by Connor Mccoy
“Come out here where we can see you!” Tom shouted, “Drop your weapons and hold up your hands! All of you, now!”
One by one, the men stumbled out into the open, hands raised, looking somewhat shell-shocked. One of them was Jess. He looked at Chapman lying on the ground, then clenched his lower jaw as if he was about to throw up. Chapman was motionless. He very well could be dead.
The bald-headed young man trembled. “There are…there are a few of us who are shot. They’re back there. They can’t come out, can’t move very well.”
Tom stood up. “It’s okay. We’ll take care of them.” The rest of the team followed Tom’s lead and revealed themselves, though with weapons still drawn. About twenty men stood before them.
“Who the hell are you people?” a short man asked.
Tom approached him. “I was hoping to be your friend.” Then he eyed the red-bearded man, who was trembling, clutching his bleeding shoulder. Tom tried to quell his rising anger.
“I didn’t want this to happen,” Tom said to him before turning around. “C’mon, let’s tend to the wounded.”
“Chapman…” Jess leaned over Chapman. “Dammit, why?”
Tom approached. Chapman lay on the ground, perfectly still, his shirt red with blood in the middle. He had no idea which bullet had ended the man. He hoped to God it wasn’t his.
“Did you really have to do this?” Jess asked.
“The people in this camp weren’t going anywhere unless I did. You must stop hiding from the truth.” Tom took Jess by the shoulder. “Clark. Where is he?”
Jess grimaced. “He…he’s usually by the old grocery store. It’s in the back of town, near the docks. But he also could be in any of the houses nearby. That’s where we stayed. Mostly everyone had to stay in tents.”
“Yeah, I get it. Clark and his guys get the perks.” Tom released him. “One more thing. You know a man named Garcia?”
Jess nodded. “I’ve seen him around with Clark. Those two have been getting pretty chummy lately. He may be with him now.”
Tom turned to his friends. Cheryl had approached very close. Tom didn’t need to ask to know that she had heard everything Jess had said.
“Let’s go hunting,” Tom said.
Chapter Eighteen
Tom, Cheryl, Lee, Jake, and Ricardo raced down the path along with seven others in tow. “We need some of you to head to the dock ASAP,” Cheryl barked, “We have to cut off his escape route, try boxing him in!”
Jake glanced behind him. “Danny, Martha, come with me! We’ll handle the dock!”
Jake’s group broke off as they neared a gravel road that snaked through a set of run-down homes and a couple of old stores. Tom didn’t like this. There were at least six structures to check. Clark and perhaps Garcia could be hiding in any one of them.
“We’ll have to split up,” Cheryl said. “Take one or two per building. If Clark sees us coming from a distance, he might shoot at us from inside or try to run. Everybody fan out.”
Cheryl crept toward the old fishing store, sticking close to whatever tree was along the way. So far, she hadn’t received a greeting of bullets. Evidently, no one inside noticed she was coming, or at least they weren’t armed. It didn’t hurt that a few stacks of wooden crates lined the ground outside the building.
She crouched down, trying to keep below the window sills of the shop. Hopefully she was close enough that no one would notice her if they looked out the window. As she passed by the crates, she took a look in one of them that had the top ajar. There were bottles inside, all full of a liquid, likely wine culled from the camp’s grapes.
Cheryl made it all the way to the back of the shop. A back door and a window with a torn screen awaited her. Stepping as carefully as she could, Cheryl angled to get a look through the window. The inside was a mess of boxes, probably containing supplies or goods. Two men stood in the midst of the boxes. They were speaking to each other, with neither one of them casting a look in her direction.
Cheryl kept quiet and listened.
“…stop dicking around with me. Clark’s not in here, so where the hell is he?”
That voice sounded a little familiar, but Cheryl couldn’t place it. Then she waited as the next man spoke, accompanied by the sound of a beer can being opened.
“I told you, Clark is here. He’s just a little occupied. Relax, have a drink. There’s a whole case of them right here.”
“Something’s going on out there. I could have sworn I heard gunfire,” the first man said.
His companion took a swig before speaking. “If they’re wasting ammunition, it’s their ass. Not that I give a shit.”
