The Forgotten Holocaust

by Scott Mariani

  He was wrong. The green light turned to red before the Ford got there. But the Ford didn’t slow down. As Ben watched, it went storming brazenly across the intersection with the van close behind, cutting across the path of an oncoming Nissan and causing it to swerve violently to avoid a collision. The Nissan’s driver hit the brakes too hard, lost control and spun a full three-sixty and slammed hard into a Lexus that had been coming up behind it. The Lexus spun into a Subaru, which went careering straight into the path of a bus. Horns sounded in panic. Tyres screeched. Metal crunched and plastic splintered. The blue Ford sailed through the middle of the chaos without taking a scratch, but the dented Lexus rolled backwards into the way of the van. The GMC was bigger and heavier and smashed it out of the way in an explosion of flying wreckage as it followed the Ford away from the intersection and up the street.

  Ben hit the brakes and sawed the Jeep’s wheel this way and that, swerving wildly through the pile-up until he saw that the way ahead was almost completely blocked by crumpled vehicles. He pulled to a halt and scrambled out of the Jeep. Saw the blue Ford and the van disappearing away into the distance. He’d lost them. He clenched his fist and pounded it against the Jeep’s bonnet.

  People were getting out of their cars, staggering about looking dazed. Someone’s horn was jammed on. The back door dropped off the badly buckled rear of the Lexus where the wing of the van had ploughed into it. The Subaru’s front end had been mangled by the bus and a plume of steam was hissing from its radiator. The bus driver, a heavyset black guy in a uniform and cap, was scratching his head and staring around him at the damage. Some of his passengers were getting out, shaken and pale. A child was crying.

  ‘Did you see?’ an old woman said, pointing. ‘That guy was a maniac!’

  ‘Is anybody hurt?’ Ben asked. All he got in reply were numb looks and a few head shakes. He couldn’t see any blood on anyone. The only real injuries were to metal and plastic and insurance premiums. The only fatality of the situation was his chase. The Ford and the GMC were long gone.

  At that moment, something caught his eye and he walked over to take a closer look, his shoes crunching on scattered bits of headlamp glass. Where the van had collided with the rolling Lexus, there was a big dark stain on the road. It had been quite a thump. There was a lot of smashed plastic everywhere. Most of the van’s right headlamp unit had been torn out, like an eye ripped out of its socket. It looked as if the radiator had taken a bad knock, too.

  Ben crouched down and touched a fingertip to the dark stain on the road. It was wet and warm. Water, not oil. It hadn’t come from the Lexus. He could tell that from two things. First, there was little damage to the front end of the car. Second, there was a whole trail of black splotches leading away from the accident scene and in the direction the van had gone.

  He got back into the Jeep.

  ‘You can’t leave, man,’ the bus driver hollered. ‘Cops will be here in a minute.’ Ben ignored the guy, put the Jeep in gear and gently nudged a way between the two damaged cars blocking his way. If he returned the Jeep to the rental company with nothing worse than one or two scratches, nobody would die over it. Once he was clear of the wreckage zone, he hit the gas hard. His chase was back on, but how far would the trail lead him?

  Chapter Forty

  Both Erin and Detective Morrell stood frozen in the shadows of the car park, gawking in the direction of the fast-approaching roar of engines. Then, as they watched, a blue Ford Taurus burst into sight. Through the dazzle of its headlights Erin instantly recognised it as the one parked near her house earlier that day. Its front wheels hit the bottom of the slope, compressing hard against the suspension and making a squeal that echoed around the concrete walls and pillars of the underground space. The Taurus was closely followed by a white GMC van. Erin vaguely registered that the van was missing a headlamp and half its radiator grille.

  But that was the least of her concerns as the two vehicles swerved across the car park and accelerated right towards where she and Morrell were standing.

  ‘Look out!’ the detective yelled, reaching out to grab her hand and haul her to safety. But Erin was already moving. She retreated quickly through the gap between her Honda and the Toyota pickup next to it, ducked down behind them and crouched low. Morrell quickly joined her.

