The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side

by A. S. Thompson

"My name’s Alex- a real name. I’m a little drunk so you’ll have to bear with me. But I’m the dude who your idiot two man team was supposed to be watching.”

  West cradled his broken hand against his chest and slowly crawled to his friends near the Zamboni. Travis and Shanna both helped West to his feet; even Jones offered a hand in support.

  "Am I supposed to be scared that one drunk idiot is going to try to get past my men and kill me too?" Daytona signaled for the Guards to pull back into a circular formation around him, just in case.

  "Maybe. That would be pretty Rambo of me."

  "Well, Rambo, I'm really curious as what you hope to accomplish.”

  "I’m glad you asked...two things.”

  "Oh ya, what's that?" Daytona replied, arrogant smile forming. “Let me guess...that you surrender and want to beg for mercy?”

  "Nope, get ready.”

  Daytona snorted. “Get ready for what? This oughta be good. One drunk, half-dead kid trying to take us on?” He unpinched the transmit button to speak directly to his men. “First one who gets eyes on him, kill him.”

  The Guardsmen nodded.

  “Alright Rambo, I’m ready. Feel like sharing the second part?”

  “Ya, and it’s something I thought on behalf of West.”

  “Oh ya, what’s that?”

  “It’s...um...damn, gimme a sec...fuck, honestly I had this kick ass action movie quote, but I'm still drunk, and I think I forgot it- wait! Nope, I remember!”

  Daytona rolled his eyes. “This oughta be good.”

  “Hope you can grow wings, mother fucker.”

  Then came a loud “pop” followed by a spectacle of bright, deadly light.

  ***

  What Daytona and his team didn’t count on, cost them severely.

  First, came the idea to use electricity.

  Using an S/O cable for heavy duty wiring found at the airport, West, Travis and Clint cut into the hockey stadium’s electrical main located outside near the parking lot. Together, they proceeded to rig and hook up the S/O cable to the 480 volt, line side of the main breaker. The men then dragged the cable into the arena, disguising it along the way, where eventually it was placed, wiring exposed, into the water just as Daytona would eventually discover.

  Then came the roles.

  Travis and Clint, the snipers, were a ploy, same as Jones, who was the decoy switch-thrower and reliable blabbermouth.

  The covert part of the plan revolved around Alex. His role was pivotal to the subterfuge and success of the operation.

  West planned out almost every move Daytona would make. He knew Daytona would account for every person that escaped from the airport. After those at the rink were secure, he would have the airport searched where Alex would soon be discovered.

  In his condition and with some acting, Alex would be deemed harmless. But when the opportunity presented itself, Alex would eliminate the Guards, whereafter he would rush to the arena and take Jones' place at the main.

  After getting the attention on him, Alex would say the words “get ready.” This was the preemptive signal.

  While the Guards were busy, West and company would quietly climb on top of the Zamboni and into the penalty box.

  With the exception of Clint’s fatal outburst, West had thought of everything. He knew that, depending on Alex’s actual arrival time, he would have to stall. And the only way he could manage that without suspicion was to challenge Daytona’s ego.

  The fight went on longer than expected, but in the end, Alex came just in time.

  When Alex threw the switch, Daytona and his Guardsmen did not stand a chance. Each person took a lethal dose of amperage as Alex let the electricity surge into the water for fifteen-seconds. Fifteen full seconds for Daytona and his mercenaries to fry from the inside.

  Their bodies shook violently. Blood spurted from every orifice, including new ones that formed as skin split open. Steam rose from their heads, bones snapped, and teeth clenched until they shattered.

  Then, when he felt enough time had elapsed, Alex flipped the switch off, allowing their bodies to collapse.

  Speechless, Albert gazed at the mass homicide. He broke free from the paralytic shock and began to run away, but his first steps got tangled up with a bag of hockey pucks.

  “I got him,” Travis growled, hopping into the stands.

  With Shanna’s help, West eased his injured body down from the Zamboni.

  Jones stared in disbelief at the dead bodies that bobbed up and down. “I can’t believe it worked.”

  “I can,” Shanna said, finding a smile. “You really did mean it when you said everything was going to be okay. You had a plan all along.”

  “More or less,” replied West, matching her smile.

  “I’m just so happy it’s over,” Shanna began but stopped when she noticed West’s expression changing. “Craig, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  Beyond all reason, Daytona’s body twitched. Having been subjected to electrical shock, residual movement was expected, but the hard moan that followed was truly unbelievable.

  “Impossible,” West mumbled, glancing at the other bodies, none of which appeared to rise from the dead.

  “Craig, how is he still alive?”

  “Jones, take Shanna,” West said, positioning his beat up body in front of hers. “Take her and get out of here, now!”

  "I told you," Daytona said weakly, "I'm too strong."

