The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side

by A. S. Thompson

  Clint didn't verbally admit fault, but his humbled expression indicated such.

  "I saw her, tried to call out to Nick, but he was busy. I sure as hell wasn't gonna leave her to the zombs. So yes, I left my post to save a freakin’ fourteen year old girl. A girl who had no place in this mission, but you assholes thought it best to include her anyway. I'm not gonna make this about me, but you know I could have been the bait, but still, you chose to let her go. So excuse me for protecting our own."

  "It's true," came a voice from a very scared girl who shivered underneath a blanket. "Alex saved me. I was hiding behind some rocks. I hurt my ankle really bad in a ditch. I didn't know what to do, so I hid. It was so dark I couldn't see anything, and I know you guys said not to use my flashlight, so I didn't. But those things were going to get me, and Alex, he...he saved me."

  "I found her at the base of the foothills. Three infected were grabbing at her from around this huge ass boulder. So, I took em out," Alex said matter-of-factly. His hand subconsciously grabbed the instrument that quietly killed the infected. The machete was still bloody near the grip.

  Their apologetic looks for the unwarranted inquisition weren't quite enough, but Alex took it as a start.

  "Ya. That's what I thought. I hope you assholes feel like shit. So fuck you and you and you and you and you," he said spinning in a circle, pointing at each doubter. Then he got to Lisa and Christopher and bypassed them saying, "You guys are cool, but fuck the rest of you. And yes, I was quoting Half Baked, but fucking mean it!"

  Despite the explanation, Clint still fired off the question everyone else had neglected to ask. "Fine. I get it, but why didn't you come back to help?"

  Alex gulped down half a bottle of water. He shook his head from side to side, chuckling in frustration. "Seriously, dude, do you ever stop? Whatever. So I carried Jenny back up the hill. I knew there was still more fighting to do. I planned on coming back to help out, but there was something else."

  "What was so damn important that you couldn't even come back?"

  Alex finished the rest of the water, splashing the last bit on his face. "Look, I'm really freaking tired, so if it's all the same to you, let's just take the car. He's about a mile away."

  1845 hours

  There was a loud smack followed by a hard THUMP as the chubby man's face hit the cold earth.

  "Pa-pa-lease," Dr. Wilson Crowley whimpered. He stayed on all fours, fearful his trembling legs would give out. He looked up, and even through the reflection of the fire, the men could see his bloodshot eye where the back of West's hand made contact. "Please, stop!"

  "I will. Once you answer our questions," West suggested.

  "I don't know anything!"

  "See, we just have a hard time believing that," Clint said, tossing the man's identification card on the ground in front of him. "You worked at the facility, and your ID says assistant manager."

  "You!" Crowley exclaimed, turning his sights on Travis. "I did what you asked! I got you inside! I didn't warn anyone!"

  "You did, and thanks for the help, but as it turns out, you aren't done helping us yet. So don't look at me, amigo, I can’t help you."

  "So what's it going to be?" asked Agent Clint.

  "You don't get it...these people...the people I work for...they will kill me!"

  West snorted, shrugged, and looked around. "Funny, I don't see 'em anywhere. So I'd worry about right here and now, and what we're going to do with you if you don't cooperate."

  "West, it's ready," Kim interrupted. He picked the knife out of the coals and brought it over.

  "I'm ready when you are," West replied. It hadn't been planned, but West knew what Kim was doing.Cauterize the wound and intimidate the fat man,he thought.

  The red metal sizzled on the bloody skin, but West took every bit of the pain, unflinching. Through intense, glaring eyes, West stared at Dr. Crowley as the flesh burned and the wound fused shut.

  "Round two," Kim said, rotating the blade.

  "Smells good, don't it?" West said, holding out his arm.

  "Oh, no, come on guys," Crowley pled to anyone who made eye contact with him.

  Kim inspected the wound then said, "All closed up.” He splashed the tender area with rubbing alcohol, and then covered the burnt flesh with a bandana.

  "Come on, please! Don't do this!"

  West placed the knife back onto the bed of coals.

  The anxiety of both the known and unknown devoured Wilson Crowley’s psyche.

