“Here we go,” Frank said, and slowed from a crawl until the truck stopped completely. Then, he threw it into Park and set both hands on the steering wheel—keeping them empty and visible, Abram noted with approval. Abram was surprised he hadn’t thought of the need to tell Frank to do that, for all their safety. He should have told the man to put his hands on the wheel where the guards could see them empty. Thankfully, Frank hadn’t needed to be told, but Abram fought his racing heartbeat at his mistake, which could have cost them all dearly, and avowed to do a better job of leading.
Assuming, of course, that these were guards and not bandits, and that they let his group in rather than dumping their corpses out back and taking their stuff…
While at least three people aimed rifles at the vehicle, one approached the driver side, taking a circuitous path that prevented her from standing between the firing line and the vehicle until the moment she made contact. Frank had the window open about one-third of the way when she arrived, so she didn’t have to knock on it. The woman had a pleasant plumpness about her face, Abram realized when she leaned down to peer in through the window. These were well-fed people, though of course it was likely the “army” got the lion’s share of the rations these days. Still, the town must be doing well. And they hadn’t fired on the vehicle yet, which reinforced Abram’s opinion that they were not likely to be bandits. Still, that was far from guaranteed, nor did that guarantee the guards were much better than bandits…
Abram didn’t relax, just yet.
The woman tucked her shoulder-length, wheat-colored hair behind her ears as she bent down, and looked intently at each of the occupants.
Abram, like his companions, waited patiently for her to speak first.
When she was done visually checking the entire truck cabin, she looked at Frank behind the steering wheel, and she asked, “Who are you, and why are you here?”
Though her tone hadn’t been hostile, or even particularly demanding, it had the quality of someone used to being in charge, Abram thought. Maybe she’d been a police officer before all this. Or maybe she’d worked at the D.M.V.
When Abram didn’t answer, after a couple of seconds, Frank did. “We’re looking for Burnsville. This it?”
“Who wants to know, and why?”
Abram thought he heard irritation in her voice. This was not how this needed to go. So, before Frank could reply and maybe get them in deeper trouble, Abram said, “I’m Abram, the driver’s Frank, and our buddy is Owen. We came for two reasons, one for trading, and two for a family matter that’s kind of private. But I assure you, the family matter isn’t the violent kind.”
As he’d spoken, her eyes had clicked over to focus on Abram. Her lips tightened, just a bit, as he spoke.
Abram felt pretty sure he knew what she’d ask next.
“That’s good to know. Thanks, Abram. Now…Tell me whose family you’re going to see, and who’s family here, because I don’t recognize any of you, and this is a small town. And never you mind that B.S. about trading in town. I figure that’s real enough, but it’s not why you risked your lives driving here through the chaos out there. The truth, if you please,” she said, with extra emphasis at the end.
Frank’s voice sounded tight and tense when he replied, “I’m Frank Brown. My daughter was married to Kent Brockman.”
Her eyes went wide, and she blurted, “The mayor?” Then, realizing that she’d perhaps given away information, her lips flatlined. “He’s not married. Nice try.”
Frank didn’t give Abram the opportunity to step in as, with shoulders squaring back and head rising to his full, erect height, he said in a monotone voice that nonetheless rang with emotion in Abram’s ears, “His wife—my daughter—died of cancer. I’m glad to hear Kent didn’t replace her so soon.”
Abram cringed at Frank’s tone. At the end, he might as well have spit Kent’s name out.
The guard couldn’t have helped noting his tone, as well, though she didn’t visibly react. She replied, “I’m sorry for your loss, sir. Many of us have lost loved ones, lately, you may have noticed. I can…sympathize with what you went through.”
“So, you understand my point.”
She shook her head. “Regardless, I hope that you understand why I’m going to have to detain you until the mayor authorizes your entry. Only idiots let unknown people roam free in town, yeah? So don’t look at me like that. You had to know this would happen. But I’ll make sure your vehicle and everything in it right now is still where you left it, if he lets you free.”
