by Kirk Allmond
"Almost done, Master Tookes. Here we go, young miss. In three. Two. One. Pull!"
The two of them heaved on the piece of plastic. Thankfully, Tookes had been wearing a cotton t-shirt under his fleece. The jacket melted mostly to the cotton rather than directly to his flesh. The skin under the cotton T-shirt was mostly gone as they peeled the solidified fleece back in one swift motion. The scream was something between a moan and a primal yell and mostly covered the wet, slurping sound of the remaining dermis separating from the underlying connective tissue. The muscles in Victor's jaws clenched down on the wallet, driving his teeth into the leather. His hands clenched together under the table, and then the plastic was removed, strings of flesh and gore still attached.
John handed Reggie two bottles of water and a clean white t-shirt. Reggie opened the first one and doused Victor's back with it. He wiped the raw flesh down with the soft t-shirt to remove the last bits of charred shirt, eliciting fresh moans from the patient. Tookes quivered on the table trying to be silent, lest his son hear his pain.
Chapter 29
Legion
Marshall and Victor Senior rocketed down the road. Marshall felt uneasy that they hadn't encountered a single living or undead human the entire thirty miles.
"Six miles to go, Pop," he said aloud to his father. Harley woofed quietly from the back.
"Look, on that overpass," said Victor, pointing to a highway overpass about half a mile ahead. "There are people up there."
Marshall slowed the truck as they approached the overpass. On the road just before the bridge were the first cars they'd seen on the whole trip. They were arranged to look like an accident, but something about it wasn't right. Marshall had learned to trust his instincts and stopped the truck a hundred feet before the overpass. The highway was lower than the surface streets here. There were huge concrete walls on either side of the road. With a start, Marshall realized that they were in a cattle chute. He shifted the truck into reverse and slammed the accelerator down just as the first bullets hit the sides of the truck.
"Get down, Dad!" yelled Marshall.
Victor reached back, yanked Harley down into the floorboard, and crawled in the back seats. He maneuvered back behind his son, lying on his back across the seat. "Roll the back windows down, Marshall!" he yelled. The older man pulled a long gun from the rifle bag and set the barrel on the door. He fired four shots while Marshall reversed the huge truck.
"I got three of them," he said calmly.
"I'm going to go up the ramp. Hang on and keep your head down," said Marshall. "If we get stopped, stay in the truck. You saw what bullets do to me."
The big man stopped the truck and shifted back into drive, rocketing up the off-ramp. There were two cars pushed together that blocked the road, but they posed no problem for the heavy truck; the pair of vehicles skidded off into the ditch with a screech, barely affecting the truck. Two hundred feet ahead, a man stepped out from behind a car and hoisted a rocket launcher to his shoulder. He pointed directly at Marshall, who instantly smashed the brakes and stopped the truck.
"Get out now!" yelled Marshall as a cloud of smoke appeared behind the rocket launcher. Marshall and Victor rolled out the side of the truck, and Harley jumped out behind Victor, landing on him. The two men scrambled to their feet and bound across the curb into the ditch. The rocket impacted the truck. The explosion blew bits of steel and glass high into the air and outward over Marshall, Victor, and Harley.
Marshall jumped to his feet but was too late. Six men had guns pointed at them. "Get yer hands where I can see 'em," one of the men ordered. He was a very fat man. Marshall noted that his pants were too small.
Marshall knew there was nothing he could do before they killed his father. This guy must be pretty high up in the organization, thought Marshall. He must be someone important to have so much food he's gaining weight.
Marshall slowly raised his hands. "Dad, you better do what he says. We're outgunned here, and no one needs to get hurt." Marshall redirected his attention to the men that surrounded them, "Fellas, we were just passing through. We didn't mean you any trouble." He quickly thought back on the little bit of information his father had been able to tell him about these men. "And we don't have any plans to stop until we're in Alabama. We don't want any trouble. We're just trying to check on our family."
