Bethany stared at the guard with a sour demeanor. “Well?”
“Yes, ma’am. Go ahead.”
The guard raised a hand to stop Brian, but Bethany said, “Let him through. He’s coming with me.”
The guard shook his head and said, “Go on.”
“I’ll escort you,” the soldier said. “Simon and the general can meet us.”
He turned, and they passed the entry gate. Brian had been getting around well without the use of his cane, but now with Bethany and the soldier several steps ahead of him, and having to stop on occasion for him to catch up, he wished he’d brought it along.
“What’s going on?” he asked the soldier, partially so he and Bethany would slow down.
“We spotted the vehicle over a mile out, and had it pull over when it neared Alice.” He shook his head. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Is Uncle—General Driscoll there?”
“Y-yes, ma’am,” he said. “But it’s not what you’re expecting.” He explained the situation as they walked.
“Jesus Christ …” Brian said. “That’s sick. That’s plain sick.”
Soon, a detachment of soldiers were seen standing at the side of the road, weapons at the ready. “We’re close,” the escort said.
Then the vehicle became clear. It was a standard military cargo truck, with a walled bed in the rear covered in an olive drab canvas stretching over the top. Two soldiers in protective bomb gear stood beside the open driver’s side door. As they neared, Brian saw the driver, his left wrist still handcuffed to the wheel. The soldier had explained on their way to the truck that the driver had been holding an envelope addressed to Jeremy Winters. The letter was now under transport to the general.
“Stop there,” one of the bomb squad members said. “We have gear for you.” He pointed to a pile of equipment and helped Bethany and Brian with the cumbersome pants and jackets. As a helmet was placed over Brian’s head, the weight became apparent, and he had to lean on his good leg.
“Where is he?” Bethany asked, her words barely audible behind the thick mask.
“This way,” the soldier said.
Brian’s breathing came out fast, and the faceplate was fogging up.
Jesus Christ, what the fuck am I doing out here?
“Beth,” he said, putting his hand out to stop her. “Wait, hold up. Doesn’t this seem fishy to you? I mean, why ask for you, Simon, and Jeremy only?”
She shrugged and walked past his hand. “Don’t know how the minds of sick fucks work.”
He stepped in front of her. “Wait, just hear me out. Something ain’t right. They want you out here for a reason.”
“No shit, Brian. Whatever the reason, I’m here.”
“Beth, just hold up. Let’s not give them what they’re asking for on a silver platter.”
“What are you saying, for me to turn back? Not gonna happen. If Uncle Al is in there, I’m getting him out.”
“Just let me take a look first. Please. Keep a few steps back.”
She stared at him through the faceplate.
“C’mon, Beth. If this is a trap, let’s not walk right into it.”
“It’s not any safer for you.”
“No, but if they don’t see you, Simon, and Jeremy beside me, well, it might be safer. Let me just take the first look, see if it really is Uncle Al.”
There was a pause, and then she nodded. “Fine, but I’m not going back any farther. I’m staying right here.”
“Agreed.”
Brian turned and began walking to the truck. As he passed the open driver side door, the driver called out, “I’m-m sorry.” The man’s face was dripping sweat. “I didn’t want to do this. I-I didn’t have a choice.” His uniform was soaked.
“Calm down,” an engineer said, inspecting the wire weaved through the chains on the handcuffs to the remotely controlled bundle of C-4 strapped to the man’s chest. The wire snaked to another bundle of explosives visible on the passenger side seat. The wire continued to the rear cargo area, which Brian was told led to more explosives.
He turned the corner, and a man in army fatigues stood from sitting on the bumper.
“Ah,” he said. “I see we are beginning to arrive.” He smiled a wide smile and flung a cigarette to spiral away. He pointed at Brian’s chest. “Those suits—ha! What good will they do?”
Brian spotted a slow and lazy drip of red from the rear gate of the truck, pooling below the tire. At the side of the road, off in the trees, were a dozen armed soldiers, aiming their rifles at the truck.