  "Please! You can't do this! I don't want to be tortured!"

  "You had five trucks at the facility. Trucks three and five made it out. Well, truck five didn’t get too far," West said, thinking about the C-4 that blew up truck five shortly after departing. "But truck three made it free and clear. I want to know where it’s heading and how it's getting there."

  Crowley’s sobs were now accompanied by tears. Wallowing in self-pity, he didn’t answer.

  "We don't have time for this," Clint declared. Then he snatched up the blade from the fire and jabbed it into Wilson's shoulder. "Tell us what we want to know! Tell us what we want to know!"

  "Ahhhhhh!" Crowley yelped.

  The metal wasn't nearly as hot as when West used it, but it still sizzled three inches deep.

  Crowley grabbed at the handle, but Clint kept his force downward. "Tell us what we want to know!"

  "I-I-I-I" Crowley stuttered; the pain impeded all thought. He was in shock, numb to everything but the burning pain.

  "Whoa, I am not okay with this,” protested Lisa. “Smacking him around is one thing, but when did we start torturing people?"

  Clint looked up. "When the company this guy works for killed the President!"

  "Ya, I'm not really cool with this Jack Bauer approach either," agreed Alex. "It's one thing when you see it in movies, but real life torture is pretty brutal. There's gotta be another way."

  The sizzling had stopped, but Clint kept the blade fixed in place. "There isn't. If you don’t have the stomach for what needs to be done, then I suggest you leave. Soft tactics and intimidation are getting us nowhere.”

  All eyes fell upon West.

  "He's right. That truck already has a forty-five minute head start and that lead is increasing. The sooner we get this intel, the sooner we can leave."

  "So it's up to you how bad you want this to be," Clint said, twisting the blade before ripping it out.

  Crowley's relief was all but for a moment, as Clint kicked him in the chest.

  Wilson’s head whipped back against the hard packed desert. He rolled over his bad shoulder and settled on his stomach. With each painful cough, swirls of dust were sent upward. "Please," he sobbed.

  Lisa shook her head. "I won't take part in this. Come on, Chris," she said, grabbing the boy by the hand. "Anyone else coming?"

  "I'm with you," Eddy said, standing next to her.

  “I’m coming too,” Matty followed. “If I can’t do horror movies, then I most definitely can’t do this.”

  "I'm right behind you," Alex said, but first he turned to Steve. "You coming, bro?"

  Steve's eyes didn't leave the prisoner. "We need this intel."

  Lips pursed, Alex thought, Who are you, Steve?

  ***

  West knelt down on one knee. He grabbed Crowley's wet, mucus-laden chin and lifted it up. "See that man behind me? He won’t be as nice to you as I was. You think a couple backhands are bad? That paper cut in your shoulder is nothing compared to what's coming next...”

  West’s tone was sincere, almost to the point of sympathy. Almost.

  "I need you to dig deep and do some soul searching right now. You will talk, I have no doubt about it. It's just a matter of how much do you want to go through before you do."

  For a split second, a memory consumed West. It was from a year before, at the Wet Net in Massachusetts. When Daytona disclosed torturing one of West’s oldest, best friends to locate him, but despite the brutal tactics, Skinny never said a word.

&
nbsp; When the memory faded, West tried to convince himself it was different, but he was moments from crossing a line. He knew he wouldn't find pleasure in it as Daytona had, but the torture of Wilson would justify the amoral tactics Daytona had once used.

  "Please," Crowley sobbed again. His face was twisted with fear and pain and doubt. "The contracts I signed...I can't talk about anything that I do! Breaking that rule carries the same weight and penalties as spying on the US!"

  "We just want to know where that truck is headed," West said softly. "We know the destinations. The President’s broadcast told us that much, but we need to know where truck three is heading; specific routes."

  "I can't-"

  "Believe me you can," West said letting go of Crowley's face. He wiped his hand on the man's collar, near the puncture wound. "Otherwise, my associate here will be taking over the line of questioning."

  Crowley’s chin met his chest. He mumbled incoherent words as he whimpered.

  "Alright, Clint, he's all yours," West said, turning his back.