  ***

  With each passing second, Daytona appeared visibly stronger. His muscular arms pushed him to a knee where he paused only to find the confidence to rise to his feet. Standing erect, he released a roar of pain and endurance, one that sounded like a mix between a bear and a lion.

  I need a weapon, West thought, scanning the murky rink.There!

  Resting against Spitz’s leg was Daytona’s .45 caliber handgun that had been dropped during the unsuccessful electrocution.

  Daytona and West looked at each other. Then, knowing what the other was thinking, they both reacted simultaneously.

  West dove, stretching out his good hand, but Daytona was quicker. He snatched up the gun and managed to land a kick to West’s midsection.

  The blow was so strong that it sent West back nearly ten feet, where he splashed into the boards. He coughed, cringed and curled, grabbing at his ribs.

  Nearly at the Zamboni entrance, Shanna glanced back. “Craig!” she screamed, abandoning her escape to aid West.

  “Too slow, old man,” Daytona said, snarling. He raised the barrel at West, fingertip kissing the trigger. “Enough games. This ends now.”

  But fate had other plans.

  Suddenly, Daytona shrieked, “Ye-ahh!” and dropped to a knee, immobilized. He released the gun and grabbed his head. He continued to moan as though suffering from a severe migraine headache. “No! My pills...where are they...”

  Daytona’s hands shook violently as he grabbed for the specific cargo pocket.

  And in those precious seconds, Shanna seized the opportunity. She nearly flew across the water where she landed the most important kick. The toe of her boot struck Daytona’s hand and knocked the can of pills across the rink.

  “No!” Daytona yelled, calling out to the medication. He was able to block and deflect the first follow up kicks and punches, but eventually, he let his guard down unintentionally; the pain that pulsated in his head was far more excruciating.

  Falling to his knees, Daytona’s hands grabbed his scalp, clawing for the inside. His eyes stared at the tin can as it floated in the water well out of reach.

  “G-yah!” Shanna yelled, kicking Daytona’s face. “That’s for Josh!” Then she raised her leg and stomped down hard on his groin. “That’s for me, you sick son of a bitch!”

  She managed two more kicks before West hugged her from behind.

  “Shanna, it’s alright,” he said training a pistol on Daytona.

  “No it’s not, not yet,” Shanna replied, trudging over to the tin can. “Is this what you want?”r />
  She opened the flap and removed one pill from the can. She flung the rest over her shoulder where they dissolved almost instantly.

  “P-p-p-le-ase,” Daytona stuttered, working hard to beg.

  “Yo West,” whistled Travis. “Coming down.”

  He looked up to see Travis and Alex holding Albert at gunpoint. “Down here. Shanna, hold on, we might need him,” West said, attention returning to Daytona and just in time to witness Daytona’s twitches escalate to full body spasms, so violent his spine snapped.

  Then came the bleeding. Worse than the electrified Guardsmen, Daytona’s body poured out blood; his ears, eyes, anus, mouth, everywhere.

  He gargled and yelped, seemingly experiencing the full extent of sensory pain perception.

  Then, after enduring minutes of what looked like the worst, most painful torture, Daytona Briggs gasped, seized up straight, then fell back, dead.

  2130 hours

  West held Albert’s locked smartphone in front of his face. "Get your mother on the phone."

  Surrounded by armed men, Albert sat smugly on a folding chair inside the Captain’s Lounge. “And why would I do that?"

  Shanna was busy splinting West’s hand as best she could. West’s left eye had swollen shut, but the other was piercing and the altogether look of his puffed face, menacing. "We want to make a trade."

  "What could you possibly want?"

  "First, theactualvaccine for our friend.”

  “Coming up on fifty-eight hours now. This has gotta be what Collin felt,” Alex said, shaking from a fever. He coughed, and despite the recent dosage of painkillers, the abdominal compressions pained him.

  "No, that's impossible."

  "You're not in a bargaining position."

  "No,” Albert reiterated, stringing out the word, “I mean his condition is impossible. Your count must be mistaken. Eris transforms the host in forty-eight hours, no more. That's how I designed it.”

  “Eris?”

  “Yes, Eris, the Goddess of Chaos. That is who I named the virus after.”

  Shanna’s expression was full of disgust. “You designed the virus? You and your genocidal company are sick!”

  Albert went to reply, but his head twitched, exactly as Daytona’s had at the rink. Pressing against his temples, he stared desperately at the reception desk where his personal effects had been confiscated and placed. Then, brazenly, he sprung up and made a move for the items.

  Albert managed two steps before Travis punched him in the gut, sending him back down to the chair, coughing. Before he could make another attempt, West held a gun to his throat.

  “You don't understand,” Albert protested. “I need them! I need my pills! I only have eight minutes and 53, 52, 51 seconds!"

  “Oh, I think we do understand. You need something, we need something.”