“And if he doesn’t let us in?” Owen asked, leaning over to see her better.
Abram could have groaned. That was not a question to which anyone wanted to know the answer.
She narrowed her eyes for an instant, then stood and walked back to the firing line—this time, without such a circuitous route, Abram noted with relief.
Frank drove his elbow into Owen’s arm. “Idiot.”
Owen snarled and retreated to his side of the truck cab, rubbing his arm. “That was entirely unnecessary, man.”
After that, silence ruled the cab. Abram busied himself with counting off seconds, mostly to steady his jittery nerves. He lost count after 900, but by then, he’d mastered his breathing and heartrate. By the time the woman broke from the guards’ line to return to the truck, at least ten minutes had gone by, though it had felt more like eternity.
24
Danny left the meeting struggling to keep his stomach steady. His knees, too. That goon of Black’s, Gary, had been watching him way too closely for it to be casual. He was judging Danny, it was clear. If he hadn’t liked what he saw, if the judge’s verdict had been “guilty,” what would the penalty have been? Both those men had blood on their hands, he could practically smell it on them. Would his own have been added to their list? Or would they merely have beaten him savagely? It had taken every effort of will not to panic in there. The fresh air outside helped, but only a little. He walked carefully to the end of the block and around the corner before he felt comfortable enough to sit down on a curb to collect himself.
From his vantage, he looked out over much of the central town, such as it was, with the people going to and fro. Everywhere he looked, people waved at those they passed by. A flock of kids played street hockey, just down the road from Danny’s perch, laughing and being boisterous. Life. Everywhere is life. But not in that office. In there, he’d felt only death. Two monsters in human meat suits had taken over this idyllic place, riding on the coattails of a great man who had lost his life where no one but the monster himself could see. Had it happened like Black said? Danny felt in his bones, it couldn’t have. Black had seen an opportunity and he’d taken it.
But what could Danny do about it? He was no warrior. He could shoot straight enough, and he didn’t lack for courage, but he was no fool, either. Gary would tear him apart, or Black would, no matter which one he shot. They were always together, it seemed. Only if they were with a lot of other people had he ever seen them parted, and he couldn’t very well rid the town of its problem with so many witnesses. These people, bless their hearts, were enamored with Black and his admittedly charismatic mask. He couldn’t save them, much less save them from themselves.
Or…could he? An idea came to mind, then. It was risky, to say the least, and it would require a huge sacrifice on his part. But if he could make it work, if he could get rid of the monkey on Clarks Crossing’s back, he’d get back everything he’d have to give up in the process. Maybe he couldn’t personally eliminate Black and his goon—not without getting himself killed, exiled, or worse—but he knew someone who could. Someone Black was going to pay a visit to, soon…in a few weeks…no rush…
Danny walked briskly to his next responsibility, but his thoughts were laser-focused on one thing: How he could escape Clarks Crossing, and make it alive to warn Burnsville of the coming storm and the tyrant bringing it?
“Okay, he’s cleared you to come in,” said the guard who’d returned to Fr
ank’s truck outside Burnsville. She bent down to look them each in the eyes, Abram last. “He’ll be meeting with you as quickly as he can clear his schedule. Of course, I’m not about to show strangers where the mayor is, and no way you come in armed. So, please exit the vehicle, leaving all your weapons in the cabin. Lock the vehicle and give me the keys.”
“Why, so you can take our supplies?” Frank glowered at her.
She didn’t flinch. “If you don’t do what I say, we’re going to shoot you all as you sit in that truck, and then we’ll definitely take your supplies. And your truck, once we wash it out and throw Bond-o on the bullet holes. You decide.”
She and Frank stared at one another, each waiting for the other to flinch.
With all their lives as the stakes to Frank’s stupid game, Abram wasn’t about to wait to see who “won.” They’d all be the losers.
