by Javan Bonds
◆◆◆
The man who called himself Sherman watched as the smoking Humvee sputtered into the grocery store parking lot and died before rolling in front of the empty pawnshop. He immediately shot to the right to circle the cemetery and came to a rest behind Dodge First Baptist.
He had barely killed the engine on the Polaris MV 850, smiling, when he heard glass shatter. This fucking bumpkin was doing just as he had expected and was breaking into his own business to hide. After a few silent minutes, Sherman darted to the ditch, crept to hide behind the broken-down Humvee, and spent some time peering over the hood. He spied a walkie-talkie on the front seat of the Humvee and grabbed it before finally feeling safe and walking into Pike’s Pistol and Pawn.
He entered through the shattered outer door and was unable to find any ambush from among the aisles or enemies waiting behind the bar. The door on the other side of the bar remained latched. The stupid yokels had to be hiding somewhere—the closet, the bathroom, maybe even the storage room. He thought this would have been a pretty good idea on their part because the storage room and “pawn” in a pawnshop would undoubtedly be more secure and fortified than the rest of the building. This tactic would be smart if he didn’t have high-explosive grenades.
He made his way to the back door down a short hallway. He saw that it was closed, and the door to the immediate left was standing open; he broke a glow stick and tossed it in before summarily checking the darkened room. Once he was satisfied the room was empty, he slid into it and noticed an open trapdoor in the floor leading to a concrete stairwell. He broke and tossed another glow stick down this shaft to reveal that it led to what appeared to be a steel door. This retarded hillbilly had actually cornered himself in a hole in the ground. A couple of high-explosive grenades would show him he couldn’t escape federal justice.
Just as Sherman began lifting grenades from his web gear, a call came over his radio.
CHAPTER 34
July 26
“MAYDAY, MAYDAY!”
The transmission was garbled, with the words barely audible over the static. After a brief silence, Denise picked up the handset and asked, “Jefferson, what’s wrong? Where are you? Where’s Hol—”
“Denise, thank God. We’re…pawnshop. Sherman is…need backup, fast!”
Everyone in the house heard this broken and dire conversation. Redstone moved nearer to Jackson, who was closer to the office, to see a bloodstained Denise and Jedi Master. She was speaking into the radio handset.
As he listened to his father’s desperate request for backup, Jackson felt his concussion fade away. His head cleared, and other injuries began to ache. He absently attributed this miraculous recovery to a rush of adrenaline. Jackson noted his friend standing beside him, Redstone once again completely forgetting his noninjury when he was needed and rolling his shirtsleeves back down from the completed transfusion.
The youngest Pike hurriedly began pulling on his pants and boots while Redstone slung their rifles over both shoulders. They were soon heading out the door, knowing Old Ben would surely ask them to accompany him in rescuing Jeff—he could not talk them out of going.
The old Jedi seemed surprised that they had reacted so quickly. “Ah, good. I’m going to remain and assist with the young sergeant. I believe you young men will be more than sufficient to rescue our comrades.”
Jackson wondered why a medical professional such as Old Ben would unquestioningly assume a concussed person whom he had earlier diagnosed with brain trauma would be able to fire a gun or simply walk without collapsing. Maybe the old guy could see he was up and moving around freely and was obviously better. His next thought was that Redstone would claim Old Ben had used the Force to heal him. The fact that this was believable made him realize his head might still be a little muddled and he would feel safer with Redstone driving.
◆◆◆
Redstone’s coordination was improving. Jackson wanted to congratulate him; this was the second time in as many days that he had caught something on the first try—he had deftly swiped a stick of Big Red from the air before getting in and starting the Humvee. The vehicle rolled forward, and the driver turned through the yard—something Denise would have scolded him for under other circumstances.
Redstone sped down the driveway and calmly asked, “So, you want me to just run through the gate?”
Jackson slapped his forehead and winced, as he had forgotten about the gash across it. “Jesus, dumbass. Of course not. When we save Daddy, he’ll kill you. I’ll get it.”
