Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1

by R. E. McDermott

  “All right, I’ll have everyone rally there, work your way back there, but check out houses along the way. Somebody had to do them two in, and I’m bettin’ they ain’t far away. You turn anything up on the way to the rally point, sing out on the radio and we’ll figure out how to get to you. Understood? Over.”

  “Understood. We’ll git ‘er done. This is Seven, out.”

  Hughes’ Residence

  Pecan Grove

  Oleander, Texas

  Day 17, 6:15 p.m.

  “That it?” Kinsey asked, and both Jordan and Laura Hughes nodded.

  “How you want to do this, Chief Kinsey?” Hughes asked.

  “I think it’s best if you take your family in the SUV,” Kinsey said. “Then me and the boys will ride in the pickup, me driving and two in the bed with M4s. There’s still enough room to move around in the bed of the truck, and they can bring the M4s into play much more easily if we need ‘em. I figure the pickup can either run interference in front and they can shoot over the top of the cab, or they can be a rearguard and shoot behind us, depending on the situation.”

  “Sounds good,” Hughes said, turning to his wife. “Hon, let’s get the girls in …”

  Everyone looked up at the sound of an approaching car, and watched as a Beaumont PD cruiser cleared the edge of the pecan grove and started up the long drive. Then the driver apparently saw them and skidded to a stop, both occupants of the cop car staring at them in disbelief.

  “More fake cops!” Hughes said. “Honey, get the girls and y’all get down behind the SUV, NOW!”

  Laura moved to comply, and Kinsey turned to face the cop car, M4 raised. His men followed suit.

  “How do you know for sure they’re fakes,” he asked over his shoulder. “These are city cops and the others were sheriff’s deputies.”

  “‘Cause they’re at least twenty miles outside their jurisdiction,” Hughes said, standing beside Kinsey with the .308 trained on the cop car. “A county sheriff’s deputy MIGHT stray a bit, but no city cops are driving twenty miles outside the city limits by mistake.”

  ***

  “Shit, Bolton, whadda we gonna do? Those look like navy guys or somethin’! Look at those M4s.”

  Bolton grabbed the bullhorn and pulled open the door. “If they was gonna shoot us, they would have opened up as soon as they saw us. Let’s see if I can bluff ‘em,” he said, stepping out of the car.

  “THIS IS THE BEAUMONT PO-LICE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND LIE FACE DOWN ON THE GROUND! NOW!”

  “I DON’T THINK SO. JUST GET BACK IN YOUR CAR AND DRIVE AWAY AND NO ONE HAS TO GET HURT.”

  Bolton got back in the car and reached for the radio.

  “Central Dispatch, this is Unit Seven. Do you copy? Over.”

  “We copy, Seven. What is your ETA at rally point? Over.”

  “We have a problem. I think we found who offed our guys, but they look like navy or something and they all have assault rifles. We are outgunned. Over.”

  “What do you mean navy?”

  “Some of ‘em have on blue coveralls and caps and they all got on body armor. Definitely look like military. Over.”

  “How many is ‘all’? Over.”

  “Four shooters and some women. Over.”

  “All right, hold ‘em there if you can, but if you have to move back, stay in contact so we know where they are. I’ll send everybody in the area your way. Can you give me any better directions? Over.”

  “South of Texas 124 a couple of miles. If you get in the area, look for a clump of tall trees—sticks out like a sore thumb. Ya can’t miss it if you’re close. Over.”

  “We copy. Central Dispatch out.”

  Bolton nodded. “I guess we just sit and watch and wait.”

  “How the hell we gonna ‘hold ‘em’ here if they decide to leave?”

  Bolton shrugged. “I reckon we just sit here and block the drive. They’ll likely fire warning shots if they get ready to leave, and we’ll just back out of the driveway and down the road a ways and follow ‘em. Like as not they’ll run right into the other boys comin’ in. It ain’t like there’s a lot of roads to choose from.”

  ***

  “You think they’re just gonna sit there?” Hughes asked.

  “Looks like he was talking on the radio, so yeah, I think they’re gonna sit there and wait for backup,” Kinsey answered.