He said, “Stand down, Frank. We do as she says. You don’t think I’d let strangers wander around our place, do you?”
“No…”
“Much less, armed ones. So put your damn guns in the cab and do what the nice lady says. And whatever other instructions she gives, you just imagine it’s me telling you what to do, because I am.”
Frank grumbled but nodded and looked away from his staring contest. “Fine. Let’s walk into the lion’s den helpless, and just hope they’re nice people and give us our stuff back, oh-pretty-please. With cherries on top.”
Abram’s mouth twitched. He took a deep breath, though, and let it go.
Once the three of them were disarmed and stood outside the locked vehicle, Frank gave her his keys, none too gently.
The guards’ line broke then as three men came forward and, with rifles pointed at Abram and his companions, turned them roughly to face the truck. “Put your hands together,” one demanded.
Owen said, “Are we doing this, for real? We’re not armed.”
“Do it, mister,” the woman said, her gaze unwavering.
Owen was the last to comply, but he did.
Abram felt the metallic clink, clank of the cuffs going around his wrists and being ratcheted closed. Then, over his shoulder, he saw the guard behind him pull out a bag. “What the heck are you going to do with that thing?”
The woman answered, “This is a precaution only. Please, don’t worry. We just will not give outsiders a guided tour to our leader’s location. I hope you understand.”
This time, her voice had no trace of its earlier hard edge. She’d got what she wanted and, Abram assumed, now felt safe enough to sympathize. It was a good sign. “Yes, we understand completely. It was just a surprise, not expecting that. I appreciate you explaining it to us.” He stood still as someone slid the bag over his head, but it was a struggle to keep his breathing under control as fear washed through him. Blind and in danger. It was an uncomfortable position to willingly put himself in. Would the others? He listened carefully, praying they didn’t fight the hoods. Especially now that they were cuffed…
Frank grunted, a deep rumbly sound, but didn’t argue, thankfully.
Owen’s voice: “That’s harsh. You got all the guns. But hey, when in Rome. We’ll be good, I promise.”
“See that you do,” the woman replied. “Okay, guys, take them to the waiting room.”
That sounded promising.
Abram felt a strong hand clamp onto the back of his neck, though not too painfully, and something small and hard jammed into his lower back, over his spine. He recognized the feel of a gun barrel at point-blank range…He gave no resistance when the clamping hand shoved him forward, not roughly, but not asking permission, either. They were led forward, then left, an immediate left again, then right, right again. That was when Abram lost track of directions. For another ten minutes, they walked, though the town hadn’t looked like it would take ten minutes to get from one end to the next. For all he knew, they were leading him in circles…
The sound of a door opening and a slight rush of musty air in his face. Then, the outside sounds of birds and crickets vanished, too. Inside a building, certainly, but where? This would definitely make escape a problem, if this situation went south on them.
Another door swished open, but this time, instead of being led/pushed through it, the hand gripping him gave a rough shove and let go.
Abram let out a yelp, then crashed down onto a carpeted floor. He heard one, then a second similar scenario unfold as Owen and Frank were delivered one after the other, right after Abram had been. Then, the bags were lifted off their heads. Abram squinted against the sudden light of a single, uncovered bulb hanging from the ceiling, and saw the guards had shoved them into what looked like an empty bedroom. Office? No, it didn’t look like an empty office. Offices had no closet, which this room had, albeit without its door. “Hey, where are we?”
As he called to the three men who had delivered them there, they ignored him and left, the last one closing the door behind him. The only answer was the metallic clink-and-jangle of locks being applied to the door on the outside.
“Great, we’re locked in,” Frank muttered.
Abram nodded. Captain Obvious, there. He took a deep breath and then, with his voice carefully even, he said, “Of course we are. She did say we were to be taken to the waiting room. This must be it. I’m sure Kent will be along shortly to see what’s going on. In the meantime, try to relax and don’t make things harder on us than they need to be. We’re okay, and we’re likely to stay that way if we don’t make enemies of these people. Okay?”