As they closed in on the gate and Redstone began slowing, Jackson opened the door and stepped out, walking with the vehicle, as it did not come to a complete stop, and instantly regretted it. He had once again forgotten an injury (his leg). He threw the gate open and dived into the never fully stopped vehicle. He knew that his father would at least say something about his having left the gate open, but he hoped that since this was his first offense and he felt the situation warranted the rule breaking, Jeff would understand.
The radio remained silent as they tore down the winding roads, and Redstone felt the mission was so urgent he uncharacteristically ignored every traffic law. The two friends filled the short trip with the favorite topic of Old Ben and his mastery of the Force. Redstone had his foot to the floorboard, and, as they zoomed past the water board en route to the now-powerless red light, both walkie-talkies chimed with the voice of Jeff Pike.
“I think he just shot…”
Jackson assumed his father and cousin were currently inside the pawnshop and would have undoubtedly barricaded themselves in the fortified storage room/basement. He decided Sherman had found the entrance to the bunker, and the static had covered up the words “the door” or something to that effect. Sherman would need to unload a fifty-caliber machine gun to get through that door. They realized Sherman had no tools that would help him get into the vault.
Now that they realized the battle was small caliber versus concrete, they were even more relaxed. Redstone chose not to obey traffic laws upon seeing the town hall and rushed through the red light without stopping. The Humvee flew down the middle of the highway as Jackson laughed. “Well, if Sherman will give—”
His joke was cut short by a jolting explosion from ahead: a fiery cloud bloomed up from where his father’s shop had stood only seconds ago. What was not instantly destroyed of the century-old building was now consumed by devouring flames. Redstone applied the brakes while saying nothing, just staring wide eyed at the dancing flames where Jeff Pike and the only witness to a nation-changing cover-up had just been vaporized.
Finally, Jackson broke the silence with a blank monotone. “Daddy?”
◆◆◆
“I think he just shot something!” Jeff had heard two pops and assumed they could only be gunshots. Those two pops did a lot more damage than bullets and were ultimately what destroyed the entire building and extinguished all life inside.
After estimating the strength of the door, Sherman was hoping two white-phosphorous grenades would be more than enough to burn through the obstacle between him and his target or at least weaken it enough for a high-explosive grenade to penetrate it.
The walkie-talkie he had lifted from the wrecked Humvee outside sounded with the desperate assumption from his nemesis—this idiot redneck thought those small explosions were gunshots. Maybe the door was thicker than he had originally suspected if it muffled their impending doom.
Once the grenades exploded, he waited as he heard the Willy Pete sizzle through steel and concrete, hoping to hear the door collapse or the doomed occupants speaking what would be their final words through a hole eaten into the wall. He was disappointed to hear nothing beyond the sizzling but decided it would be damn worth it to rid the world of this pathetic hayseed even without the pleasure of hearing him beg for his life.
He lifted two high-explosive grenades from the pack and pulled the pins. After tossing these down the stairs, he would return to the front room. There was no need to risk
close proximity to his own explosives so close to completing his objective. As he counted down the seconds before the explosion and time seemed to slow to a crawl, he began making his way to the open door, speaking to the locals in general over the stolen walkie-talkie.
“This is why you fucking Confederate podunks lost the war. You corner yourselves. You can’t fight the federal government.”
Sherman smiled, noticing two shadowy figures in the parking lot by the church on the other side of the highway. His smile faded as he realized it was the kid and his damned rebel uncle, and then two explosions rocked the building, vaporizing him with a snarl on his face.
After parking and cutting the engine, Redstone waited with his friend in emotionless silence, neither able to think of anything to say.
When he was unable to bear the quiet any longer, something finally clicked into place. “You know how your daddy said Sherman was in the pawnshop?” he said, hoping Jackson would follow his line of thought.