  "I need a machete or axe or something I can use to chop," Clint requested, rolling up his sleeves. "Also, I'll need something we can use as a tourniquet. Travis, David, get him up and drag him to the bed of the truck."

  As the others complied, Clint dictated more orders.

  "Tie down his arms and legs to the sides. On second thought, West, bring me a baseball bat for this first round. We can save the chopping for later."

  Travis wrapped Crowley's uncooperative right hand and foot with duct-tape and secured it to the side of the truck. Agent Kim did the same for his left.

  "Decisions, decisions, decisions," Dennis repeated, pacing back and forth. "Foot? Ankle? Knee? Ribs? Shoulder? Collarbone? Oh that's a good one," he said, leaning in to the terrified prisoner. "Have you ever heard a collarbone break? I have, it's like snapping a wishbone. Pop!"

  At the sound of Clint snapping his fingers, Crowley's eyes flooded with fear.

  "I think I'll start from the bottom and work my way up," Clint said, dragging the tip of the wooden bat down Crowley’s body. Then, Clint raised the bat and said, "Remember, you chose this-”

  "Wait!" Crowley screamed, barely stopping the impending attack.

  Clint used the end of the wooden bat to lift Crowley’s tear-soaked face. "Yes? Is there something you would like to say?"

  "If I tell you...you promise you'll let me go?"

  West leaned in next to Clint. "Depends on how truthful you are.”

  ***

  "He's talking" Travis announced, hustling over to the SUV as fast as his bruised ribs would allow. He had to say the next sentence in parts. "Don't worry, they didn't hurt him after you guys left."

  The trunk was open and Lisa was sitting inside, next to Christopher. "What did he say, Alex?" she asked, unable to read Travis’ lips until the end.

  Alex stopped cleaning his injuries. "The guy is talking, and they didn't have to torture him."

  "Thank God," Matty sighed from the last row of seats.

  Eddy was in the front seat, fully reclined. "I agree. Listening to one person scream in pain is bad enough."

  "Alright, I'll go check it out. You guys wait here."

  "Alex, hold up a sec,” Travis said, grabbing Alex’s shoulder. "I'm sorry, man. I shouldn't have doubted you. I know you always got our backs, and you’d never do anything to make me think otherwise. I don’t know what I was thinking."

  "Ya, us too," said Eddy and Matty. "Sorry we didn't speak up."

  Travis went in to embrace Alex with a handshake and a half-hug. "Never again, hermano."

  "Whatever. It's cool, guys. I get why you would have thought that, but I just thought you knew me a little better than that. I think I've deserved the right to be pissed for a little bit longer, but I'll get over it."

  The others chuckled at the blunt honesty.

  "Alright, let's go hear what this song bird is singing."

  "There's something else," Travis said, blocking Alex’s exit for a second time. He reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out fragments of glass covered with pink residue. "I tried to get the vaccine for you, but they broke during the escape. I'm so sorry."

  Utterly dejected, Alex threw down his hands. "Let's just add that to the Fuck-Alex column.”

  Chapter 4

  “The Split”

  Twin Lakes, Nevada

  December 1, 2009

  1810 hours

  "I think he's lying," Clint growled. He glanced back at the truck where the quivering Wilson Crowley was tied up next to the water tank. "Or he's at least hiding something. I say we go make him bleed a little. Then he'll tell us everything."

  When Agent Clint slid the tip of the axe into the desert, Crowley pulled fruitlessly at his bindings. "Please, I told you everything! I wasn't lying! I swear!"

  "Shut up!"

  "I disagree, Clint,” West countered. "I think he's told us everything he knows."

  The others in the group, Travis, Steve, Agent Kim and Alex, were unsure what to believe.

  "You can't be serious? What, because he told us some vague stuff about Ambrosia?"

  "Not just about it. He confirmed my thoughts. He confirmed what the President was suspicious of. That Ambrosia isn't just a vaccine. We all heard Crowley say that he watched a normal person become infected then change back to human again."

  "Maybe that person was infected all along and it just shows that the vaccine can work even if someone has been bitten?" Alex suggested, hopefully optimistic.

