Mason handed it to Asher and asked, “Want the pick-up, too?”
*******
Jenna
Late Morning
Union Matis Field, West Virginia
Marshall stopped at a military checkpoint and showed his ID to the soldier hovering outside. The soldier went from being annoyed at the van’s arrival, to standing upright and clenching his jaw. Everybody was afraid of Marshall, but they didn’t know him like Jenna. None of these other soldiers knew him as a monster.
Jenna peaked around Jordan to look out the window and saw a long white building. It was as long as a football field and about five feet tall; reminding Jenna of a giant lid to a jar.
Idiot. The building is underground. This is a roof.
Marshall and his men were taking the four innocent people to an underground, government facility. Mona stared straight ahead, as she had done since the field in Iowa. Tink’s face was covered in the blood soaked sack. Mickey’s eyes glistened as he followed along the long sides of the building. It looked like it never ended. Soldiers stood in a single file line as Marshall parked the van. Each soldier carried a gun bigger than the next one.
There are things more frightening than men with guns, Jenna.
That was true, but Jenna didn’t have Asher to protect her and Mona was basically comatose. Whatever threat the Wolves were, those two were at least around to save the day.
Not anymore. Not with Marshall around.
One soldier stood out from the rest; he was tall, blonde and handsome. Just like Asher. He looked away from Marshall and caught Jenna’s eye. She tried to smile, but he shifted his eyes away and clenched his jaw even more. The man was really cute, like Asher.
“Welcome to Union Matis Field, sir,” the cute man said.
Jenna closed her eyes and tried to think about something else. She wanted to be more like Shelly, and now that Shelly was dead, Jenna had to be more like Shelly. The sweetest person she had ever known was dead, and Jenna needed to take her death and let it make her grow. Something good had to come from this.
Let’s pretend you’re going to be optimistic when Marshall starts interrogating you.
She didn’t have to be optimistic. That wasn’t Shelly’s strength. Shelly was someone who could smile through fear and still do the right thing. Jenna saw Marshall in her vision. She saw he was dead. She saw Nino dead too. And Jordan was on fire. Her visions come true. Not part of them but all of them.
“Everyone out,” Nino said.
Jenna hesitated at the door as the soldiers outside pointed their guns at her. Jordan dragged Tink out of the far-back and pushed him in front of the firing squad. Mickey walked out looking sad, standing beside a smirking Nino. Jenna hated him. She couldn’t wait to see him die.
The breeze was cool through her ratty hair. The guns ahead of her were steady and focused. She looked down and stared at the vibrant, green grass.
Someday soon, this is all going to be ash. And those men are busy pointing at their only hope.
The thought of this made her think of Harry. His words coming out of her mouth. She closed her eyes again, she had to believe he was alive and was somehow going to come save them. She didn’t know how, but he would do it. Harry cared too much to quit.
If only she could encourage him like Shelly would.
But you’re too far away, and you’re not Shelly.
*******
Jake
11:30 a.m. (Mountain time)
Brigham City, UT
The freeway was closed.
“Who closes the freeway when everyone is trying to get out? What is this?” Molly shouted from the passenger seat. The more she talked, the more Jake forced himself to not roll his eyes. He was trying to find the good in her, but she continued to bicker and complain while they worked their way through the barely-above-stand-still traffic. It was difficult to deal with a moody post-teen since Jake spent so many years interacting with his extremely lovable wife; Molly was bound to come up short.
She was right though, there was no good reason to close the freeway. It wasn’t a simple Do Not Enter sign either; someone parked a trailer at the entrance and the exit. At least they had the courtesy to spray paint DO NOT ENTER along the side of the truck. Unfortunately, the thickness of the ash storm already began to cover the large signal. Several cars ended bumper to bumper before they realized the entrances were blocked off.
Jake wasn’t familiar with this part of Utah, even if the streets were in a grid system, he still didn’t know where the best alternate routes would be. Molly, on the other hand, lived here her entire life. If someone would know a different path, it should be her.
