The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side

by A. S. Thompson

  "W-Wilson. W-what's this about? What do you need from me?"

  "Wilson, I'm glad you asked. It's simple. We need you to drive my friend back into the building, like nothing happened. Then you will lead him to the southern door and pretend like you are going out for a smoke. That's it."

  "But I don't smoke," Wilson replied, voice cracking.

  West reached into his bag, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and lighter, and stuffed them in Dr. Crowley's front pocket. "You do now."

  "Twenty-seconds," Travis said, throwing the coat over his back and pulling down the cotton beanie to complete the disguise.

  West grabbed the dead man's legs, and dragged the near-naked body past Wilson. "So what's it going to be?"

  "I-uh,-I," Wilson mumbled, unable to formulate clear words. Perspiration flowered on his forehead, as his eyes shifted nervously between Travis and West. "I can do that, but-but we can't go back until we fix this panel."

  "Reach your hand inside and push in the three plugs on the left near the back," West said crouching behind the closest solar panel. He kept his head out just long enough to solidify his point. "And if you try anything, anything at all, my friend here will slice you open. Understood?"

  Wilson's eyes shot back to Travis who was concealing a knife in his waistband. "I'll make sure your last minutes hurt real bad, comprende?" he said, face mean and full of promise.

  "You guys done yet or what?" the guards asked, shining their light down the row.

  Back facing the security escort, Travis spoke softly and calmly. "Stop looking like someone threatened your life and tell them you're almost done."

  Wilson tried to swallow, but he couldn't push the saliva down. He wiped his forehead and called back, "Finishing up now." He reached into the panel and jammed the plugs back into place. The three red meters rose and changed to green. The energy inputs fluctuated but all hovered around the same levels as they had before.

  Travis put a hand on the steel housing and said, "I'll lock up the panel, you let them know we are all finished."

  "Looks like we're all done," Wilson relayed.

  Returning to their cart, the guards said, "Good. Hurry the fuck up or we will leave you out here.”

  In a low whisper, Travis continued, "We will walk back together, and get in the cart. You will drive and if you do exactly like my friend told you, I won't have to hurt you."

  West watched as Travis hid his face from the security team. "So far, so good," he said to himself, watching the two carts make identical U-turns.

  "Stand fast everyone," West reported, setting down the radio to ready his knife. He jabbed the blade deep into Noah's stomach and spread his intestines across the desert; the body matter steamed as it met the freezing air.

  Like chumming the water, West thought as he dragged the body closer to the fence line.

  ***

  Charlie was the first to greet West. "No gunfire yet. I'd say it's working. Clint, can you-"

  "Already on it," the Secret Serviceman replied, agitated as usual. "Nick, come in. Can you see what's going on? We need a visual, over."

  "Travis' guy is parking the golf cart. Now they are walking up through the front door. They’re inside, over."

  "Alright, gather around me," West said, waving. He dropped to a knee and checked his watch. "In a few seconds, Travis will come out that side door and hopefully not long after, the infected will get to the fence. Everyone is clear on what they are doing, correct?"

  Everyone but Matty nodded.

  "So I know this isn't the best time, but do I still need to go inside? I mean at first?" Matty asked, suffering from a moment of cowardice. He began to hyperventilate but kept on rambling. "Infected are one thing, but these guys have guns, and there's a lot of them, more than I thought there would be. Maybe you guys can just have the worker Travis is with, help you?"

  "Hey, you," Clint snapped, grabbing a handful of Matty's shirt, "nut up for your country."

  "Nut up for my country?" Matty repeated, taking offense.

  "Whoa, all of you calm down," West said quietly but sternly. "Charlie, go make sure the guards in the tower didn't hear Matty."

  "On it," the Canadian said without hesitation. He bellied down and peeked his head around the stone.

  After receiving an "okay" sign, West continued, but took a calmer, less aggressive approach.

  "Matty, we still need you to come with us. If we can use the other guy we will, but just in case, we need you there with us." He put a hand on Matty's arm and with sincerity, said, "Don't worry, you'll be well guarded. Nothing will happen to you. Now, say it with me, 'nothing will happen to me.'"