And when the man in the passenger seat’s eyebrows raised, the redhead continued with a sense of accomplishment in his deduction. “And there was no way he could have had time to make it out before…” Redstone let his sentence trail off, seeing no need to mention the explosion that had also ended Jeff Pike.
Jackson perked up at hearing this. Thankfully on the same wavelength, he allowed a minute grin to cross his face and said, “He had to have tried to get through the door with a grenade or something! Blow the doors off with C4 or something. Daddy hates Sherman, but there ain’t no way he woulda blown the whole building up just to get him!”
This somewhat relieved Jackson that the fascist bastard had surely caused his own death. Even though it had come at an insurmountable cost, he could take solace in the fact that something good had come from the ultimate sacrifice of the two patriots who had given their lives.
He wasn’t sure how, but Jackson’s spirits were already raised. The fire that had destroyed his father and his father’s store was not close to dying, but he was already cracking small jokes with his friend.
Redstone stepped out of the Humvee with the radio in his hand, attempting to contact the Jedi Master. Jackson continued to think about how his friend was able to lift a person’s spirits. Redstone seemed to have that effect on people. No matter the situation, everyone around him was always less serious, and nothing was as painful—he lifted some of the weight from your shoulders just by being the character he was. Jackson knew if he talked to Redstone while on his deathbed, his last breath would be a laugh.
CHAPTER 35
July 26
WHEN OLD BEN rolled to a stop in the town’s police truck, the two young men were sitting in their own vehicle with the doors open, contemplating how Sherman could have survived the explosion of the grenade the fallen sergeant had tossed. The town’s former tourist attraction slowly rounded the corner of his vehicle and came to rest, leaning against the closed passenger door and facing Redstone. He looked over at the younger Pike without saying a word and noticed that the young man was not in need of counseling after seeing his father’s murder but was actively conversing with his friend.
Redstone looked over and exchanged nods with the old man, who still had small splatters of blood on his shirt. “What do you think, Mr. Kennard?”
The old man peered into the distance, his eyes going gray. “If the SFC pushed the other soldier back and threw himself at the door, he could have possibly been completely unscathed by the explosion, which was majorly absorbed by the other. This obviously happened at just the right moment, because we all saw nothing but a flash.” The Jedi Master spoke with such finality and certainty that he had obviously played it out in his head. Redstone would have agreed and said it was not the place of either Padawan to question those words of wisdom. The two young men were content with the truth spoken by someone so in tune with the Force and added nothing further.
The senior in the group suggested they go inside and see if there was anything they could plunder before the undoubted leveling of the property by the US Air Force. The three rounded the corner of the building to approach the gore-covered front porch, and old Ben stopped and glanced toward the sobbing young private, who was covered in dried blood and still secured to the bumper to which he had earlier been tied. “We’ll deal with him after we get through inside.”
The Jedi Master’s decree conveyed to the men behind him that this pitiful soul was no threat where he was, and they would think of something to do with him later. He commanded the surely dehydrated private to be patient and told him they would return shortly.
Having been given the task of accumulating salvage that could be valuable, Redstone immediately charged to the room Bol had taken him to weeks before and began throwing every weapon over his shoulder that he had first seen in Call of Duty or that looked automatic and powerful. Jackson lagged behind his friend and began to strap rifles over himself and stick what grenades or pistols he could find into his pockets. He knew that his father had plenty of ammunition that would definitely be calibrated for these guns, so the boxes of ammunition were not a priority compared to these powerful firearms.
Old Ben left his compatriots alone and turned to enter the secretary’s office, which Sherman had made his public office. He discovered nothing of significance among the few papers on Bobbie Jo’s desk and decided anything important would be inside the MCU, so he moved to enter the trailer.
“And the Force is so strong with Old Ben; I’m betting he knew that Sherman had survived.” Redstone continued the conversation over his shoulder as he exited the room, covered with firearms. He stopped walking and realized that if Old Ben really could see the future, he would have seen what was going to happen at the pawnshop and prevented it. But before he could add to or retract his statement, he saw that Jackson was thinking the same thing. Completely changing topic, he said, “So you think Bol is going to make it?”
