by Mike Kraus
Mark shook his head and Jason eased up on his grip, still keeping his arm around him, trying to comfort him. “The good news, though, is that we know they’re safe.” Jason continued whispering. “I need to talk with Tina and see if we can come up with a plan. You gonna stay put if I let you go?”
Mark nodded and Jason patted him on the back, then slowly scooched over close to Tina. He leaned in and whispered to her, keeping his head low and near hers so that they could quietly speak without their voices carrying over the road.
“He spotted them.”
“How many?”
“All four.”
“Surprised you managed to keep him from jumping and running.”
“He’s going to soon if we don’t come up with a plan.”
Tina glanced back over the edge of the ditch, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Jason. We can’t handle that many of them. They clearly didn’t bring everyone to their assault on the house. What’s the count up to?”
“Twelve.” Mark whispered softly, crawling over and joining in on the quiet conversation. “Maybe a few more or less, but we’ve been keeping track of them based on their clothes and stuff so I think that’s right.”
“At least twelve. We can’t handle that.” Tina sighed. “No way can we handle that.”
“Then we find a different way.” Jason pulled off his wool cap and ran a finger through his hair. “Nightfall’s going to be our best bet. I say we try and get a bit of rest before then. Once the sun goes down we can reevaluate and try to figure something out.”
“Will they even survive till the night?” Mark’s words hung in the air, unanswered, fostering a sense of dread and trepidation. Dianne, Jacob and Josie had all looked the worse for wear and Sarah appeared to be with them. The details of what was going on were impossible to know from their location huddled in a damp ditch across the road, but as the sun began crawling back down toward the horizon, they hoped the answers would come soon.
Whether the answers were good or not was anyone’s guess.
Chapter 12
Washington, D.C.
“Sit down!” Carl snarled as he approached the glass wall of the conference room, rifle raised at Jane. With her hands bound at the wrists the most she could do was raise them to chest level as she walked forward, shouting and pleading at the top of her lungs.
“Please! You have to take me to him! He needs his medication! Dr. Evans could die unless he gets it!”
Carl hesitated, then shook his head. “No, he doesn’t take any.”
“I’ve been his assistant for the last three years. I think I’d know if he takes heart medication! If he doesn’t get his shot once a day he could have a stroke or a heart attack!”
“Good girl.” Rick whispered to himself as he sat on the floor, watching the drama unfold in front of him.
“Please, just take me to him.” She took another step forward. “It’s in his bag. I’ll give him his shot then you can bring me back here, all right? Unless you want him dead before you’re able to decrypt the master unlock codes?” Jane had racked her brain to remember something of what Dr. Evans spoke of about Damocles, and the master unlock codes were the first thing to spring to mind.
The phrase, while vague, was enough to make Carl lower his rifle ever so slightly. He watched her carefully, looking for a sign that she was lying, but her nausea and subsequent sweating masked her subterfuge. After a long look at Jane, Carl touched the side of his mask and spoke softly, waited for a reply, responded and had a dialogue that went on for a good thirty seconds before Jane advanced again, shouting at him.
“Please, Dr. Evans needs his shot!”
“Where is it?”
“In his bag!”
“Describe it.”
“Small needle, around three inches long, and several vials with a green label. You have to prime the syringe, first though, by—”
“There’s nothing of the sort in his bag.”
Jane rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “It’s in a pouch in a side pocket—look, just take me there. I’ll give him the shot, then you can bring me back.”
Carl watched her as he spoke softly again. Another thirty seconds passed in which Rick grew increasingly nervous until the Russian finally relented. “We’re going down one floor. You,” Carl pointed at Rick, “will not move. If you do, she dies.”
Rick shrugged and nodded, then Carl raised his rifle again as he approached the glass door. “Step back!” He barked the order at Jane and she complied, still keeping her hands up at chest level. Carl reached for the door to the conference room, removed the chain around the handle and a support column next to it, pulled it open, then kept it in place with his boot. He motioned at Jane with his free hand, keeping the rifle loose so that he could swing it either in her direction or in Rick’s if either of them tried anything.
