We’ll catch up to the buses and deal with this man when we have to.” The ridge shakes again, this time even harder and Terrie laughs. “God’s telling us that our hiding is done. Time to come out into the light and let His path for us be revealed.”
“So that means we head to Bonners Ferry?” Kyle grins.
“Yes, smart alec,” Terrie says. “We head to Bonners Ferry.”
Three
“Where are we with sanctuary?” President Charles Nance asks as he walks into the situation room buried far below the White House and takes a seat. He looks around at his security council as well as the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the dozens of staff members busily hurrying about everyone with laptops, tablets, and cell phones. “Well?”
National Security Advisor Joan Milligan stands and clears her throat.
“As of right now, we have commitments from 38 countries willing to take in a total of close to two hundred million refugees, Mr. President,” she says. “We’re still in talks with China, Brazil, India, and many of the African nations.”
“China hasn’t agreed yet?” President Nance frowns. “When was the last time we heard from Ambassador Billings?”