As the two passed Bobbie Jo’s office, which Old Ben had recently exited, they noticed that the Jedi must have used the Force to see that important documents were located elsewhere.
“Yeah, I hope he will and be up by the time we get back.” Jackson had originally assumed his friend would complete his statement: “Old Ben did use the Force to heal him,” putting emphasis on “did” as if it were an unquestionable fact.
As they reached the door, they heard the elder man enter from the back door. They turned to see him with a handful of file folders and at least one hard drive in his pocket. He nodded to the two and informed them, “This ought to be enough for now.”
They waited for their replacement leader to catch up and open the door. As they descended the blood-crusted steps, they saw Freeman, and as Old Ben moved to the bound soldier, he explained he had decided to place the pitiful young private in one of the cells in the National Guard trailer.
When the chronically depressed soldier groaned at overhearing this, the gray-haired man admonished, “Don’t worry, young man. We’ll leave a bottle of water within your reach.” Old Ben smiled as he sliced the zip tie from the bumper, and then he used another to bind Freeman’s hands and turned to guide the young man to the cell that would be his home for at least a night.
“What do you think we’re going to do with that pussy?” Redstone asked as both young men began walking after the door closed behind the jailer and his prisoner.
“Well, if they don’t carpet bomb tonight, I guess we can use him as a political prisoner or something.” A few hours ago, Jackson would have used his father’s name in place of “we” but now felt that Jefferson Pike’s burden of leadership had fallen to the shoulders of all of them.
Redstone chuckled. “Old Ben wouldn’t have put him in there if they were going to destroy the building, dude.” The conversation about the senior being able to see the future and the realization that he possibly could not was forgotten or ignored; Old Ben once again used the omniscience of the Force.
When the two friends began to round the corner of the building to ret
urn to their vehicle, they heard a motor from the south. The sound was clearly echoing from down the highway, and they hurried across the yard to look. They could not see the approaching vehicle clearly because of the waning light, but it sounded like a dirt bike or a four-wheeler. They had seen such a vehicle stored in the MCU, and Old Ben had just told them that the Polaris MV 850 was missing from behind the building and that Sherman had most likely used it to reach the pawnshop earlier. Could he really be alive? Did he know they were there, or did he think the town hall was empty and was returning to call reinforcements over the radio?
Redstone took a knee at the corner of the intersection and shouldered one of the recently captured military sniper rifles with a high-magnification scope. He wasn’t planning on actually taking a shot—both men knew that would have been a mistake, because he would surely miss—but only wanted to look down the scope and see what was coming.
Within seconds Jackson could see his friend begin to tremble. Redstone wasn’t afraid, but he was so shocked he really did not know what he should feel. “It’s that go-kart thing.” He paused as the vehicle rapidly approached, forced himself not to smile or burst into tears of joy or scream with happiness, and tried to remain completely blank. “You ain’t going to believe this, man. They’re friendlies.”
Jackson looked down at his friend holding the rifle and was unable to form words. Redstone felt the stare of his friend, lowered the rifle, and stood next to him. Redstone had seen Jefferson Pike driving the ATV directly toward them, and the man’s nephew, Hollis, sat directly behind the driver, waving his arms and obviously excitedly yelling something Redstone could not hear from this distance.
As the ridiculously fast vehicle came barreling down the road, Jackson could clearly see the figures on the Polaris. He exclaimed in complete disbelief, “Holy shit.”
The vehicle slowed and came to a stop in the intersection, and Jeff killed the engine. Both occupants dismounted and approached the two young men standing in the yard and covered in military hardware. There were, of course, no tears or shows of emotion from any party; Jeff merely gave a firm, hearty shake to each of his sons while Hollis, less accustomed to the Pike family emotions, put an arm around Jackson’s shoulders regardless of how awkward it seemed to his cousin. The older of the two noticed that the teenager had grown a few inches without his realizing it; they were almost the same height.