“Where else can we go?”
Molly chewed on the side of her mouth. “Um, well, I guess we could…” She looked up at the ceiling and crunched down on her lip. “I think it would work, we have enough time. I doubt anyone else would try.” She smiled and looked at Jake. “Go south.”
Jake pulled the Jeep off the road and headed in the opposite direction as everyone else.
*******
Greg Hart/Seth Porter
2:03 p.m. (Eastern time)
Mill Creek Hollow, PA
The sun shined into the window as Greg rubbed his eyes awake. He rolled to his side and let the sun shine against his back. The floor in front of him displayed the slender tree-branch shadows dancing, Greg attempted to clear his mind and prepare for the next steps of his plan.
The first conversation with Conrad was vital for the future. Greg needed to prove he was a victim as well as a trustworthy source of information. Conrad’s rank and war experience would see through any lackluster effort. If Reyes held suspicions, so would his superior. Greg was planning on being honest about Adam, the Wolves, Salt Lake’s attack, and a portion about the other survivors. However, the details of his path to survival needed to be tightened up. He already told Conrad a different story than he told Reyes, these two mistakes must be melded together.
Other details would need to be avoided. Greg needed to spread fear and panic, while also siding himself against Conrad. He thought back to the chess analogy; basically he needed to disguise himself as a white pawn despite being a black bishop. If he could make Conrad feel like a knight, then he could pull the strings accordingly. Or so he thought.
A thick shadow hovered onto the wooden floor. He was nervous and excited about the future. This was a true opportunity to show the depths of his mental capacity. He needed to be prepared while also quick with reactions. There was no time for uncertainty. Another hour of rest would be beneficial. Greg adjusted himself and rolled onto his back.
A dark figure was standing over him.
Panic.
The blurry view of a man’s face hovered over him as Greg’s lungs become robbed of air. The man was too strong against Greg’s effort to break free. His frantic struggle only made things worse.
Greg was dying. Someone was suffocating him with a plastic bag.
Bloody dryness in his lungs emitted a burning ember inside his chest. The hopelessness was reminiscent of the model’s attack.
He didn’t want to die. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. The dryness rose from his lungs up his throat.
In an instant, as if the hero in the leather jacket arrived from Salt Lake City, the pressure against Greg’s face swept away.
Greg pulled the plastic off his face and coughed bloody phlegm all over himself.
The sounds of broken wood hurried into Greg’s ears as he began to breathe. He looked back to see Reyes squaring off against a young man. He looked younger than Greg, maybe a late-teenager, but he stood before Reyes with confidence. It felt like meeting Asher the first time.
The men stared at one another with distaste. Both men held matching knives and stood in similar stances. Greg could see the other man was an elite soldier, like Reyes. The way the men looked at one another, with a familiar disdain, insinuated they were formerly on the same side. Until now.
This was the man from the high
-tent.
Greg’s arms were weak as he pushed himself off the ground. Reyes shouted, “Get out of here, Seth! Take the car and go! Conrad’ll find you.”
Greg looked at the other man, it felt like he needed his approval too. The smaller man nearly killed him, he looked capable of throwing a knife into Greg’s back before he walked out the door. He grinned and wagged his knife at Greg. Greg stood still.
“He’s a survivor from Salt Lake City. Let him go, Gathe.”
There was hesitation in Gathe’s demeanor. He looked at Greg again, this time his eyes widened. “I’ll take him to Marshall when I leave.”
“I won’t let you do that,” Reyes said, turning the knife around in his hand. “Leave empty handed, or you don’t leave.”
“Nice knife,” Gathe said, as the soldiers began circling one another. Greg stood by the couch, frightened. He looked around to find anything within reach. He needed to protect himself. He was too important. The man named Gathe was smaller than Reyes, but Greg found him to be more intimidating.