  "Nothing will happen to me," Matty repeated. After reciting the mantra several times, the words slowed and so did his pacing and breathing.

  West clutched the radio and said, "Nick, do you have Jenny? Over."

  "Negative. That angle cut out. Over."

  "Eddy, can you see her? Over."

  "Ya, I got her. She's sprintin' like hell to the panels, Nick. She has a good fifty yards on the infected and it looks like it's working."

  "Alright team, check and recheck your weapons," West ordered. "Even if Travis makes it to the door before the infected arrive, don't move or shoot. We wait until I say so."

  Waiting the next minute was as tense as ever. The Canadians put their heads together and recited their prewar chant. Agents Clint and Kim checked the straps and weapons of the other. Everyone's hands and legs were restless, and everyone except Steve was visibly anxious.

  Steve had found a spot twenty feet up the hill where the overhead and surrounding rocks offered ideal cover and concealment. Despite the fresh wound in his left shoulder, he didn't so much as flinch when he attached a suppressor that West had fashioned from a water bottle and other household items. He used a section of rock to steady his aim, then came the ritualistic breathing: in slow, out slower.

  "I got eyes on Travis," Steve reported through the radio, "but we might have a problem."

  West peeked his head around the boulder. Moments later, he reeled back, disconcerted.

  "What is it?" Dylan asked.

  "One of the guards is talking with Travis. I can't make out the conversation, but it can't be good."

  "We should do something," Clint suggested.

  “I have the threat in my sights. Just give me the word.”

  West growled. He looked up to the young sniper and spoke softly and clearly into the transmitter. "Hold on, Steve, let's see how this plays out."

  "If we don't attack now, your man's gonna die,” Clint snapped. “You want that on your conscience?"

  I've got a lot worse on it, West thought, but said, "No one do anything. We want to avoid a shoot out for as long as possible."

  But even he knew it was a matter of time.

  ***

  "What now?" Dr. Crowley asked, rubbing his palms together.

  Travis shut the door behind him.The infected still aren't here yet, he thought as he looked to the front gate, then over to the stretch of fence where his comrades were supposed to be entering through. "Start smoking."

  Dr. Crowley fumbled for the contents in his front pocket. His hands shook so badly that he dropped the lighter.

  "Dios mio. You gotta be kiddin me.”

  Then something unfavorable happened. One of the guards from the southern tower leaned out of the window and shouted, "Hey, you! What are you guys doing out here?"

  Shit, we're compromised,Travis thought at first,but I don't see any hostile intentions, maybe he's just curious.

  Dr. Crowley's eyes widened as he looked to Travis.

  "Answer the man," Travis said, slowly and inconspicuously moving a hand over the concealed blade.

  "J-just stepping out for a smoke before we get back to work," Dr. Crowley called back, though not entirely convincing.

  "You know the break area’s out back.”

  “I-I know. We just got back from fixing the panels and this was closer.”

  “Okay,” the g
uard shouted back.

  Internally, Travis sighed in relief, but that was before hearing the rest of the guard's reply.

  "Okay, I'll join you. I could use one, too," the guard said, climbing down the railing. A foot from the ground, he hopped off and walked over. His beard hadn't been trimmed in weeks. A .45 caliber pistol was strapped to his right leg and an AR-15 slung around his back. A black and white tag identified the man as "Coleson."

  Dr. Crowley gave Travis a nervous look of "What are we going to do?"

  Travis' lips barely moved as he answered, "Just act natural."

  "Cold fucking night, huh?" Coleson remarked, his breath beginning to turn into steam.

  Travis did his best to avoid eye contact. "Sure is."

  Despite the man's rough appearance, Coleson politely asked, "Mind if I bum one?"

  Dr. Crowley obliged and even lit the cigarette.

  Coleson spun the hat on his head backwards so the fumes wouldn't saturate the brim. "Not gonna join us?"

  "Sure," Travis said, accepting a Parliament. It was the first cigarette to have ever touched his lips. He lit it himself, inhaled, and did his best to keep the smoke in his mouth, but some entered his lungs, causing him to cough uncontrollably.

  "First time?" Coleson joked, not knowing how true it was. "Me, I prefer menthols, but can't exactly go to a 7-11 these days."