"That's the guy!" shouted a young blond haired man pointing at Victor. "That's the Gray Wolf! He shot up our whole crew!"
All the guns pointed towards Victor Senior.
"Whoaa, keep the guns on me," said Marshall, reaching for the Desert Eagle on his thigh. "He's not going to do anything - he's just an old man. He's been travelling with me since I picked him up in Raleigh, and we haven't shot at any living people until today."
All the guns pointed back at Marshall. "You lyin' to me, boy?" the fat man asked with a sneer. "Why would you go and do a damn fool thing like that? We're gonna find out the truth. Billy Joe has a way of knowin' if you're lyin'. We gonna go see Billy Joe," said Fattie.
"That would be good. Take us to see Billy Joe," Marshall said.
"Shut your fuckin' mouth. You're prisoners now. We've been lookin' for the Gray Wolf for weeks. If you turn him over to us, Jerome might take it easy on you."
A man off to Marshall's right half-whispered to his buddy, "It's gotta be him. We're gonna eat well tonight!"
"Let's go then," said Marshall and unbuckled the gun belt from his waist. He also un-clipped the thigh straps so he was able to toss the guns at Fattie. With a slight smile, he added, "I'll be wanting those back."
Victor, following his son's lead, tossed his rifle to one of the men and raised his hand. "Come on, Harley. Quiet now. Let's go meet some people." The dog stood up and followed along obediently.
The men walked for about a mile down the road before turning right into a Home Depot parking lot. At least it used to be a Home Depot. It was obvious to see that the entire structure had been re-purposed, and there were manned towers along the roof of the store. Marshall and Victor nodded slightly at each other when they noticed two men on top of the Wendy's restaurant and another on top of the strip mall beside the big, orange-roofed store.
The men stopped at the front door and were met by six more men with guns. Fatty stepped up and said, "Two prisoners. Go get Billy Joe. We think one of them is the Gray Wolf." There was a murmur of excitement that rippled through the men.
"Come on in. Put them in the holding area,” said the man in front. He was wearing full military BDU's. The name on his shirt said "Rodriguez," but he was a tall blond man. He doesn't look much like a Rodriguez, thought Marshall. They've tangled with military and Legion came out ahead. These guys didn't seem like the sort that could take out a squad of trained regulars, let alone capture an entire base. Perhaps they found an abandoned base and looted the weapons and gear.
The guys behind Marshall and Victor shoved them forward into the store. "Move!" he yelled, ramming the barrel of his gun into Marshall's back. Marshall allowed himself to be shoved and slowly walked forward. As they stepped through the door, Marshall heard a man at the back whisper, "That's him. That's gotta be the Gray Wolf."
"Heel," said Victor, a step behind Marshall. The old mongrel dog followed the two of them inside the store.
"In here," another man in camouflage said and pointed towards the women's bathroom at the front of the store. "Get your asses in there, and shut yer fuckin' holes."
When the two prisoners were inside the women's bathroom, they walked all the way to the back of the room.
"Geh Voraus," said Victor. Harley began checking under each stall. When he'd checked all of them, he came back to Victor's side and sat. "So ist Brav," the older man said, patting the dog's head lovingly.
Victor cut his eyes sideways and upwards. Marshall casually looked up to see a camera pointed right at them. The two men turned around to face the camera. They wanted to appear as if they were just innocent travelers.
"He understands German? And wha
t's this ‘Gray Wolf’ thing about?" asked Marshall in a whisper. "He seemed pretty sure it was you, Pop."
"I really don't know anything about that, but it kind of fits. I travel with a dog, and I have killed a few of them," he whispered back. "I kind of like it. And yes. Harley knows German. We had a lot of time in the house and did a lot of house clearing together." Victor Senior smiled.
Marshall stood in silence, contemplating his next move. A couple of minutes later, Harley growled low and deep. It was a menacing rumble. "Nein!" said Victor sharply. Seconds later, a man Marshall assumed was Billy Joe came walking in.