The man continued smiling and brushed a hand over his smoothed-back hair. He was unarmed, and carried a single handheld radio attached to his belt. The red handprint on his chest was fresh. “Please let me introduce myself. My name is Walter Ryder, Sergeant First Class in the Red Hand army. I am here as a messenger.” Walter’s ever-present smile and smooth mannerisms reminded Brian of a man he once knew back in Nelson, who owned the used car lot in town. Walter continued, “Once we are all gathered, I will proceed. Mister Kalispell, I presume? And is that Miss Driscoll back there?”
Brian realized the man couldn’t see him properly through the faceplate.
“Let me remind you that I check in over the radio every seven minutes. If I fail to answer, the explosives will be triggered without a delay. The letter was clear: we would like to speak with Simon Kalispell, Jeremy Winters, and Bethany Driscoll, alone.”
“Yeah,” Brian said. “I’m Simon.”
“And why is Miss Driscoll standing back there? We asked—”
“She’ll follow after you get on with what the hell this is all about.”
Walter flashed his friendly smile. “Let me give you a reminder of how dire the consequences are.” He turned to the truck and unlatched the rear gate, then grabbed the cloth cover and yanked it back, displaying the interior.
“Dear God,” Brian muttered.
***
Simon followed Jeremy and the officers out of Alice Elementary School, and they walked fast down Maple Avenue toward the trade grounds. Jeremy issued commands to soldiers and scouts as they proceeded. On the way, he explained what little information the soldier had told him in the meeting room.
I hate this, Simon thought. I fucking hate this …
They turned the corner, and four soldiers came running toward them. “General Winters!” they shouted, and waved their arms. “General!”
One soldier was so out of breath he could barely speak. “Sir,” he said, and then paused, taking in lungfuls of air. “I’ve come … come from the truck.” He took another breath and straightened up. He held an envelope in his hand. “Sir, this is for you. The driver was carrying it. We have a situation.”
The soldier further described the truck full of explosives. The driver, one of Hightown’s soldiers, was captured and chained to the steering wheel. There was an emissary from the Red Hands to deliver further instructions. The general, Simon, and Bethany were ordered to go to the truck; otherwise the explosives would be remotely detonated. Jeremy read the letter as the soldier spoke.
“Dear God,” Jeremy said, not taking his eyes off the page. “Impossible. This is impossible.” He paused, and no one spoke, waiting for Jeremy to explain. His eyes remained glued to the paper for another minute, and then he folded it into his breast pocket. “Where’s Bethany now?” he asked.
“Sir,” the soldier said. “She was escorted to the site, along with Brian Rhodes.”
“They’ve been what? Under whose authority?”
The soldier’s eyes shot large, and he stepped back. “Sir, I …”
“There’s a truck full of explosives, and you sent members of our establishment out there? This is obviously a trap.”
“Sir, they have one of their own out there. They won’t detonate—”
“Like hell they won’t. We’re being called out there to be killed, plain and simple.”
Jeremy brushed past the soldier. “Call them back,” he shouted over his shoul
der. “Call them all back.”
“But, sir, General Driscoll is—”
“It’s a trap, goddamn it. Call them back, now!”
“S-sir. Yes, sir.” The soldier unclasped his radio.
“Jeremy,” Simon said. “How many soldiers were sent out to the truck?”
Jeremy looked to an officer at his side. “How many?”
“Fifteen,” the officer said without hesitation. “The bomb squad is present at the vehicle, and thirty men are waiting as backup less than a quarter mile down the road.”
Simon looked back to the man on the radio. “Is Bethany there yet? Is Brian there?”
“They’re being recalled,” the man said.
“Have the reserves meet them, now,” Simon said, and turned in a sprint toward the trade grounds.
Chapter Ten
Duplicity
The trunk swung open, the canvas cloth pulled back, and a wave of nausea nearly overwhelmed Brian. “You’re sick sons a’bitches, you know that?”
Walter Ryder looked from the rear of the truck to Brian and smiled. The truck was full to the walled sides with the severed heads of Hightown’s executed prisoners; a bloody jumble of unmoving eyes and open mouths. Three fell when the trunk opened, and rolled to a halt on the ground. In the middle of the pile was General Albert Driscoll, tied to a post secured in the floor, the gore drowning him to his shoulders. A ball gag was stuffed in his mouth, and his face was bruised and bloodied, his eyes swollen shut. He tried to speak as he saw Brian, tried to wiggle free.
