Mitchell stared straight ahead for a total of five seconds before he nodded in understanding. “Yes, Sir.”
An hour later, Walters was back in his office, feeling happy with his situation. The three doctors were under his control, working intently on developing a vaccine. The girl was under his control as well, meaning that he held all the cards.
‘Now, time to take care of business,’ he thought, nodding. Yesterday he’d been so distracted with everything that he’d largely ignored the queries sent by the President. Determined to keep her at bay for the time being, he’d passed a late message, saying simply,
Doctors have arrived, as has the girl. They’re already in the lab, working on development of the vaccine. More to follow tomorrow.
It was all going as planned until he’d received the next message from the President.
Received word that someone was plotting an attack on the caravan carrying the girl and Doctor Reed. Did attack occur? If so, any casualties?
‘Crap,’ he thought upon reading the message. What the hell had happened? He responded quickly, wanting to tamp out any lingering concerns.
No attack reported. All present and accounted for.
After pressing ‘send,’ he quickly closed his laptop, ending any chance of further communication. His head was spending as he tried to evaluate the situation.
What did this mean?
Who knew of the plot?
Where was Judas?
Why hadn’t he responded to the messages Walters had sent?
In the end, Walters had forced himself to put it out of his mind. Ultimately, it really didn’t matter. He held all the cards, and even if the President and her lackeys knew, it was too late for them to do anything about it.
Besides, once he contacted them, the proverbial cat would be out of the bag.
But it would be too late.
They couldn’t touch him inside his borderline over-fortified Protective Zone. He’d prioritized the strengthening of the city’s defenses specifically for this purpose. He was ready for siege, and if they came looking for a fight, he and his men would be ready to give them one.
He was safe from the outside world, and in time, they’d have to give into his demands if they wanted what he had.
Looking at his watch, he saw that it was time for the scheduled meeting with the President and the other leaders. Well, technically, seven minutes late, as planned.
They’d get used to waiting on him.
He smiled as he reached for the phone. After dialing the conference line number, he drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited for it to connect. A few seconds later, it did.
“Colonel Walters here,” he said, smiling.
“Thanks for joining us,” General Mcintosh growled.
“My apologies for being late, everyone,” he said cheerfully.
“Colonel, you seem to be in a good mood,” President Martinez said. “I’m hoping that means the doctors and the girl all made it there safely?”
“As a matter of fact, they did, Madam President,” he replied gleefully. “And I’d like to-”
General Armstead cut him off. “What about my team?” he asked.
‘This son of a bitch…’ Walters said to himself.
“Now, General, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t interrupt.”
“Excuse me?” the big man replied.
“You see, the thing is,” he began.
The door to Walters’s office burst open unexpectedly. “Sir!”
Looking up, he saw a red-haired, freckled young man in the doorway.
‘Corporal Carpenter. You need to remember this stuff if you want to be in charge.
Irritated, Walters spoke into the phone “Excuse me for a second.”
“What the hell?!” Armstead’s voice boomed.
Looking at the Corporal, Walters asked, “What is it, Corporal Carpenter?”
“Uh, Sir, the Preacher is here.”
Walters pointed at the phone in his hand “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
The young man hesitated. “I know sir, but...it’s just - ”
“What’s wrong with you? Tell him to come back later!”
“Sir, it’s just that...he’s not here yet.”
Walter’s eyes widened in shock. “What? He’s not here? So why the hell’d you say he was?”
“Sir, I meant, he’s coming.”
“Okay…”
“And he’s got a lot of people with him.” The young Corporal looked nervous.
“Okay, so tell them to come back later.”
“I don’t think I can do that, Sir. There’s too many.”
“What do you mean?” Walters asked, his frustration growing rapidly. “How many people did he bring with him?”
“All of them, Sir.”
The phone fell from his hand. “What??”
Stepping out onto the front porch of the Governor’s Mansion, it took every bit of his control to resist the urge to gawk at the size of the crowd that had surrounded the residence. If he were to guess, he’d put the number at well over five thousand, with the majority of the crowd spread out on the street to either side of the property.
‘What the hell?’
Turning his head slightly, he asked. “Who do I have here for security?”
“Just Sergeant Watters and Corporals Trader, Hess, and Smith.”
“Shit.”
The crowd parted, allowing Jeremiah to come forward, his long legs covering the distance steadily as the man approached with a confident arrogance unlike anything Walters had seen from him in the past. The man had always seemed passive, welcoming, accommodating, gracious to have a minute of Walters’s time.
That demeanor was nowhere to be found, and as he approached, the look on his face put Walters on edge, quickly draining away the confidence he’d felt just minutes before. The usual warmness the man seemed to constantly wear was nowhere to be found. What was there was something different.
Something accusatory.
‘What the hell?’
When the man was ten yards away, Walters raised his voice and asked, “What is this, Jeremiah?”
The preacher took a few more steps, closing the distance until he was just over five yards away.