  "Maybe, Alex," West continued, "but the thing most interesting to me is how Crowley's boss had something to tell him about the first two tests, but she never got a chance to because of us."

  "He did say that she was freaked out," Agent Kim interrupted, more convinced than his partner. "That whatever she saw made her question the company's ethics and what they were doing."

  Clint leaned the axe against the fire pit. "Okay, fine let's just say I agree with you. Do youactually believe that he gave us the correct route for the truck? What makes you think he isn't lying to us about that? Or that he even knows where they were heading in the first place? He could have just made that up. You can't be that naive, West."

  "I'm not being naive. I'm being logical.” West dug through a pile of regional, state, and country maps, and dragged his finger along the path Crowley identified. "The route makes the most sense. It stays away from city centers and populated areas and ends at the Illinois coordinates like the broadcast said it would."

  "I'm with West," Travis said, holding up pages of handwritten notes. "Gordo even wrote down the directions, too. The scheduled timelines. Hell, even when the driver's were supposed to stop and take a piss."

  "You're right, Clint, we can't know for sure if he's lying to us," West admitted, "but this is all we got to go on. You know as well as I do that if we torture him, he could just start saying what we want to hear."

  "I swear I'm not lying! Please, are you going to let me go now?" Dr. Crowley asked nervously.

  "Hold on and shut up," Clint ordered, picking up the axe.

  "Strategy session. I need ideas," West said, not caring if Crowley overheard. "We have one truck with a few hours head start. If we leave soon and drive fast, we could catch up."

  Travis zipped up his jacket and rubbed his hands together. "They would see us coming from behind, unless we get in front and ambush them."

  "If we are going to do this,” Clint began, “we should utilize the element of surprise. We know the route and the destination. We need to figure out where and how to hit the truck."

  "I agree."

  "Hold on a sec, West," Alex said, standing up, "Charlie's coming out!"

  West and the others shuffled over to meet the Canadian midway. "How'd it go?"

  "Dylan's stable for now," Charlie answered, collapsing into a folding chair, exhausted, "but I'm not sure what's going to happen."

  West looked over Charlie's injuries. "Stay put. We need to clean you up."

 
Using a damp cloth, Travis wiped away the dirt, blood, and grime, while West followed up, sterilizing and patching the wounds to Charlie's eye and other lacerations.

  "The bullet that went through Dyl’s side didn't cause any severe damage,” Charlie continued. “Nothing I couldn't clean and stitch up. The other round was worse. The bullet fragments tore up his stomach. I found all the pieces, or at least, I think I did."

  "Tilt your head back. I need to wash out your eye," West interrupted. He removed the temporary bandage and drizzled the bottle over Charlie's eye.

  "How does it look, West?"

  Some plaster fragments remained embedded under the surrounding skin, but it was the eyeball itself that sustained the most damage. It was bruised and bloodied and one laceration covered the length of the sclera, over the cornea, and stopped at the outer edges of the iris.

  "Bad. Close your right eye. Can you see?"

  "Ah, it stings. Kinda, but it's blurry."

  "I'm no optometrist, but there’s a possibility you could lose your vision."

  Charlie took the news without a complaint or self-pity.

  "Alright, I'm going to flush it out with water a few more times. Travis, get me something to patch over his eye and secure it to his head."

  "You got it.”

  "What about any internal bleeding?" inquired Alex.

  As West used tweezers to pluck out the plaster bits, Charlie answered, "Hard to say. Dyl needs a real doctor and a real surgeon and real medical equipment. He's lost a lot of blood. Ally can't give any more, Marilyn is donating now, and she should be finishing soon."

  "If you need some more blood, I'm O-Negative. Universal donor.”

  "Seriously, Alex?"

  Alex grabbed at his hand and mumbled, "Oh, shit, that's right."

  "I'm O-Positive," Steve offered. "If he needs it, let me know."

  The rest of the men offered their various blood types as well.

  "Thanks guys," Charlie said, cringing as West pressed a round patch over his eye. He secured it with a thin piece of white cloth, and tied a simple knot on the back of his head. "I think he'll be okay for now. Small blood loss I can deal with, but it's sepsis that I'm really worried about. We didn't exactly have sterile conditions."