“Uncle Al!” Brian called out, and moved toward the opening. The guard from the bomb squad grabbed his arm.
“He’s strapped with explosives. Don’t go near him!”
Another soldier came from around the front of the truck, not wearing protective gear. “Brian Rhodes, come with me,” he said, motioning for him to follow.
Nobody moved.
“Brian?” Walter said. “Your name is Brian, not Simon?”
Brian stepped to meet the soldier.
Walter Ryder said, “Stop.” He unclasped the radio from his belt. “All it takes is one word, and this will be over, fast.”
“And you’ll be blown to pieces too,” the soldier said, aiming his rifle at Walter.
“Death finds us all, one way or the other.”
“General Winters and Simon Kalispell are on their way, but they won’t be meeting you at the truck. Brian,” the soldier said. “Follow me.” He stepped forward and grabbed Brian around his bicep.
Walter sighed and clipped the radio back on his belt. His hand went to his rear, and when it returned, it held a pistol.
“Beth!” Brian shouted to Bethany back by the trees. “Get down!”
And with that, a volley of bullet fire erupted from every direction.
The soldier beside Brian was shot in the chest and fell over. Walter aimed the pistol at the other guard in the bomb suit and fired point-blank into his faceplate. A ripple of gunfire erupted from the tree line, and bullets plunked the side of the truck while torrents of dirt shot up from the ground. Brian dove to the earth and looked up to witness the horrendous sight of movement … the heads, the hundreds of severed heads were moving, rising. “Oh, Jesus!” was all he got out as a man birthed from the gore, rifle in hand. Another emerged, and then another. Uncle Al was struggling from his confines as bullets tore into the canvas cloth and popped into the severed heads. A bullet pierced Walter’s shoulder and he stumbled forward, attempting to jump in the rear of the truck. He called out, “Your general is in the truck! Hold your fire!” He was partially in the cab when a volley of bullets struck him, and he fell beside Brian.
“Beth, move!” Brian shouted, and attempted to roll to the opposite side of the truck, tearing away the helmet and bulky equipment that was making escape nearly impossible.
The soldiers hidden in the back of the truck were firing out from flaps in the canvas covering. Above the roar of gunfire, another noise came rumbling from the road, and two and then a third Hummer came rushing toward them. Machine guns mounted to the tops fired bullets of such large caliber that the tree line where the soldiers hid was torn to sawdust, and smaller trees toppled.
The vehicles screeched to a halt, and men poured out, exchanging fire with the reservists who were approaching from the rear.
“Brian!” Bethany shouted from the tree line. A soldier grabbed her around her waist, stopping her from running to him.
Brian stood, but a terrible jolt crashed into his back as a bullet hit the protective plate in the suit and ricocheted off, sending him down face-first. “Christ,” he said through gritted teeth. Another pain walloped his side, and then another in his leg. A deep, hot pain. Then hands were on him, grabbing his arms, his shoulders. A bag was pulled over his face, and darkness followed.
His feet were off the ground, but still he tried to push, pull his way out of the arms of the men shoving him. Then he was in the trunk of a Hummer, his hands tied with zip-tie handcuffs. His body bounced as the Hummers fled back the way they’d come. He couldn’t hear anything over the roar of the machine gun mounted on the roof and the loud plunks of returned fire bouncing off the armored truck. The boom of an explosion was evident. Loud, yet not as loud as all the C-4 in the truck would have suggested.
The bullet fire became less and less until it stopped completely, and all Brian could hear was the rumble of the engine and his own heart beating heavy. Jesus, he thought. I can’t breathe.
The Hummer must have been driving fast, and each bump in the road caused his body to bounce violently, and his mouth was sucking in the fabric of the hood with each inhalation.
I’m a dead man, he thought. Where the hell are they taking me?
Chapter Eleven
The Butcher Returns
The rumble in the sky was evident, even with the foghorn blaring in the distance. Simon shielded the sun with his hand, looking for the little black dot.