  The blue Ford screeched to a halt next to Morrell’s Lincoln, rocking on its tired springs. The van pulled up at an angle to it. Doors flew open. Three men piled decisively out of the Ford, all wearing grim expressions. Erin only caught a glimpse of them, but she recognised one as the man who’d been sitting waiting for his buddy to dope her with tranquillisers so they could stuff her in the trunk and take her away. The other two she’d never seen before.

  But the pair jumping down from the cab of the battered white GMC van: she got a clear look at them and she knew their faces very well. They were faces that had haunted her nightmares ever since that night at the cabin on Oologah Lake, and seeing them again hit her with a chill that made her gasp. McCrory’s henchmen, his killers for hire. Moon and Ritter, Morrell had called them.

  She recognised the van, too. It had been there that night. They’d used it to dispose of the dead Kirk Blaylock.

  She looked at Morrell. His face was etched with tension. He reached under his loose shirt, and she saw the concealment holster tucked into the hem of his jeans. He drew out a pistol. It was a Colt 1911 government model, big old-fashioned heavy iron. ‘Stay down,’ Morrell hissed at her.

  The attackers were striding towards them, their steps echoing. Five against two. Erin heard a muttered command. She wanted to close her eyes and shrink into a tiny ball. Beside her, Morrell jacked a round into his Colt’s chamber. ‘Police!’ he yelled. ‘Back off or I’ll shoot!’

  The response was a deafening thunder of gunfire that filled the car park. Erin flinched, covered her ears, didn’t know what to do. Bullets ripped into her little yellow car and howled off the concrete, tore chunks out of the wall behind. Morrell let off a wild shot and crawled around the back of the Honda. Now he and Erin were separated by about eight feet of open space. More shots sounded. The Honda’s windows shattered as if a grenade had gone off inside it, throwing out hailstones of glass that bounced all around the concrete floor.

  Cringing behind the Toyota pickup, Erin suddenly realised that they were only firing at Morrell. The detective threw himself into a sideways prone position so he could aim his gun out from behind cover, firing back between the cars. Erin saw the white muzzle flash erupt three times, four times, from his Colt. The big .45 was extremely loud at close quarters. A spent shell case tinkled across the gap between the Honda and the Toyota and lodged under her arm, burning her skin. She hardly felt it.

  Two of the men from the car dived for cover from Morrell’s gunfire. The Taurus’s back side window shattered. Morrell let off two more booming rounds, but he was in a bad position to shoot from and his shots went off target, punching fat round holes in the car’s blue bodywork.

  Erin shrank deeper underneath the back of the Toyota. It had jacked suspension and oversized tyres that lifted its chassis high enough off the ground for her to get tucked right under. Peering out from her hiding place she could see a pair of feet. Lightweight combat boots, belonging to one of the attackers sheltering behind the white van. Her mind was beginning to focus now after the initial panic. She could feel the Springfield inside her pocket. There was just space under the car for her to get it out, but not enough to aim it properly. She had to hold it flatways and had no idea whether her sights would still line up. She fired anyway, letting off three shots as quickly as she could control the snappy recoil of the nine-millimetre, screwing up her face at the lancing pain in her eardrums. Her hearing was now just one big singing whine of tinnitus. She saw the combat boots dance quickly away and realised that her shots had all gone wide, punching into Morrell’s Lincoln.

  The detective let off another round from his .45 and then its seven-shot magazine was empty. Exactly the reason why
most people favoured high-capacity nines these days. Erin twisted around under the Toyota and saw him drop the empty mag from the butt of his gun, saw him reach to his left hip for the spare in his belt pouch. In the brief pause, the driver of the Ford broke cover from behind his car. He kept low as he sneaked up between the Honda and the pillar next to it, clearly intending to work his way around Morrell’s flank. The detective hadn’t noticed because he was focused on reloading his gun. Erin spotted the movement through what was left of the Honda’s shattered windows. This was the jerkoff who’d come to kidnap her earlier.

  ‘Morrell!’ she shouted, and opened fire from underneath the Toyota. She couldn’t shoot to kill. She lined the sights up on his shoulder. The Springfield snapped in her hand, twice, the bullets passing right through her car’s interior. The man fell back out of sight with his face contorting in pain and his hand slapping to his shoulder where he’d been hit. There was blood on the concrete pillar behind him.