  Hughes nodded. “That’s my thinking too, and we need to break contact and be long gone when they arrive. I’ll get the girls into the SUV and take off and y’all provide the rearguard like you planned. But if they try to follow, we have to leave them sitting right here; otherwise they’ll keep bringing the others down on us.”

  “I’m way ahead of you, Cap,” Kinsey said. “We’ll keep ‘em covered and then move out after you.”

  Hughes nodded and lowered his rifle as he backed away. Seconds later Kinsey heard car doors slamming and the SUV’s engine cranking.

  “All right,” Kinsey called to his men, “I’ll keep ‘em covered while you two set up in the bed of the pickup. Let me know when you got ‘em covered again and I’ll get behind the wheel.”

  “Roger that, Chief,” Jones said, and Kinsey heard the two men scrambling into the back of the truck.

  “Ready, Chief. We got ‘em covered,” Jones said, and Kinsey lowered his M4 and jumped behind the wheel, giving a tap of the horn to let Hughes know he was ready. Hughes waved his arm out the window in acknowledgment and started past the barn and toward the pasture. Kinsey followed, glancing in his rearview mirror at the cop car in the driveway. Don’t do it, he thought, then shook his head as the car started to move.

  ***

  “Where the hell they goin’? That ain’t nothin’ but a cow pasture.”

  “Must come out on a road somewhere,” Bolton said, starting the car, “and we gotta stay with ‘em, else we’ll be in deep shit.”

  The cop car had barely started moving when the M4s in the truck ahead of them spoke in unison, and two separate three-round bursts shredded both front tires, followed by half a dozen rounds in the radiator. Bolton braked and the car thumped and bucked to a stop on the ruined tires and steam began to billow out from under the hood. He beat the steering wheel with the palms of his hands.

  “SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! We’re gonna catch hell from Snag and Spike on this one.”

  He sighed and reached for the radio. “Better let ‘em know quick, or it’ll be worse.”

  Federal Correctional Complex

  Beaumont, Texas

  “GODDAMN IT!” yelled Spike McComb, flinging a chair across his newly established ‘central dispatch’ office for emphasis. Snaggle flinched as the metal chair smashed against the wall with loud bang, and the other cons fidgeted in their own chairs, glancing at the door as if they might take flight to avoid McComb’s rage.

  “We’ll get ‘em, Spike, don’t worry,” Snaggle said.

  “I ain’t worried, you moron, I’m PISSED! Those ain’t navy guys, it’s them damn Coast Guard pukes you dumb assholes let git away. You know, the ones you can’t seem to find on a GIGANTIC GODDAMNED SHIP! And imagine that, here they are not even a day later causing trouble. Who would have guessed?”

  “The boat’s working now,” Snaggle said, “and I got ‘em on the river—”

  “Never mind the damn boat, one problem at a time. And I’ll start runnin’ the show since you can’t seem to find your ass with both hands. Bring me a damn map. NOW!”

  Snaggle hurried to rummage through a desk drawer and produced a road map, which he spread on the desk in front of Spike.

  “All right, where are those idiots who just got their car shot up?”

  Snaggle pointed at an area on the map. “Round about here, best I can tell.”

  McComb rubbed his chin as he looked at the map. “If these assholes came from this ghost ship, then it stands to reason they’re headed back to it, and it’s got to be somewhere on the damn river, even if you assholes can’t find it. That means they gotta be heading back ea
st, toward the river—and us.” He looked a little closer at the map and pointed to a blue line. “What’s this creek here?”

  Snaggle squinted. “Looks like Taylor’s Bayou and then it branches off and becomes Hillebrandt Bayou …” He trailed off as the implications became obvious.

  McComb nodded. “That’s right, they gotta cross it and there ain’t that many bridges. We just set up at each crossing and we’ll pick ‘em up at one of ‘em for sure.”

  Snaggle ran his finger up the blue line. “Looks like bridges on 73, 365, 124, and I-10, but I doubt they’d use I-10, it’s pretty much a parking lot.”

  “I agree,” McComb said. “Get those other bridges covered right away.”