Jane’s heart pounded as she walked toward Carl, and time seemed to slow as she thought over Rick’s words to her about waiting for the “opportune moment.” She still wasn’t sure when that moment would arrive, but when he said it she assumed it wouldn’t be until she reached the room where Dr. Evans was being held.
Fortune, as the saying goes, though, favors the bold.
As Jane passed over the threshold out of the conference room, she saw Carl turn and focus his attention on Rick. Seizing upon the Russian’s split second of distraction, she lunged at him, slamming into his frame with her entire weight, which wasn’t even three-quarters of what he weighed. The surprise of the attack overwhelmed him, though, and he tumbled to the ground inside the conference room, the rifle spilling out of his hands and scattering across the floor.
Rick was on the Russian like a panther, springing from his spot on the floor while Jane clawed at Carl’s face. Bile rose in Rick’s throat with the sudden movement but he pushed past it, running around the conference table and delivering a kick to the side of Carl’s head that landed with a satisfying—albeit gruesome—crunch of both mask and bone. Carl’s cursing and flailing movements ceased in an instant as his neck twisted to the side, snapping his spine at the base of his skull.
“Here, quick!” Rick grabbed a knife out of the Russian’s vest with both hands and held it out for Jane. She ran the zip-tie around her wrists over the blade, snapping the plastic in a few seconds. She then took the knife, did the same for Rick and then tossed the weapon aside in favor of Carl’s rifle. Rick, meanwhile, rolled the Russian over and opened his backpack, pulling out the two masks that he had confiscated from Rick and Jane. He turned them over and examined the interiors of the devices before using Carl’s knife to dig out a small plastic plate in the center of each mask. A small bundle of wires and electronics came out with the plate, and Rick tossed them to the side before handing one of the masks to Jane.
All feelings of nausea, exhaustion and dehydration vanished as they put on the masks, breathing in filtered air free of almost all traces of rancid, rotten flesh. Rick and Jane knelt next to Carl, each on one side of the dead Russian, until Jane pushed herself up with the help of the rifle and held out her hand to help Rick to his feet.
“Nice work.” He nodded at her as he caught his breath. “Now we need to take out Ostap and save Dr. Evans.”
“Do you think they heard anything?”
Rick shook his head. “I don’t know. We need to get moving quickly, though, just in case Carl’s mask was transmitting out and Ostap heard something.”
“Agreed. Grab his pistol, I’ll check the hall and make sure the coast is clear.”
Rick nodded and leaned down to pluck Carl’s pistol off his hip. At the same time, Jane turned around and headed back across the threshold of the conference room. She pivoted to the right, taking a look down the hall where the stairs leading down into the next area were located, and let out a muffled shriek. Her cry was barely registered by Rick, though, over the explosive sound of gunfire rattling in the confined space. Several shots rang out and he raised his head, first seeing Jane slowly toppling over, then
seeing the blood already beginning to stain her shirt and pants.
Time felt like it was slowing again as he looked to his right, seeing a glimpse of a masked figure moving down the hall, rifle in hand as he continued to put rounds into Jane’s limp body, each shot sounding like cannon fire in the enclosed space. Emergency lights, Carl’s flashlight and a headlamp on the advancing figure all flickered and bounced around, though none of it mattered one whit to Rick. He wondered, ever so briefly, if the glass of the conference room walls was bulletproof as he raised Carl’s pistol, lined up the sights on the figure and squeezed the trigger.
Glass exploded as the rounds passed through, thrown ever so slightly off course by the angle at which they penetrated the barrier, but not enough to keep them from hitting their target. So laser-focused was Ostap on gunning down Jane that he didn’t notice he was being shot until the third round penetrated into his side, passing through his kidney and tearing apart his bowels in the process. Pain shot through his body and he felt himself falling as he ran, losing control over his hands and arms and skidding to a stop with a wheezing, gasping breath.