That voice. There was no doubt about it. That was Garcia!
Cheryl raised her firearm. In seconds, she’d head in there and nail Garcia’s ass to the floor, and if he didn’t answer her questions, she’d make sure it stayed there for good. But she didn’t even get to the door. She turned and spun her pistol in a different direction. Just in time, the barrel of her gun nearly touched another pistol aimed at her.
“You noticed me,” Kovacs said quietly. Then he motioned to her to walk.
Cheryl obeyed, though she didn’t lower her weapon. The pair backed away from the window, presumably where they would not be heard from the inside.
“I’m trained to pick out people who camouflage themselves. Doesn’t always work, but, hey, smells as though someone hasn’t had a bath in weeks,” Cheryl said.
“You got me there.” Kovacs smiled. “So, how about we lower our guns?”
“Like hell. What’s your story? You’re Kovacs, right?”
“And you’re Miss Cheryl from Eagleton. Charmed to see you again. I’m not surprised to meet you with a gun to my head,” Kovacs replied.
“And I’ll use it if you say the wrong thing. Now tell me what you’re doing here. Karen says you helped her out, right?”
“Yes. Doctor Lauren, you know her? And Nadia Daniels? I saved them from Clark’s men at the boathouse. I helped them free your Doctor Tran and more from your town.”
Cheryl nodded. “Okay, you’re pretty much confirming their story. Now, let’s hear the rest of it. What are you still doing here? You didn’t go with Nadia and Lauren.”
“I fell back to the camp after I got clear of the gunfire. I spotted Stark from a distance and tailed him. He’s just made contact with Garcia.”
“Funny, I’m looking to make contact with Garcia, too. He shot at my friends, so I’m looking for a little payback.”
“Wait. Wait. Not yet. Garcia is part of my troop. I cannot abandon a comrade. He, Stark, Vogel, Durand, and I, we all suffered at Clark’s hand.” Kovacs pointed to the window. “Let me go in there first, talk to them. I will make sure we disappear into the woods and not threaten anyone anymore.”
Cheryl steadied her breathing. Perhaps this man did prove himself to Nadia and Lauren, maybe even saved the lives of her friends, but he hadn’t done shit for Cheryl yet.
“You had better be damn convincing, or I’m busting in there to clean house. And be warned, I’ve got a lot of friends out there who will blow your ass away.”
Kovacs nodded. “Of course.” Then he hurried for the door. Cheryl leaned against the wall near the window and listened.
Kovacs opened the door and stepped into the store. Both Garcia and Stark turned. Garcia whipped out his pistol.
“Hey.” Kovacs pointed to himself. “Humberto, it’s me.”
“Kovacs? What the hell are you doing here?” Stark asked.
Garcia lowered his gun. “Indeed, it’s a little odd that you’re not with Stark. Did you get separated?”
So, Stark hadn’t told Garcia that Kovacs had joined the Eagleton forces. Good. “We split up for a time. Humberto, we cannot stay. The camp is being overrun. It’s time for us to go.”
“What?” Garcia stormed up to Kovacs, nearly bumping into him. “Who’s overrunning us?”
“Men from a nearby town,” Kovacs replied, “Your men have surrendered.
The invaders know you are here and will come for you. But if you leave, disappear from their reach, they will not pursue you. They are from the town we took over months ago.”
Garcia sneered. “So they are. I do not care.”
“Humberto, we cannot live like this. Sooner or later, we will end up with bullets in our heads. Volhein is dead. Let’s not find other men like him to serve. Let us go somewhere and live our days in peace.”
“I do not serve Clark. We are partners, through and through,” Garcia replied.
“Then you’re a complete shit-for-brains,” Stark said. “He treated us like dogs. He had Vogel killed. He will not hesitate to throw you on the garbage pile when you’re no longer useful to him.”
“Oh, really?” Garcia then smiled. The grin sent a chill down Cheryl’s spine. “Come with me, dear friends.”
Garcia walked around the store, with Stark and Kovacs following behind. Cheryl clenched her jaw. She had no choice but to go inside and follow under cover. The former army sergeant crept behind stacks of boxes, shifting her gait so her boots didn’t make noise on the wooden floor. She kept pace with the three men until they reached a metal storage locker.