  Morrell flashed her a thumbs-up sign and an earnest look of gratitude. Despite her terror, Erin’s heart soared. We can win this, she thought.

  But in the next few moments, she saw that she was wrong. A chattering blast of automatic gunfire riddled the side of the Honda and hammered the concrete between it and the Toyota, driving her back as far as she could scramble underneath for cover. She caught a fleeting glimpse of the two men from the van, steadily advancing towards Morrell’s position. They were holding black assault weapons of a kind she’d never seen before, weird and futuristic. Whatever the hell they were, they weren’t the sort of thing that was available to ordinary citizens, not even to ordinary criminals. They were full-blown military hardware and the two men seemed terrifyingly adept at using them. They were rapidly turning the Honda into Swiss cheese.

  Morrell scampered for cover around the back of the car like a jackrabbit flushed out by hounds. The firestorm coming at him was so intense that he couldn’t return a single shot from his pistol. The Honda was literally coming apart. One corner settled as its tyre was shredded, then another. Its thin yellow body panels were more silver-edged bullet holes than intact metal. The two shooters kept coming. The ponytailed one did a lightning-fast reload while the other covered him, then they switched over. Empty cases streamed from their weapons. Their muzzles were lit up with strobing white light. It was a continual outpouring of bullets, the noise so bad that Erin wanted to scream. She couldn’t move, couldn’t shoot for fear that they’d direct the fire at her.

  Morrell didn’t have a chance. He was so tucked in under the back end of the devastated Honda that all that was visible now was one leg sticking out, bent at the knee, bracing him tightly in behind his rapidly diminishing cover. Erin couldn’t see the rest of him. But she saw the blood that spattered up the wall behind the parked cars as the bullets ripped into him. Still they didn’t stop firing. The leg Erin could see started jerking and spasming, as if Morrell was having a fit. It was the impact of the bullets hitting him and the convulsions of his body as he died.

  Now it was just her. She rolled over twice and wriggled out from under the dirty bottom sill of the Toyota. Leapt to her feet, squeezed off three shots behind her without looking back, and took off as fast as she could sprint between the wall and the line of parked cars. The way through towards the shopping mall was less than twenty yards away, but it might as well have been a thousand. She knew there was little chance of making it, and even if she did, they’d come after her. But she was going to try anyway. She’d rather die than let herself be taken captive.

  She was nearly halfway to the exit when they shot her.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Erin sprawled face down to the hard concrete, dropping her gun, all her senses disintegrating into a wild tumult of pain and confusion. Something had pierced her shoulder, but it wasn’t a bullet. A bullet would have blown right through her, spraying a mist of blood outwards and across her cheek. She’d have felt the wound channel open up inside her, sinew and bone and soft tissue turning to jelly with the shock of the impact. This was something else.

  A terrible current of agony was rippling through her whole body. She couldn’t control her movements. Her arms and legs were thrashing, her spine arching backwards so tightly that it felt like it would snap, if her muscles didn’t first. She was only dimly aware of the curly wires connecting the dart in her shoulder to the device that the ponytailed man had clenched in his fist as he strolled casually up to her with his automatic weapon slung behind his shoulder.

  ‘Hey there, darlin’,’ he said. ‘How’s about you take a little ride with your uncle Billy Bob?’ He smiled as he peered down at her. There was a wad of white gum rolling around between his teeth; she caught a sharp minty smell off his breath that took her confused senses straight back to the nightmare memory of the cabin.

  He did something with the object he was holding and the awful electric convulsions stopped as suddenly as they’d begun, but Erin was too stunned to resist or even stand up. She was aware of figures of men circling her. Strong hands reached down and yanked her roughly to her feet. There was a jolt of pain as the thing stuck in her shoulder was plucked out. ‘Get your fucking hands off of me,’ she said. Her cheek was throbbing badly from the fall, and her voice sounded faraway and slurry. It was beginning to dawn on her that she’d been tasered. She kicked and struggled and lashed out with her fists. One of her punches made contact, but only weakly.