“We’re gonna need to search the residence, Colonel.”
It was the last thing Walters expected to hear.
“What? Why?”
Jeremiah stared back at him with cold, impassive eyes. “We have reason to believe you have something to do with the missing children.”
Walters staggered at the accusation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carpenter shy away slightly. ‘Children?’ he wondered, stupefied at the suggestion.
“Children? What are you talking about? The only one I know about was the one you told me about yesterday, and that was the first I heard about it.”
Jeremiah held up his hand. “Listen, Colonel. I hate to even do this, but at this point, the best thing would be for us to take a quick look around. Assuming we don’t find anything…” he paused, looking pointedly at him, “we can put all of this behind us.”
Walters hesitated, looking out at the crowd. Something about this felt off.
“I don’t think - ”
Movement behind him drew his attention. Turning his head, he watched in stunned silence as the four massive pillars that were the men who seemed to always accompany Jeremiah stepped out of the home, each of them holding the weapons of the soldiers they guided in front of them. For their part, the soldiers looked as if they’d seen better days. Each man had clearly been in a skirmish, and with the biggest of them giving away four inches and forty pounds to Jeremiah’s giants, the evidence - bruised cheekbones, swollen lips, and rapidly closing eyes - indicated that they’d taken the worst of the encounter.
“I - ”
Looking back towards Jeremiah, he was surprised to see the man had closed the bap between them rapidly, shrinking the distance to less than five feet.
Unable to help himse
lf, he swallowed thickly, not realizing how similar his reaction was to that of Corporal Mitchell’s just over an hour prior.
“It’s necessary, Sam,” he said, staring into Walters’s eyes as he used his first name.
Walters was unable to respond as the tall preacher stepped forward and put his arm around his shoulders. He allowed himself to be moved off the porch as his guard detail was moved away as well. The soldiers’ arms were secured behind their backs with flex cuffs before the four large men left them behind on their way into the massive home.
Standing in stunned silence, Colonel Sam Walters could only stare in shock as the four men emerged from the mansion, each with a look of pure disgust on their face.
The leader of the group, a massive, thickly muscled, dark haired man named Donald spoke. Holding up a small pink watch with a white patch on the wristband, he said, “We found this watch.”
A woman in the crowd gasped. “That is Whitney’s! I knew it! You bastard!”
He held up a light brown shirt with the words ‘Wichita City High School’ emblazoned across the front. “And this.”
“Oh, my God! That’s Cody’s!”
The man next to him held up a pink hair band with a butterfly on the top of one side. “And this.”
“That’s Shiloh’s! I know it!”
Another man held up a pair of thickly cushioned headphones with skulls on the side.
“Allen? Oh my God! Those are Allen’s!”
Walters took in all of this, unable to find words that could convey his confusion at what was unfolding.
How?
I had nothing to do with this.
I don’t know anything about this!
He was being framed. But why?
Why would anyone do this?
And why now, after he’d just recently taken the doctors and the girl into custody?
It was as if someone knew what was happening behind the scenes and had chosen this exact moment to take what he’d earned for themselves.
Jeremiah stepped forward.
“Colonel Walters, I am hereby performing a citizen’s arrest. You are suspected of being involved in the disappearance of Whitney Maxwell, Cody Simpson, Shiloh Peterson, Allen Tinsley, and Olivia Cooper.”
“I - ”
Strong, powerful hands grabbed Walters’s arms, forcing them behind his back. He felt the hot breath of powerful men behind him, forcing him to submit. He had no doubt that they were not afraid to use force should he resist.
How could this be happening?
Jeremiah moved even closer, staring at him from less than a foot away. His eyes burned a hole into Walters’s soul. Raising his voice, he said, “I can’t believe this, Colonel. I trusted you! I believed in you! How could you do this?”
Jeremiah ignored the shouting voices of the people in the crowd as Donald and Jeff took Walters and his men away. The men that had been with the Colonel wouldn’t necessarily be put in jail, but for optics, they needed to leave.
The Colonel, on the other hand…
“Um, Sir?”
Looking to his right, he saw a young red-haired man in uniform looking up at him.
“What is it, my son?” he replied, smiling.
“Um, is there anyone here that can take a call?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Sir, it’s just that the President’s on the line, asking to speak to Colonel Walters. I don’t know what to tell her, and there’s no one else here,” he said, before correcting himself, “I mean, no other officers or anything.”
“I see,” Jeremiah said, nodding. “So what do you want me to do?” he asked, smiling.
“Could you speak to her? Maybe tell her what’s going on?”
The tall man hesitated for a few seconds before nodding. “Sure, son. Lead the way.”
“Who is this?” the President Martinez asked.
Leaning back in the high-backed leather chair, Jeremiah brought his feet up and placed them on the desk as he smiled.
“My name is Jeremiah Clark.”