Garcia opened the lock and then pushed the door open. A body was inside—Josh Clark’s.
Cheryl’s eyes widened. The man was as Tran had described, a scar down his chin, bald, and his right eye might have looked crazy had it not been frozen open in death. Clark had been slashed across his face in several rows. Dried blood covered his face from the cuts. His mouth was frozen open in agony.
Garcia licked his lips. “Clark does enjoy a good drink. But the funny thing about alcohol is that it dulls the senses and it makes it much harder to fight off an assailant.”
Kovacs’s eyes widened. Even Stark looked stunned. “You killed him. No, you tortured him.”
“Took much longer than I thought for him to die,” Garcia said with evident amusement.
“You didn’t do it for Vogel, or even Durand,” Stark said.
Garcia turned and glared at him. “I don’t give a shit about those two! You think I did this for revenge?”
“You did it for pleasure,” Kovacs said with a lump in his throat.
“And so what if I did?” Garcia said. “Clark had a good thing going. I want it for myself. Simple as that. I’ve already loaded up a boat with his crops. I’ll live like a king for the next few years!” Then he extended a hand. “Of course if you want to come, by all means.”
Kovacs, however, took a step backward. “Humberto, this is a ticket to our grave.”
Garcia lowered his hand, reaching toward his holster. His left hand was hidden by the open locker door. “What a shame, Kovacs. Yes, a shame indeed.”
Cheryl had had enough. She jumped out into the open, her pistol aimed squarely at Garcia’s chest. At the same time, Garcia drew his gun, but did not fire as Cheryl emerged. “Alright, enough of this,” Cheryl said, “Garcia, get your hands up.”
Stark turned in Cheryl’s direction. “Who the hell?”
“Cheryl Dennis!” Garcia’s mouth dropped open in what looked like a pleasant surprise. “Well, what a small world.”
“You two, get away from him. This man is a psychopath. He’ll kill you the first chance he gets,” Cheryl warned. “Oh, by the way, it’s Cheryl Criver. I’m married. And if you try anything, my husband will ram his boot right through your goddamn head.”
Garcia laughed. “Your husband? I wonder if he was one of those idiots who tried to stop us back in your quaint little town?”
“You keep talking, you bastard, and I might just plug you anyway,” Cheryl said.
Kovacs backed up even more. “Stark, come on. It’s time to join her people. Humberto will lead us to a bad end.”
Stark looked at Kovacs, then at Garcia. The soldier was holding a gun. Cheryl tensed up. If Stark suddenly turned it on Cheryl, this could get real bad for her, real quick.
Garcia laughed. “Come on, Stark. Her people cost you your eye. Kovacs is an idiot, and you are too if you join him.”
“Stark, it’s simple. My men are swamping this camp. Garcia can’t escape,” Cheryl said, raising her voice. “You still can live if you come with us. You’re throwing your life away if you go with him.”
“C’mon, Stark.” Garcia smiled in a way that turned Cheryl’s stomach. “You’re not going to let some woman lead you by the balls. Hey! How about I slice off Clark’s head and give it to you on a silver platter? We actually have silver here.” He chuckled.
Stark swallowed. An extra trickle of sweat ran down his face. The hardened soldier was betraying his thoughts. He may have wanted revenge on Clark for their mistreatment, but this had gone one step too far.
“Screw off,” Stark finally said.
“Too bad,” Garcia said icily.
He spun his left hand around, where he had been clutching a second pistol. He fired. Stark was hit twice, once in the upper shoulder, and once in the thigh. He went down in seconds.
At the same time, Garcia fired in Cheryl’s direction. Due to firing two guns at one time, without taking time to aim properly, he missed her by about a foot. That was all Cheryl needed to return fire. Garcia spun around and crashed himself into the back door, busting it open. He ran so fast Cheryl wasn’t sure if she had hit him. Cheryl looked at the other two men. Stark was on the ground, groaning. Kovacs was leaning over him.
“Go…get the…asshole…” Stark grabbed one of the boxes in an attempt to sit himself up.
“Go!” Kovacs shouted.