  Travis noticed an Army tattoo on the man's uncovered right triceps. "You serve?"

  Coleson spat a wad of tarry saliva onto the dusty ground. "173rd Airborne. Then Rangers. You?"

  "Ya..." Travis said, truth coming out instinctively.

  Coleson's right eyebrow arched inquisitively.

  Travis regretted the single word. Fortunately, before Coleson could ask, his quick thinking saved the faux-pas. "Ya...I wish. Never had the guts."

  Coleson appeared to buy the lie. "Fifteen years myself before the Army cut me. Came back from my last tour and my C.O. put me in for a psych eval. Test said I was 'troubled and unstable.' Go figure. They weren't gonna let me shoot anymore, so I retired and not long after, my buddy hooked me up with this job. I guess it worked out in the end ‘cause LIFE pays a hell-of-alot better, and I don't have to deal with politics or fighting someone else's wars..."

  So true, Travis thought, reminiscing his time in the Army.

  "Anyway, trucks should be leaving soon, huh?"

  "Yes," Dr. Crowley said, flicking the end of the cigarette. "We are finishing loading the pallets now, and the trucks should be departing within the hour."

  "I volunteered for Truck One's escort. I'm looking forward to getting on the road."

  "Cool," Travis replied, keeping half his face hidden.

  "Talkative one, aren't you?" Coleson said, calling out Travis. He tilted his head to the side and blew out a thin line of smoke. "Say, you don't look familiar. What's your name?"

  “Uh, Tyler. Must always been on opposite shifts I guess."

  "Hmm, maybe, but I'm pretty good with faces, and I'm pretty sure I've met everyone here. What do you do?"

  Travis shifted nervously, but played off the action as being cold. He wasn't sure how much more of the story he could make up or pass as believable. "Unfortunately, I can't talk about my work. It's classified."

  "Tell me about it. We can't even go into the labs," Coleson replied, but his curiosity did not stop there. "Which room do you bunk in?"

  Travis flashed a look at Dr. Crowley, hoping he could answer or somehow divert the attention.

  Despite the cold temperatures, sweat beaded down his cheeks. "He's with me in C. He shares a room with Dr. Noah Primply."

  Coleson was visibly suspicious now. He took another drag and mumbled, "Tyler, Tyler, Tyler. Not coming up."

  Flicking down the cigarette as misdirection, Travis began to reach for his blade.Get ready, Trav, you're gonna have to make a move. When it happens, make it quick.

  "I don't know what to tell ya,” Travis said, shrugging. “It's not like I just killed someone and snuck into the facility.”

  Coleson took one final drag, then ashed it out with the sole of his boot. He took a step closer to Travis and squinted his eyes. "When you're cooped up in a place like this for six months, you recognize faces, and I just don't know yours."

  "Sorry, I don't know what to tell you," Travis chuckled as though the comment was ridiculous. "Alright, Wilson, I think we should get back to work."

  "Not so fast," Coleson said. He didn't make a move to detain Travis; his words were enough. Keeping his eyes on the two men, Coleson shouted back to the other guard in the tower. "Hey Fink! You know this guy? His name's Tyler. Says he sleeps in C block."

  Fortunately, a call came through on Coleson's radio. "Attention, we have a Code One at the front gate. All available personnel respond."

  Dr. Crowley finished the numerical security access code and had the door propped open, ready to escape the inquisition. Travis back pedaled and politely excused himself saying, "It looks like you're busy and I need to get back to work."

  This time, though, Coleson grabbed Travis by the arm and pulled off his beanie. "Just some of those things at the gate. It can wait."

  Fink leaned against the railing. "Naw, never seen him before.”

  "Let me see your ID," Coleson ordered, placing a hand on his sidearm.

  Dr. Crowley's eyes darted from Coleson to Travis then up to Fink. His face wore all the shock and panic that Travis' should have displayed.

  The Army Second Lieutenant frowned and shook his head slightly from side to side. "You just couldn't let it go. You seemed like a decent guy. I'm sorry."