“I have to say, I think it’s overrated. But I’m gonna kill you with it.”
Gathe laughed. “With the poison?” His voice was sarcastic. Greg didn’t understand what he was talking about, but Reyes looked concerned. “You never deserved more than a decoy.”
“How did you—”
Gathe lunged at Reyes before he could finish. Reyes stopped Gathe’s knife from landing and it appeared Gathe mirrored his movement. They struggled against one another for a moment, and then broke apart.
The men squared off as they separated. Greg looked down at the stack of books on the coffee table, a simple distraction could be enough to swing the victory. It appeared to be equal combating forces, and Greg was the variable. There was a threat to his purpose, a threat to his opportunity, and Greg was given the choice to intervene or hope for the best. This was his opportunity to take hold of chance. Greg wasn’t a capable fighter, but he was mentally superior to the two men. He picked up a book and threw it across the room in the men’s direction.
It fluttered onto Gathe’s shoulder.
His eyes betrayed him as he turned to Greg.
Reyes threw his knife at Gathe’s legs.
The small soldier split his legs and avoided being stabbed.
The knife stuck into the wood floor.
Gathe laughed. “Great effort, gentlemen. But poor execution. Now you’re…” His words trailed off as he reached down to his right leg. His face displayed confusion as he saw blood on his fingers. “Did you? How? But it wasn’t… he said… Marshall said… You…” he rambled and dropped his own knife.
“You were right, soldier, I never deserved the knife. But Conrad Greene deserved one back in the day. And I just used it to kill you.”
The color washed out of Gathe’s face as he collapsed to his knees.
“Enough poison to kill an elephant, right?”
Gathe fell onto his chest.
Greg stared in shock. “Is he?”
“Yeah. He’s dead. No one survives that.”
Greg walked over to Gathe, blood dropped out of his eyes. He was dead, but his body was still reacting to the severity of the poison. The knife Reyes used barely broke skin, yet it was enough to kill him in seconds. Even an inferior soldier could have won the battle with such a distinct advantage.
He leaned down and pried the knife out of Gathe’s rigid grip “Is there really enough poison to kill an elephant?” Greg asked, admiring the smooth blade. It was light in weight and charcoal black. Greg could see the difference in color where the poison was fused against the sharp end. Greg walked towards Reyes absentmindedly.
Reyes crouched over and reached for the other knife. Greg stood behind him as he struggled to extract it out of the floor. “Yeah man, I’ve never seen it used before, but you’re looking at an urban legend. The guy who tried to kill me, Marshall, he’s the one who hands—”
Greg softly pricked his knife into Reyes’ neck. It was no deeper than a flesh wound, but enough to fulfill his obligation.
Reyes stopped speaking.
He reached up with a limp wrist, but it fell before he reached the wound.
The rest of his body fell forward.
A mirror image of Gathe’s immediate death.
Greg stood over Reyes’ dead body, holding the knife. Afraid and enthralled.
*******
Conrad Greene
2:33 p.m. (Eastern time)
Mill Creek Hollow, PA
Reyes found the only survivor of Salt Lake City. Even after his nation betrayed him, Reyes remained true to his commitment as an American soldier. He was a better man than Marshall, Conrad, and especially better than the soldier who killed him. Gathe was nothing more than an American-trained terrorist. Conrad knew there was something wrong with him from the beginning, he should have never let Gathe be a part of Operation Red Wave.
Reyes stood between Gathe and Seth Porter, and died valiantly saving him. Seth said he searched the cabin for Conrad’s knife and used it to trick Gathe. Seth was heartbroken, very few civilians would handle seeing two soldiers poison themselves any better than the distraught look on his face. The kid was alive.