  “We’ll have roadblocks up in—”

  “Not roadblocks, you idiot! Cover ‘em out of sight; then when we pick ‘em up, we’ll let ‘em lead us back to the ship. When we know where they hit the river, we can take ‘em out. The ship’s gotta be somewhere nearby.”

  Texas Highway 365

  Due east of Fannett, Texas

  Hughes pulled out of the pasture and through the shallow drainage ditch, stopping the SUV on the slight incline and motioning out the window with his left hand for Kinsey to pull abreast of him. The Coastie rolled up beside him as requested and powered down his passenger window to speak to Hughes across the empty cab of the pickup.

  “We’ve made good time,” Hughes said. “This is 365, the road we came out on. It’s a straight shot due east back to Nederland.”

  Kinsey nodded and Hughes continued. “My only concern is the bridge. If they moved fast, it could be blocked, and if they blocked this one, chances are the other two are blocked as well and we’re screwed. We have to hope they didn’t and haul ass east as fast as we can.”

  “You want us to take point?”

  “I figure that’s probably best. If we encounter resistance, you might be able to brush them aside, or if the opposition is too strong, we can reverse course and you’ll be in position to be the rearguard,” Hughes said.

  “Sounds good. I got no problem until we get back to Nederland, but once we get there, it would be better if you resume the lead if we have to bob and weave, because you know the local streets.”

  Hughes nodded and Kinsey powered up his window and swung on to the blacktop, leading the way east, and Hughes and the SUV brought up the rear. It was Hughes’ turn to keep up now as Kinsey floored the pickup in an attempt to get across the bridge before they were cut off. He roared down the road after the pickup flat out for fifteen minutes, gratified when the bridge came into view with no sign of a roadblock.

  He would have been less pleased had he noticed the police cruiser a hundred yards off the paved road along a gravel track, hidden from view by a small clump of squat Chinese tallow trees.

  Federal Correctional Complex

  Beaumont, Texas

  “We got ‘em,” chortled Snaggle as the radio transmission faded and he high-fived the con next to him.

  “Don’t be counting your chickens just yet,” Spike growled. “You morons could still screw this up. Now, get back on the radio and tell the unit that spotted ‘em to get on their tail, but stay back a ways so they can’t be sure it’s a cop car. Then tell the rest of the units to converge along their path but to stay at least a block or two away from 365. I’m thinking they’ll head straight for the river, and most of those roads down to the river run through or between the refineries without many crossroads. After they turn down one of them, they’re committed, and we’ll know where they’re headed. We just pile in behind them.”

  Snaggle nodded and raised the mike to issue the new orders.

  Texas Highway 365

  Eastbound

  Approaching Central Mall

  Hughes divided his attention between the pickup truck ahead of him and studying the faint dot in his rearview mirror. There was definitely a vehicle down the long straight road far behind them, but it was so far back he couldn’t be sure what it was.

  “Girls, put your young eyes to use and see if you can tell anything about that car back behind us,” he said over his shoulder. He heard abrupt movement as the girls swiveled in their seats.

  “I … I think it’s a police car,” Jana said, “at least there looks like there’s something on top of it.”

  “She’s right,” Julie agreed, “definitely something on top.”

  Hughes blew out his cheeks. “Damn,” he said, reaching for the handheld radio in the console between the seats.

  “I thought you didn’t want to use the radio in case they might intercept your transmissions,” Laura said.

  Hughes shook his head. “If they’re following us, they already know where we are, and Kinsey needs to know.”

  Hughes keyed the mike. “Salty Dog One, this is Salty Dog Actual. Do you copy? Over.”

  “This is One. Go, Dog. Over.”

  “We have company on our six, so I will pass you and lead to the extraction point. Be aware it might get messy. Over.”

  “Dog, we copy. Take the lead and I will chat with the home folks. Over.”

  Hughes acknowledged and swung into the left lane, passing the pickup as it slowed almost imperceptibly. As he flashed by, he jerked his thumb behind him and the two Coasties in the truck bed nodded, and one turned his attention to the rear as the second shooter continued to look ahead. Kinsey gave him a short toot of the horn and a tight smile. As Hughes settled into the lead, he heard the radio crackle to life on the console beside him as Kinsey transmitted.

  “This is Salty Dog One to Magician. Do you copy? Over.”