"What are your names?" he asked.
"Marshall Tookes," said the big man. Marshall was easily two feet taller than their interrogator, but the questioner carried himself as if he didn't have the slightest fear. "You remind me of my little brother," he continued. "He's not afraid of anything. I assume you're Billy Joe?"
"I don't have anything to be afraid of," said the man. "And yea, I'm Billy Joe. The boss sent me in here to see if you're lying. Where'd you come from?"
"We came through South Carolina last night. I was on a train with my brother. He and our friends kept going. My father and I were just trying to catch back up to them," said Marshall. "I got off the train to find a truck, which your boys blew up." All of that was true but gave Billy Joe no real information.
"What about you? What's your name," asked Billy Joe, turning to face the elder Tookes.
"My name's Victor Tookes, Senior. This is my oldest son."
"Do you know anything about the man they call the Gray Wolf?"
"I don't know if that's me or not. It's not a name I've ever heard anyone say before today," said Victor. Marshall knew his father was following his lead. Age may have robbed him of some of the spring in his step, but his mind was as sharp as ever, and that same mind had carried him through a successful career in business. His same ability to read between the lines was serving him well here. He never said anything that wasn't true; he just left parts of the story out, as Marshall had done.
Billy Joe turned around and said, "Follow. We're going to see the boss." Marshall and Victor did as they were told, but Marshall noticed a small cringe when the interrogator spoke of the boss. They walked out of the bathroom, up past where the registers had been and into what had previously been the Tool World section of the store. It had been completely remodeled. There was a roof on it, and someone had built a wall across the front. Wires trailed down from the ceiling, and Marshall could see the glow of fluorescent lights coming out of the cracks around the door.
Billy Joe knocked on the door twice and opened it when a deep voice from inside said, "Come!"
"Stay here," he said. Billy Joe started to walk away but then added, “And don't do anything stupid," before he turned around and walked into the office, closing the door behind him.
Marshall took in as much of the surroundings as he could. The massive home improvement store's shelves had been emptied, and instead of merchandise, each ten-foot long by six-foot wide shelf had a twin mattress and some personal effects. Marshall tried to count the men, but every time he counted an area, some would leave and more would come. It was a totally different world, constantly in motion like a beehive. He estimated under a hundred were visible to him. A group this size would take a sizable amount of food every day, and there were way too many of them for him to fight alone. They must have cleared most of the city of food by now, Marshall thought.
He spent a minute taking stock of their current predicament and gambled on some educated guesses about their captors. They had to be running out of food. This "Gray Wolf" they were looking for had caused them some significant injury. That was obvious, especially since they had been dedicating men to looking for him instead of looking for food. The place appeared as it had been built up to house way more men than Marshall could see. There were a lot of men here, but there were enough beds for five hundred or better. They must have been getting desperate.
Their leader has to be a super, like us. And Billy Joe is clearly afraid of him. Gangs like this are almost always led by strength, and like lions, if the old leader is beaten, the whole pride follows the new stronger leader. Marshall formed a plan for if things went south during this meeting.
"Keep your head, Pop," he whispered. "This could get ugly."
"So far, so good." said the old man.
"Yeah, that's what worries me."
After a couple more minutes, the door opened. Marshall and Victor were shoved from behind again into the well-lit office. Harley followed them and sat at Victor's left heel.
"Oh wow, you have electricity. Nice," said Marshall, noting the lights on the man's desk facing them. They couldn't see the man behind the desk. He was completely shrouded in shadow. Marshall blinked several times in the strong light. "And heat? How extravagant!"
The man ignored Marshall's comments. "Billy Joe says this old man isn't the man they're calling 'the Gray Wolf,'" he said, waving his hand towards the rest of the store. "But the fact is you killed three of my men today. How do you plead to that?" he asked.