  ‘She shot me!’ It was the one she’d fired at through the Honda’s windows. Blood was soaking through his shirt and he was unsteady on his feet, pointing at her with a look of amazement. ‘She fucking shot me!’

  ‘Try and run, bitch,’ the one called Billy Bob said, taking out a pistol and shoving its muzzle under her chin. The steel was cool and hard. ‘Go on. Be a sport,’ he said. ‘That’s all I want, so I can blow your brains out.’

  ‘Get the gun out of her face,’ said the other man she recognised from the cabin, slapping the weapon away. ‘Boss wants her back alive, remember?’

  ‘Your boss. The mayor, right? Another one who’s got it coming.’

  ‘That’s right, bitch. You got yourself an appointment with the mayor. Should be honoured. He’s an important guy.’

  ‘I know who you are,’ she said. ‘You’re Moon. And you’re Ritter. Call yourselves soldiers? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.’

  ‘How ’bout I wrap your head round and round with duct tape?’ Moon said. ‘Keep that smart mouth of yours shut.’ He thrust the pistol in his belt and grabbed her roughly by the arm.

  ‘Let’s get the hell out of here,’ Ritter said, walking towards the driver’s side of the van. ‘Put the bitch in the back. I’ll drive. Moon, in with me.’ He pointed at the wounded man. ‘Jesse, you best let Skeeter drive the Taurus. Quincy, you ride in the back of the van with her. She tries anything, do what you have to do. But no rough stuff.’

  ‘That part comes later,’ Moon said, baring his teeth.

  ‘You won’t be grinning when they’re dragging your scrawny ass into the deathhouse,’ Erin seethed at him.

  Moon’s face turned sour. He spat out his wad of gum. ‘I’m gettin’ tired of your talk, lady.’ With an iron grip on her arms, he began hauling her towards the van. She tried to kick him again, lost her footing and fell. He hauled her painfully along the ground.

  Skeeter helped the injured Jesse into the back of the Taurus, leaving a blood trail. The one called Quincy walked round the rear of the van, opened up the doors. As he stood waiting for Moon to shove their captive inside, he heard something from the direction of the ramp and twisted his head around to see. ‘I think we got company, boys.’

  ‘That’s their fuckin’ problem,’ Skeeter said, closing Jesse inside the car.

  The sound of an approaching vehicle grew louder, a growing echoing rumble in the underground cavern. Ritter and Moon turned to look as the grey Jeep Patriot appeared around the bend and came down the ramp. It was moving fast. Much too fast. Its headlights blazed at them.
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br />   Ritter’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘What the—?’ Moon began. He let go of one of Erin’s arms and his hand moved to unsling his assault weapon.

  The Jeep hit the bottom of the ramp without slowing down. Its suspension bottomed out and sparks flew as its chassis scraped the concrete.

  With a roar, it came right at them.

  It wasn’t going to stop.

  ‘Jesus!’ Quincy yelled as he realised the Jeep was speeding towards the back of the van.

  Moon released Erin’s other arm, letting her fall to the ground. Pulled the weapon from his shoulder and took aim at the Jeep. Ritter had his gun raised as well. A blast of automatic fire sounded over the roar of the Jeep’s engine. Its windscreen fractured into a spider’s web of cracks and its front end instantly became a colander of holes. But nothing short of a rocket launcher could have slowed its momentum as it sped towards the back of the van. The Jeep’s driver’s door flew open and a figure tumbled out, hitting the ground and rolling. The Jeep was an unmanned missile, three thousand pounds of metal hurtling towards them. Quincy let out a yell and grabbed the mini-Uzi subgun he had stuffed down the front of his trousers. A smart guy would have been leaping out of the way already. But Quincy wasn’t very smart. He hesitated just a fraction too long.

  The Jeep impacted against the van with an explosion like a Howitzer going off inside the car park. Quincy was caught between the crumpling back doors of the van and the radiator grille of the Jeep and cut almost completely in half, his right arm severed at the shoulder and sailing through the air in an arc that carried it across the Jeep’s roof.

  The impact lifted both vehicles clear off the ground. The front of the van was driven ten feet forwards and slammed into a concrete pillar.