Cheryl nodded. She’d trust Kovacs to handle Stark. She dashed off in Garcia’s direction.
Cheryl’s boots followed the small red droplets on the grass. So, she had hit him. The trail led around the side of the store. Before she got to the end of the house, she picked up a small rock near her left boot. She tossed it as hard as she could.
Pop!
A bullet shot across the front of her path.
Gotcha, you bastard.
Cheryl dove onto the ground, aiming her pistol in the direction of the shot. Once she had crept past the store corner, she opened fire. She saw him. It was brief, but she saw Garcia crouch down behind a set of wooden crates. There was a big gap between the crates and the other side of the store. In other words, if he tried to go anywhere, she’d spot him. She could wait him out.
Suddenly, a gunshot whizzed close—very close—to her ear. Shocked, Cheryl dove and rolled. How did that shot get so close to her? Sitting up, she found her answer. There was a small hole in one of the crates. Garcia was shooting through the crates.
But if he’s right behind that stack…
Cheryl got an idea. She stowed her gun in her holster, then ran, head down, until she hit the crates and gave them a swift kick, knocking them down. A shout followed, and Garcia rolled out of their way.
“Dammit!” he shouted.
He still had his gun in hand and tried shooting Cheryl. But he didn’t get the chance. Instead, he was assailed by gunfire. Cheryl turned. Kovacs was outside by the open front door, pelting him with bullets. Garcia turned and fired, hitting Kovacs in the leg. During that brief moment of pain Kovac flinched allowing Cheryl the time she needed to counter attack. Drawing her own gun again would take too much time. Instead, Cheryl ripped one of her knives free from her holster and tried plunging it into Garcia’s chest. It almost worked, had Garcia not flung his gun away and grabbed her wrist at the last minute, locking her arm in place.
“You goddamned bitch,” Garcia said through clenched teeth. “I should have cut your head off and mounted it on a pike.”
“Too bad for you, asshole.” Cheryl then kicked him hard in the stomach, freeing her from his grip.
Garcia shot a glance at his gun, but Cheryl quickly kicked it, sending it skipping several feet away. “Sorry. You don’t get to play with that anymore,” she said coolly. Unfortunately, she couldn’t use her own gun, either. She had emptied the clip and had no opportunity to reload it with this monster bearing down
on her.
“Who needs that?” Garcia then drew his own knife from his belt.
“It’s much more fun to cut through flesh then to blast through it.” He smiled. “You saw my handiwork with Clark? I think it will be much more fun with you.”
“You’re a psycho.” Cheryl raised her own knife.
Garcia chuckled. “A psycho, am I? Well, you know the funny thing about psychos? You can’t predict them!”
He flipped back his knife and threw it at Cheryl.
Only Cheryl’s duck and roll instincts saved her from being impaled, but it was a hell of a close shave. The knife tore into one of the small crates just behind her. Unfortunately, in her frenzy to dodge the knife, she ended up slamming into another crate.
Pain shot through her left arm. Damn!
Garcia rushed toward her with another knife, a ghoulish smile crossing his features. Cheryl scrambled to defend herself, but her knife was gone, flung out of her hand when she had ducked and rolled. Then, all of a sudden, Kovacs leaped onto Garcia, and the two went down in a heap.
Cheryl quickly collected herself. She found her knife and scooped it up. Meanwhile, Garcia had broken free of Kovacs. The other soldier was crouched on the ground, knees bent, blood trickling down his pant leg. Garcia slammed his boot hard into Kovacs’ face, sending him crashing against the crates behind him. He went down, moaning, before he slumped unconscious.
“Damn you!” Blood trickled down the side of Garcia’s head. He raised his knife, sure to plunge it into Kovacs’ chest.
Which he would have done, if he hadn’t had a knife pierce his own.
Twitching, he turned in Cheryl’s direction. Her hand was outstretched. The throw was almost perfect. He tried to form words, but none came out of his dying throat. Instead, he collapsed onto his back and did not move again. Clutching her arm, Cheryl stumbled toward Garcia. His mouth and eyes were frozen open, his arms spread out. She had done it. The monster was dead.
She braced herself against one of the taller crates. Tom, Lee and the others were rushing over. She barely noticed them.