  Coleson stared at Travis as though he was reading his mind. He sensed Travis’ intentions but was a second too late responding. By the time Coleson unholstered his gun, Travis jabbed his four-inch blade upward. The tip pierced Coleson's throat and came out the side of his neck. With his free hand, Coleson grabbed Travis' wrist, but the damage was already done.

  "Why?" Coleson’s dying expression implied. Blood seeped through his clenched teeth. Then his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped dead.

  "What the fu-" Fink exclaimed, drawing his rifle.

  With no time to react, Travis was completely exposed.

  Then, a bullet struck the back of Fink's head. A soft trail of blood sprayed into the cold Nevada air like confetti. The impact spun Fink's body over the railing and sent him plummeting to the hard packed desert.

  Unable to handle the death, so real, so up close to him, Dr. Crowley fell unconscious. His face smacked hard against the ground, opening up the skin above his eye.

  Fortunately, all guards were busy with the main gate to the east, otherwise, they would have seen two dead guards and the unconscious scientist.

  Move! Travis' mind ordered, and he did with haste. He dragged Coleson behind the tower then did the same with Fink’s body.

  Simultaneously, West bypassed the fence's electrical current and alarm system. Then, using large cutters, Charlie and Dylan began to snip the chain links. In twenty-seconds, they created a hole large enough to pass through, moving at the pace West had rehearsed.

  Steve hustled down from his position. He tossed his gear bag over the fence, and handed his rifle through to avoid a snag.

  "Thanks, hermano. I owe you one," Travis said, returning Steve's rifle as he stood up.

  “We're good."

  Travis noticed a wet spot on Steve's shirt near the upper pectoral. "Your shoulder. You bleeding?"

  Steve dabbed the stain, and his fingertips confirmed blood. "Recoil must have torn a stitch. Doesn't hurt," he said, emotionless. He nodded to the southern wall. "You better get going. They're waiting for you at the door."

  Travis pat Steve on his good shoulder. "Be safe, hermano."

  "You too.”

  Steve snatched his bag and ascended the tower, ready to defend.

  "Hallways are clear," Travis said, meeting West at the door blocked by Wilson’s body. "I noticed some people in the rooms, but they shouldn't be a problem. Th
e glass is frosted; all you can see are outlines. The security office is like a bank, though. I saw a glass window that I'm guessing is bullet proof, and when we rounded the corner there was one heavy duty door. Good news is, I only counted two guards inside. Bad news is, we'll have to get them to open the door somehow."

  "Or draw them out," West suggested; he already came up with a plan. "Solid recon, Travis. Now get ready."

  "Here," Clint said, handing Travis a bag packed with weapons, holsters, body armor and pre-packed magazines.

  "Kim, go get the hats off the two dead guards, and any jackets, too," West ordered.

  "What do you want us to do with him," Dylan said, nudging Wilson's limp body with the toe of his boot. "We shouldn't leave him here in the open."

  "Carry him to the tower and tie him up. Charlie, help him. Everyone be quick," West ordered, pulling out his radio. "Nick, how does it look up there?"

  "The infected are doing a good job keeping the guards busy. I'd hurry up though. Over."

  "What about Jenny?" Travis asked as he slung the assault rifle over his back.

  Clint was on one knee, covering the east. "We shouldn't be worried about her. We should focus on the mission."

  West wasn't as unsympathetic. "Eddy, you have eyes on Jenny?"

  A few seconds went by. "No, I lost her in the panels."

  Travis watched West look to Steve and Steve back at him. Both men knew there was nothing they could do, other than trust she was safe. Travis racked the slide back on his pistol, and then grabbed the radio from West's hand. "I'm sure she's fine, Steve. Don't worry."

  West placed a small rock in the doorframe to impede it from closing. Then he took control of the radio and said, "Alright, if the guards finish shooting early and head back, or if it looks like they are on to us, start shooting the lights out first. Then, the guards. If all goes well, we'll be out before they know we're here."

  ***

  On the third floor, in an office facing East, Dr. Beth Arnold sat at her desk reviewing notes and scribbling new ones. Her "to-do" tray was overflowing.

  "And one million units to Japan," she mumbled, completing an order form. She signed the bottom, and then placed the paper on top of a stack an inch high. She removed her glasses, rubbed her face and yawned; body beckoning for long, overdue sleep.