End of Book 5
Epilogue
Oklahoma City Protective Zone, Oklahoma
Day 6
The preacher stood in front of the crowd, smiling widely and brimming with enthusiasm.
“Good people, I thank you. I am truly humbled by your suggestion. But even though it would truly be an honor, I’m not sure it’s appropriate.”
“What’s going on?” Snyder asked as he stepped next to the other man, tearing off another piece of beef jerky with his teeth.
Jeffries stared at the man on the stage, studying his every movement as he spoke. “Something to do with missing children - remember the fliers we saw? - and apparently it’s been traced to the Colonel we met. What was his name?”
“Watters,” Snyder replied, still chewing on his jerky. “No, wait. Walters.”
“Yeah,” Jeffries said, nodding. “That guy is involved, somehow.”
“I could see that, Snyder said, nodding. He pulled off another piece of jerky. “Fucking Fucker.”
“Yeah, he’s a son of a bitch,” Jeffries answered, nodding as well. Leaning over, he said, “So the Colonel has been arrested, or taken into custody, by the citizens here.”
“Damn. Seriously?”
“Yeah, they showed up in mass, led by the preacher here. He had his men execute a search of the Governor’s Mansion, where the guy had been living?”
“What the?”
“I know. Sounds like he was taking advantage of the situation,” Jeffries answered. “Anyway, they found a bunch of stuff that belonged to the missing kids.”
Snyder said nothing for almost a full minute. As he thought, he tore another piece of beef jerky off and chewed it as he thought. Finally, he swallowed, then spoke. “So this guy that set up and ordered the attack on our squad just left a bunch of these missing kids’ stuff in places where they could be found.”
Jeffries looked at the man and grinned as he nodded knowingly. “Apparently,” he said, as he turned back to look towards the front of the crowd, where the preacher was still talking.
“Sounds like bullshit. And believe me, I ain’t stickin up for that fucker Walters.”
“I know.”
“Something bigger is going on here.”
Jeffries looked the other man in the eye for a long moment. “Agreed.” Hearing a cheer rise up in the crowd, he pointed to the stage. “Something’s happening.”
The man on the platform brought his hand up and placed it on his chest. “Although I have my reservations, I will accept your nomination. I will become the leader of this Protective Zone.”
“Son of a bitch…” Jeffries and Snyder muttered under their breaths in unison.
“Your faith in me will not be misplaced. I will work tirelessly to ensure the doctors that are here have everything they need to create the vaccine that we all need to beat this virus. I will work to bring food levels back to what they were before the attacks on the distribution centers that happened under Colonel Walters watch.”
“What the hell?” Jeffries whispered in amazement. “There were attacks on the food distribution centers, too?”
“The fuck?” Snyder asked in response.
“This is shady as fuck…”
“Language, boss,” Snyder muttered.
Jeffries glanced at the man through the corner of his eye before refocusing his attention on the preacher.
“I will do what I can to bring those children back home to their families, where they belong,” Jeremiah said, bringing his hands together in front of him in a prayer-like gesture. “My team, here, will continue their investigation, and if needed, go door-to-door to find them.”
The crowd cheered in response, their applause borderline deafening.
When Jeremiah gestured towards his ‘team,’ Jeffries felt as if his heart was going to burst forth from his chest. It thudded powerfully, threatening to make his body shake with its intensity as his eyes widened in shock at the sight
of the man that stepped forward to shake Jeremiah’s hand. Though not as tall as the men that seemed to always orbit around Jeremiah, the man’s hard look and intensity made him seem more intimidating, more...deadly.
Wearing a black jacket, jeans and combat boots, the man seemed to move with a subtle ease, as if each next movement could be the one that brought with it a powerful, deadly attack. His eyes seemed to take in no one other than the person he was engaging with, but Jeffries knew better.
He recognized the man’s clean scalp, the scar that ran down his cheek, the tattoos on the man’s neck.
Even more so, he inexplicably felt him.
Though he wouldn’t offer an explanation, if he were forced to do so, he would describe it as a recognition of the presence of evil.
Unable to help himself, he drew a sharp intake of air.
“What is it?” Snyder asked, quietly.
“That man. The skinhead next to Jeremiah.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s supposed to be dead.”
“Shit, really? Who is he?”
“A fucking murderer,” Jeffries replied, uncaring of his use of foul language. “Stephen Baldinger.” His face had paled at the recognition and acceptance of what he was seeing.
“Holy shit,” Snyder replied, recognizing the infamous Marine’s name. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Positive”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I served with him.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oklahoma City Protective Zone, Oklahoma
Day 6
Evan’s fists and feet pounded the 100-pound heavy bag furiously, rocking it back and forth on its chain as he attempted to release some of the pent up confusion, frustration, and anger he felt. Jeremiah had given him permission to remove the heavy bag from one of the old boxing clubs inside the Protective Zone, since he’d considered it unlikely that the establishments would reopen under current conditions.
Surviving Rage | Book 5 Page 42