"Not guilty," said Marshall. "A man has a right to defend himself. We were just driving along the highway not causing anyone any trouble when your men started shooting at us. I retreated, and they continued firing. Only then did we return fire. It was a clear-cut case of self-defense. Your men later blew up my truck with a bazooka, by the way. I'll be expecting a replacement vehicle."
"You have a lot of nerve," said the man. "I like nerve, as long as I can use it," he continued as he stood up. Marshall and Victor heard a chair scrape against the floor, followed by a very large man appearing in front of them. He was bigger than Marshall by a couple of inches.
Shit, thought Marshall. Why does it always have to be the physically strong? Why can't it ever be a shooter?
"You're a big fellow," said Marshall. "Are you Jerome?"
"I am," he said. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone as big as me, and you're close."
"My father and I have to get moving. If you'd let me know where I can find the keys to a truck to replace the one your man blew up, we'd like to get out of here."
"You're not leaving. I can use you," he said. Billy Joe and a man Marshall instantly recognized as a shooter walked in. The man was wearing a vest much like the one Marshall had helped design for John. The reason John carried so many guns was not the reload time but the cooling off time for the barrels. This man's vest was made of hardened black leather and was well padded, just like John's.
This situation just got a lot tougher, thought Marshall. "We are leaving," said Marshall. "We don't have anything to offer you, and we didn't do anything to provoke this."
"No one leaves unless I say!" yelled Jerome, drawing himself up and puffing out his chest. "I'm in charge here."
Oh great, he's pompous too. I think I can use that.
"I know you're in charge. We don't want any trouble, but we have to go. Our people need us, and we need to catch up with them. If you'll tell me where I can find the keys to my replacement truck, we'll get out of your hair."
"Tell me why I should let you go."
"Because it's the right thing to do and because we have nothing to offer you," said Marshall.
Marshall knew he wasn't going to be able to talk his way out of this, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to fight all three and protect his father at the same time. "I don't want a fight. But we're not staying here. We're not from this part of the country, and after we walk out that door, you'll never see us again."
"Why wouldn't you stay? We have everything you need," Jerome said. "We have safety, security, food, and warm beds."
"I'd rather earn my own way, and I have people that need me already. You are losing men, Jerome,” Marshall said. “They are starving, and I'll bet that they are deserting as fast as this Gray Wolf is killing them off." The whole “Gray Wolf” scenario hadn't made any sense based on what his father had told him. Victor hadn't killed enough men to be this big o
f a legend. He hadn't been hunting them. He'd killed some of these thugs, but the “Gray Wolf” was huge to these men. As soon as the guys that brought them here saw an old-timer, they assumed he was the legendary “Gray Wolf,” but his father hadn't ever mentioned it and didn't know anything about it. Too many elements weren’t adding up. If Jerome had this many men, why would Victor Senior’s occasional shootings be deemed “legendary” and worth hunting him for? Everything about The Legion reminded him of a bastardized version of 1984 and Big Brother was watching. With a start, Marshall put it all together. His father was just the seed of the myth. Jerome had built up the “Gray Wolf” as a boogeyman to keep his men from deserting. The literal existence of such a person didn’t really matter because the fear of the “Gray Wolf” was enough to keep the men in check.
"You've been using the Gray Wolf character to cover your desertions, haven't you?” Marshall suddenly asked and took a step towards Jerome. “You've been telling your remaining men that deserters were killed by this Gray Wolf.” He couldn't help but chuckle lightly as he added, “How long do you think you can keep up the charade? How long before anyone figures out you created the Gray Wolf to give your men a reason to stay?"
Marshall watched Jerome’s eyes widen slightly and quickly dart from him to his men and back and knew he had it right.
"I will fucking kill you!" yelled Jerome as he shoved his desk to the side. It flipped through the air, slamming back into the concrete floor with a shudder.
"What if I kill you?" Marshall evenly asked, not even flinching at Jerome’s rage-filled outburst.
Jerome let out a laugh that bordered on maniacal and intensely pointed his finger at Marshall. "Seriously? You're challenging me? I know what you are."