Owen nodded readily, though Frank paused before giving a faint nod. “Fine. Nice waiting room, eh? Take a look at the window.”
Abram’s gaze flicked over to the window reflexively. There, dusty drapes hung to either side of the window, but the glass had been painted black. Abram could easily see the tell-tale lines of a hasty spray-paint job. He had no doubt those windows were nailed shut, so if they tried to wrench them open or to break the glass, anyone on the other side of that door would certainly hear it.
He let out a long breath. They could be there a while, he decided. Kent wasn’t likely to rush over to embrace his estranged father-in-law, after all. So, he scooted up against the nearest wall, adjusting his position to avoid sitting on his bound hands, and promptly fell asleep as exhaustion caught up to him at last. His last thoughts before sliding into his nap were to hope that, if Kent decided to have them all killed, he’d be sleeping peacefully for the incident.
Danny looked to make sure Misty wasn’t watching, then slid the photo to his other hand, under the table. Pocketing it, he smiled at her. She was one of the only people he wanted to remember, if things turned out badly and he wasn’t able to return. She had put all her pictures of Wyatt in a box, with his help, though he thought it was too early to try to put her husband’s death behind her. She needed to mourn, but she wasn’t the kind to do that like everyone else. She hadn’t gotten drunk, and since first finding out, she hadn’t even really cried it out, she’d told him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” He lifted his hand back above the table, and ran one finger along the edge of the cardboard box that now held every memory of her life with Wyatt. Other boxes sat all around, holding everything she’d actually unpack at her new house. There were plenty vacant ones in town, and this one held too many memories of him.
“Yes. I can’t move on when I expect him to come down the stairs at any moment, or when I see him standing over the stove with his goofy-ass apron, flipping burgers for dinner. His smile…It makes me want to cry, every time I think of him.” She pinched her nose with one hand, resting her elbow in her other palm, eyes threatening to turn red.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Everything he’d said that evening had turned to a conversation about her husband. No, she was far from ready to move on, much less stand up to Black, and she hadn’t yet seen through his disguise, in any case. But she was his friend and had asked for help. It was the least he could do for his close friend’s widow, before leaving town.
> She sniffed, then fanned the air at him with her hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s not your fault. He was on a run, and those things are dangerous. Things happened. He’s gone. I’m the one who should be sorry. You’ve been a real knight, helping me out since he…left us. And he was your friend, too. You’ve got your own sorrows. Thank God someone came along who’s strong enough to stand in his shoes for us, at least.”
Black. God wasn’t the one to thank for inflicting that monster on them. But Danny let it go without saying anything about his feelings. No one could suspect what was coming, if he ever wanted to come home after this mission. And it was a mission, he’d decided. Not from God, but for his people, and that was just as good. Better, even, since he could feel, hear, smell his people a lot more than he could God.
“He’d have wanted me to make sure you’re okay. Don’t mention it.”
“Well, there’s a truth bomb. It just blew up all over you,” Misty replied. It was an odd figure of speech she often used, and not always when it fit perfectly, a habit she’d picked up sometime before she’d met him. She smiled feebly as she moved from the table’s far side over to the counter and picked up her steaming coffee. “Stay safe on tonight’s run, you got me? I can’t lose you both in one week.”
He smiled, as reassuringly as he could manage. “I will. I promise. I plan on being here to celebrate his birthday with you, so I can’t die yet.”
She didn’t smile back. “Yes, you can. Anyone can. At any time, you could just poof,” she said, snapping her fingers, “and be gone just like that.”
“I’ll be safe. It’s a big convoy, considering the size of our, um, allies and the goods they’re paying up. I still can’t believe they contacted us.”
“It’s a dangerous world out there, now, as Wyatt…” She paused, pressing the side of her fist against her lips for a moment. “People will pay to be safe again. It’s kind of like taxes were, before all of this.”
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 16