Rick dropped the pistol and ran into the hall before dropping to his knees next to Jane. Blood poured from her wounds, her skin already turning pale, as she opened her eyes at his touch. Her lips moved behind the mask but no words came out, and Rick tore it off to see thick rivulets of blood running down the sides of her face to join that which had already pooled beneath her body. He looked her over, trying to figure out which wound to tend to first when her eyes fluttered open and she tried to speak again.
“Thank you... thank you for everything.” The words were barely a whisper, and Rick shook his head at her.
“You’re not dying! No!” Tears stung Rick’s eyes beneath his mask as he spoke to her, trying to convince himself of what he was saying more than he was trying to convince her. “Ostap’s dead and I’ll go get Dr. Evans; he can help you. We can find the Capitol police again, too! They fixed you up last time; they can do it again!”
Jane’s body heaved and a splatter of blood came from her mouth in a choking, gasping cough before she whispered again. Her eyes widened and she reached for Rick, grabbing at his hand and digging her nails into his skin as she whispered again.
“I’m scared, Rick.”
“I know. It’ll be okay, though. I promise. It’ll be okay!” Rick pulled off his mask and looked her over again. Wounds littered her chest, and two had passed through her right leg. From the paleness of her skin and the amount of blood beneath her, it looked like one of the bullets had torn through an artery.
Her grip on his hand tightened again and she took in one final, ragged, determined breath. Her grip on his hand loosened and he lowered her arm to her side before rocking back onto his heels. The overwhelming smell of the bunker meant nothing as tears poured down his cheeks, though wiping them away did nothing. It took less than a minute for the tears to turn to rage, though, as Rick heard a pained grunt from off to the side, pulling his attention away.
He rose and took a few steps over to Ostap, who was crawling along the ground, trying to get to his rifle. Rick kicked the weapon to the side and pushed Ostap over on his back, unable to repress a sneer at the sound of the Russian crying out in pain. He knelt down, tore Ostap’s mask off and flung it away before taking out Ostap’s knife from his vest and holding it at the man’s throat.
“Why. Would. You. Kill her.”
For a long moment Ostap lay still, his eyes closed, his breaths coming in slow, shuddering waves. When he opened his eyes, a cruel smile played across his lips and he whispered to Rick as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
“If you spent more time worrying about what’s really important, you might ask yourself a very simple question.”
“Which is?” Rick’s voice shook with rage and grief, and he grabbed Ostap by the collar.
The smile turned into a grin as Ostap, too, took one final breath.
“Don’t you want to know where your precious Dr. Evans is at?”
Chapter 13
Ellisville, VA
Mark had been a heavy sleeper for many years, much to the annoyance of both his parents. His ability to fall asleep within minutes in virtually any position or situation was convenient for him, but it often took multiple tries to wake him in the morning, a fact that irked his mother nearly each and every day. Ever since the event, though, Mark’s sleeping habits had changed. No longer was he able to fall asleep wherever and whenever he wanted and the slightest noise woke him, often causing his heart to start pounding as his mind jumped to assigning the sound to some terrible calamity.
After being on his feet for so long, though, the damp ground at the deepest part of the ditch seemed like a feather mattress and he had barely put up any sort of a fight or argument when Tina told him and Jason to get some rest. He was asleep within seconds of putting his head down and he quickly fell into a dreamless slumber. The hood of his jacket was pulled up and over his head and eyes to help block out the fading sun, and Jason laid down a few feet away in a similar position. Tina, meanwhile, stayed leaning up against the slope of the ditch, alternating her gaze between the magnified optic on Jason’s rifle and off of it to take in a wider view of the movement across the road.
Hours ticked in painful slowness, the mental note-taking and constant watching of the center doing nothing to alleviate the sheer boredom of the task. Occasionally, when a cluster of the men would gather together, Tina felt the urge to shoulder the rifle and try to take several of them out at once, but common sense quickly overtook her and she resumed her watch.