“Jesus Christ,” Jeremy said to no one in particular. “Where is it coming from?”
A soldier beside him was calling into a radio. Jeremy looked at him and the soldier said, “I’m working on it, sir.”
They were in the trade grounds, where a large brigade of Hightown and Alice’s soldiers had just departed to secure the site of the cargo truck. A guard stationed nearby said, “Are we under attack, sir? Is it them?”
Jeremy remained looking into the sky as he replied, “Yes, we’re under attack. And yes, it’s them.” He turned to an officer. “I don’t think this is the main assault; get reports from the scouts.”
“Sir,” the man said. “There’s no indication of—”
The bullet fire was heard in the distance, from the direction of the cargo truck.
Simon ran to the gate, but a guard put his arm out.
“Simon,” Jeremy said. “Wait.”
“They’re out there. Bethany and Brian, they’re both out there!”
“I called them back. Just wait.”
Simon yearned to shove the guard aside and run past, but he suppressed these feelings, swallowing them into a tight ball in his stomach.
“Sir,” the officer said, looking at both Jeremy and Simon with a sober expression. “We have reports of movement, north of the cargo truck. Vehicles …” He pressed his ear to the speaker. “Five or six, moving fast … and a helicopter, north west, nearing Checkpoint B.”
Simon turned to face the noise in the sky, and saw the black dot appear. High up, it sailed toward the checkpoint closest to the heart of Alice. Jeremy removed his radio and issued commands. “Ready large-caliber munitions for an air assault.” A crackling voice spoke back to him, and then Jeremy responded. “Report on the whereabouts of Brian Rhodes and Bethany Driscoll, and pull every soldier back behind the line, away from the truck!”
Simon exchanged glances with Jeremy, both knowing full well who they were leaving behind in the cargo truck.
“Here,” Jeremy said, removing the folded paper from his breast pocket. “Read this,
fast.”
Simon took the paper, his vision burning bright with adrenaline. The message was short, written in fine black ink from a meticulous hand.
Dear General Winters,
I offer you my sincere congratulations on becoming general. You will serve in a better capacity than your predecessor, Mister Nicholas Byrnes, and that stout old man whom you were all so fond of. I apologize wholeheartedly for having to kill him. It was not personal, just a matter of necessity.
Now, it would appear that the two of us are locked eye to eye. Make no mistake about it, I plan on delivering upon you the same inferno that you so recklessly unleashed on my men, and attempted to turn into my funerary pyre. Alice will burn. Oh Lord, I swear it. Full retribution is at hand. The might of my Red Hands will see you all dead, in due time. For now, I leave you with a taste of things to come.
I look forward to making your acquaintance.
Sincerely,
Karl Metzger
Karl Metzger … Simon looked up from the paper.
“Ka—” was all he got out before Jeremy said, “Don’t say his name out loud.” He snatched the paper from Simon and folded it back into his pocket.
In the distance, they heard an explosion, and all the men on the line recoiled. At the same time, the first tracer rounds emitted from the line, aiming at the helicopter and missing. More bullet fire erupted, and the helicopter turned sharply, swooping back toward the way it came. Something dark dropped from the sky as it turned. Something small and round. And then more. Dozens.
Jeremy shouted into the microphone as the helicopter continued its loop. Tracer rounds followed in pursuit, but none brought the vessel down.
All eyes were on the mass of black falling objects, awaiting the detonation. But then they disappeared from view, and no explosion followed.
Chapter Twelve
Behind the Gates
Jeremy returned to command in a rush. Simon remained in the trade grounds with five high-ranking Rangers hunched over a map spread out on the pavement. He pointed to locations away from main avenues and roads that would offer the best vantage points. There were already a dozen Rangers settled around Alice, high up in trees or in the crevices of rocks, but their numbers would need to be doubled. Lieutenant General Casey Edmunds stayed in the trade grounds as well, awaiting reports from his men returning from the skirmish at the cargo truck. As the soldiers returned, Simon left his Rangers and ran up to the front gate. He scanned each face for Bethany and Brian.
Someday Soon Page 6