  Hughes heard Torres’ slight Hispanic accent. “This is Magician. I copy. Over.”

  “Magician, be advised we may be coming in hot. ETA at extraction point in fifteen mikes. Over.”

  “One, we copy. Advise any change in ETA. Magician out.”

  They roared past Central Mall on their right, slowing only slightly to dodge the occasional car in the road, as Hughes considered the options. Best to stay on the wider main roads if possible, because there was always the possibility a smaller road might be somehow blocked. Decision made, he kept the pedal to the floor until the approach to Twin City Highway came into view, then flicked his right turn signal briefly to alert Kinsey before taking the turn entirely too fast. The SUV fishtailed and swung on to the access road to flash by a strip center and a huge HEB supermarket.

  Seconds later he was turning left on to Twin City Highway, with Kinsey right on his tail. Time seemed to drag after that, despite his heavy foot, and they moved northwest up Twin City Highway, slaloming around many more abandoned cars than they’d encountered to date. Finally, he spotted the interchange with Texas 366 ahead, and exited left to take the long swooping curve that put him on 366, headed east now, with his landmark just ahead. He veered left onto a narrow paved road between a tank farm and the Nederland Little League complex and roared toward the river and the refinery docks, glancing in his rearview mirror to assure himself Kinsey was still with him—two miles to go.

  Federal Correctional Complex

  Beaumont, Texas

  “They made the turn toward the river by the Little League fields. I doubt there are any turnoffs that’ll take ‘em anyplace but the river. We got ‘em, Spike!” Snaggle said.

  McComb nodded. “All right, have the chase car plug the hole and close on them, then put as many units down that road after ‘em as you can. How many units are close?”

  “We got two units nearby and I’ll have ‘em running up the chase car’s tailpipe, with three more behind them inside of two minutes and several more on the way. We can have at least six cars and twelve men on ‘em by the time they hit the river. And the boat’s just a ways downstream. Running flat out, I can probably have her up to that section of the river in maybe five minutes. They ain’t gettin’ away.”

  “About damn time something went right,” McComb said. “Do it!”

  Snaggle nodded and started issuing orders over the radio.

  Refin
ery Dock Access Road

  Nederland, Texas

  Hughes sped down the access road, the high chain-link fence marking refinery property on his right and the tracks of the railroad spur serving the refining complex and tank farms on his left, confining him in the narrow corridor that ran straight to the river. The fence posts on the right flew by in a blur as he worked to avoid the frequent potholes in a road that saw more than of its fair share of heavy truck traffic. The SUV hit a particularly bad pothole and he fought the wheel to maintain control, then looked in his rearview mirror.

  “Damn! That was a bad one. We’re all buckled in, but I hope Kinsey doesn’t bounce his guys out of the back of the truck,” Hughes said.

  “It seems longer than I remember. How much farther?” Laura asked.

  “The main refinery gate’s coming up,” Hughes said, nodding ahead. “That’s about the halfway spot. The road forks to the left just before the main gate and runs through a fenced corridor between the refinery and the Sun tank farm next door, straight down to the dock gate. Maybe a mile, give or take.” He glanced over at her. “Don’t worry, babe, we’re almost there.”

  As if to emphasize his words, he began slowing the SUV and then veered left just before the main gate.

  “Hang on,” he cried, just before the SUV bumped violently over the railroad tracks and onto the road between the fences, down to the refinery docks.

  He straightened and accelerated just as he heard the sound of gunfire and glanced in his rearview mirror to see the pickup come into view. It bounced across the tracks, its occupants hanging on for dear life as the pickup leaned to one side. The gunfire was steady now.

  “Salty Dog One to Salty Dog Actual. Do you copy? Over.”

  Hughes snatched up the radio. “Go ahead, One.”

  “There’s at least three cruisers behind us and closing fast. They got one of my rear tires with a lucky shot. We can’t outrun them and we’re bouncing around so bad my guys can’t shoot. We’ll make a stand here and hold ‘em off while you get your family to the boat. Over.”

  “Negative One! Repeat. Negative your last! I’ll slow and let you close on me; then I’ll stop and let y’all hop in and we’ll get to the river.”