It wasn’t until the late afternoon that the bleak situation took a sharp turn toward the unexpected. A car with a pair inside of it pulled up in front of the center and the driver and passenger went inside, carrying a few bags between them. Later, as a group of men gathered out in front of the community center, near the vehicles parked there, they began to move a large covered trailer into position behind one of the trucks. After connecting it to the truck they began working on the back door of the trailer—which was apparently broken and wouldn’t shut correctly—though they didn’t make much progress. As they worked, the volume of their shouts and cursing at the trailer and at each other increased, and Tina began to hear bits and pieces of their conversation. After listening for a few minutes, she finally caught a phrase that made her eyes grow wide. She turned and slid down the slope of the ditch to Jason and Mark, putting her hands on their chests and shaking them.
“Wake up!” She whispered to both of them, one after the other, then threw herself against the slope again and looked at the center. Sounds of hammering and more cursing came from the back of the trailer, and she soon saw one of the men toss a tool through the air before throwing up his hands in frustration. Mark and Jason joined her a moment later, and they both looked at her with bleary eyes.
“What’s going on over there?” Jason spoke softly, just barely loud enough for her to hear.
“They’re going back to the house.” Tina didn’t take her eyes off of the men as she spoke.
“They—wait, what?” Mark and Jason both blinked rapidly, trying to figure out if they had really heard what they thought they heard. Tina nodded again and put a finger to her lips as she leaned in close.
“They sent out another truck early this morning, after they got back with Dianne and the rest. It’s going on a supply run for food and fuel but they don’t expect it back for another couple days. For the last half hour, though, they’ve been shouting at each other, trying to get the box trailer repaired. The rear door’s broken and the hitch is giving them quite a time but they’re going to leave soon. They want to get back to the house and get supplies from the barns; anything that didn’t burn up in the fire they started. They figure all that plus the supply run from this morning will get them all set up.”
“Which means they’ll be ransacking the house since we put that fire out… and then they’ll figure out that we’re still alive. We have to
get on that trailer.” Jason rubbed a dirty thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose as though the action could somehow drive away the headache that was already gathering there.
“On… the trailer?” It was Tina’s turn to stare slack-jawed in Jason’s direction. “How do you figure we’ll do that? Magic?!” Her voice was dangerously close to breaching the level of a whisper and Jason had to motion for her to quiet down.
“No. We make some kind of a distraction as they’re pulling out. Get them to look away from the back for a minute. Then we climb on board, ride it to the house and surprise them when they open it up.”
“How is that going to help us?” Mark’s eyes were wide, partially from fear and partially from the excitement and anticipation of finally doing something.
“Good question.” Tina stared at Jason expectantly.
“If we get aboard and ambush them at the house, we’ll gain a vehicle and weapons. Plus we’ll be able to reduce their numbers and get the element of surprise. If we’re fast, they won’t be able to report back to red shirt and we can mount a rescue operation.”
Before Tina could respond, Jason slid back down the slope of the ditch and began rummaging through his bag. At the same time, she saw the door to the front of the community center open and a man flanked by a few others came out, bellowing at the group trying to get the trailer hooked up. His voice was clear and carried far, making it easy to understand what he was saying even from across the road.
“Rip out the solar panels and tear open the barns! Take anything that the fire didn’t consume. I want you back before sunrise, understand? We have to…” the voice grew quieter as he stepped inside the trailer, but Tina, Jason and Mark had heard enough.
“Here.” Jason slithered back up the slope, cradling a small cardboard box in his hands. He opened the flaps to reveal a pair of shotgun shells connected to wires, a simple switch and a pair of springs, all of which was mounted to a small block of wood. “When I was making the traps before, I made this as a prototype. It’s got a ten second timer on it. You set the timer, throw it and the shells go off ten seconds later. It’s not likely to do much harm to anyone but it’ll make one heck of a noise.”