Conrad wasn’t going to allow Marshall to get away with his role in Omega. He was a monster, a tyrant, and a traitor. Conrad knew what needed to be done. Men like him do not stop after a slap on the wrist, they don’t relinquish after being held accountable, even if Conrad involved the President. The only way Marshall would stop is when his heart stopped. Conrad looked down to his fallen friend and decided the execution of Sergeant Major Paul Marshall was justifiable. Conrad just needed to find him. Before that, Conrad needed to call the President and make sure he wasn’t involved in this. President Watt made a promise, and either he broke it, or Marshall was insubordinate. Conrad trusted his friend, and planned on putting the old war dog to rest.
“He said he was coming for you.” Seth said. “He said Marshall wanted you dead.” Conrad appreciated seeing the kid try to be strong. Anyone who could survive massive destruction followed by a well-placed aerial strike wasn’t going to be weak, but Seth seemed stronger than other civilians. “Does that mean someone else is coming?”
Conrad looked out to the stream, feeling the nostalgia of the past. Conrad began his service when he was eighteen years old. It was hard to believe. His father was Army.. His grandfather was Navy. Conrad was older than they were when they died despite going into more battles than the both combined. They would be proud of him, but they would be disappointed too. They were men of morals, they believed in honesty and hard work over power or victories. Conrad was involved in a consistent battle to distract his country from the truth. He covered up lies and covered up the cover ups. Now, he was waiting three hours north of DC while the President pretended to be assassinated. The heat of battle wasn’t felt in the badlands anymore. Whoever controlled the media, the public, and the money won the war. President Watt might never outright say it but his theatrics were a product of his beliefs.
Conrad shook his head. “I don’t know, son. They wanted a fight though, and now they’ll get it.”
“Who is they?”
Conrad hesitated to answer. His enemy was no longer radicals or even Subas, instead he felt as if his enemy was pretending to be his ally. Actually, his enemy spent years as his ally. Conrad never trusted Marshall, but never believed he would stoop to this level. It was hard to believe it took this long for these two men to fully square off against one another. President Watt was always the one who moderated between them and kept the relationship civil for the sake of national security, but Uriah was going to be off the grid after tonight. All those years working together, there would finally be a breaking point. It was Conrad’s duty to protect the country, both as an American as well as acting Constitutional General from threats both foreign and domestic. A man who killed other American soldiers was as dangerous as the Subas.
“For now, we need to assume everyone is our enemy.” Conrad tur
ned towards Seth. The tall, skinny kid was staring at Reyes’ body in disbelief before noticing Conrad watching him.
They had much to discuss, but he didn’t want to push him too early. “There’s a bar down the road, let’s grab a bite to eat, what do you say?”
“I… I think I would like that.”
*******
Jake
12:44 p.m. (Mountain time)
Willard, UT
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jake said, trying not to sound angry. Unfortunately, he was more than just angry, he was infuriated. Molly directed him three miles south on a nearly empty road and one uninterrupted turn.
Directly into the Willard Bay boat launch.
Jake should’ve known something was wrong with her plan, better directional awareness would have prevented this mess. Between the dust and the pressure to escape Utah, Jake followed her terrible idea right to the deserted boating area.
“Uncle John has a boat here. It’s perfect. With the water levels being so high, we can take the boat from Willard Bay to the southwest side of Interstate-80. It’s simple, really.”
Time was running out, there was no other choice than to hope the blast radius wouldn’t reach the the middle of the lake. Jake got out of the car and reluctantly jogged towards the boat parking lot. He didn’t bother responding to Molly, nothing he would say would sound nice. They had been through enough, no reason to be cruel.
*******
Jenna
Late afternoon
East of Utah, maybe Iowa.
Now is the time to breathe. You don’t know what’s going to happen next. Calm down, and be where you are.
Her internal voice had begun to sound slightly less annoying and more like Shelly. She wasn’t going to pretend to be completely brave, but Jenna was grateful to have Shelly’s peace in her mind. The old Jenna would have freaked out over this, but not now. She was scared, she was confused, she was alone, but she wasn’t broken. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t.
Dark Divide (Shadow and Shine Book 2) Page 24