  “Fine, I'll do it. Give me the phone!”

  West handed over the phone but kept the handgun in place. After two rings, the video call connected.

  Speaking quickly, Albert said, “Mother, it’s me. As I'm sure you could guess, Daytona failed. I'm with some people who have some things they would like to discuss with you.”

  West tore the phone from Albert’s grasp and faced the screen. "Don't speak, just listen. Daytona is dead. If you want your other son back, I demand a few things in return. First is the actual vaccine, on a plane, to our location, right now..."

  West continued to read off his list of demands, but Liz’s laughter was overbearing.

  "I don't remember saying anything funny."

  "Mother, it doesn't appear they are in a laughing mood over here,” Albert shouted. His eyes began to twitch and his lips mumbled descending numbers. “Just give them what they want so I can leave here and preferably without any further damage to my body."

  "Alright, I've had enough!" West declared, pressing his gun against Albert's head.

  "Mother!"

  Liz’s laughter soon subsided, only for her to ask, "Sergeant Major West, who do you think you have over there?"

  "Your son, alive. Although I can't promise he will stay like that for much longer." West rotated the phone to show, clearly, the barrel of his .45 caliber handgun positioned inches from Albert’s forehead.

  "You said son, but I believe a more accepted vernacular would betest tube baby."

  Every face in the room expressed confusion.

  Everyone except Albert. He snorted and scoffed.

  "You don't look surprised, son."

  "Mother, I'm a genius. I have an IQ of one hundred ninety-three. I've known for years that I was created. I tested myself and discovered the truth, despite your continual deception.”

  As Albert had reacted to the revelation, Liz too, was not surprised. "That's right, son. While you carry half of my DNA, you are not my true flesh and blood. Your idiot brute of a brother either. You were both genetically engineered to serve a purpose...and that you did. So, Sergeant Major West, do what you want with him, I can care less.”

  Lowering the gun to his side, West was at a loss.What the hell is going on? Viruses, conspiracies, genetically engineered humans? No, Chucky, stop thinking about that. Get back to the matter at hand. If she won’t budge with his life, use the evidence.

  "I have the mission files and evidence that proves my innocence and traces this conspiracy directly to you and your company."

  "It's true,Mother,” Albert said, though the word “mother” appeared more out of habit than sincerity. “Daytona was lying to us, again. He neither retrieved nor destroyed the files and virus from West last year. Now would you just agree to give him what he wants so I can be on my way?"

  Liz raised her chin and considered the proposal, but the decision came seconds later. "No, I think not. You will not be getting anything from me.”

  “Mother!”

  “Oh, quit whining! Now, Sergeant Major, as for you and yours...you are dead. All of you. You would be better served to scatter and hide. Because when I find you, and I will, I will make certain that your bodies test the limits of torture. I employ the best of the worst, people who will keep you alive and cause you to endure the worst pain that even Satan himself would cringe at."

  West didn't growl. He didn’t frown. His face didn’t change expression. "Two things. First, wewilltake you down, that you can be certain of. Soyou would be better served to run and hide..."

  He paused there and lifted his sidearm which assisted in his explanation of the second part. Then he turned the phone so Liz could have one last look at Albert.

  "Second, your son’s death is on you."

  “Mother, please!” Albert begged, but there was no saving grace.

  West panned the camera toward him and said, “I’m coming for you next.”

  Then he pulled the trigger.

  ***

  West ended the call and tossed the phone to Travis.

  “E-owww,” Albert yelled, deafened by the blast.

  “Why didn’t you shoot him?” Jones asked, pinching his ears, though, the action was belated.

  Shanna, too, was sold on the execution. “Craig, what’s going on?”

  “I didn’t shoot him, because we are going to use him,” West said, lowering the weapon. “I just wanted Liz to think he was dead. We are going to hit her at home, and Albert Stone is going to help us. Location. Entrance codes. Security. Layout. Everything.”

  “I’m sorry, but please, do explain,” Albert said, opening and closing his jaw as he stuck index fingers in his ears to regain intra-aural equilibrium.

  Craig limped to the reception desk. “You know why you’re going to help us? Because we have something you need.”

  “The pills,” Shanna mumbled. She grabbed hold of the pill canister and rattled the box. “What are they? What do they do? Why do you need them?”

  Albert stared at the box like a starving animal would its prey. “Yes, the pills! Give them here! I’ll do whatever you want!”

  “Not so fast. Forgive me if I find your change of heart f
eigned by desire.”

  “G-ah!” Albert moaned loudly. “Screw my mother, screw the company! For the record, I would have helped you anyway. At this point, the only side I’m loyal to is living!”

  West took the pills from Shanna. “Your forthrightness...what assurances do we have?”

  Albert was nearly panting. “Just give me one pill, and I'll tell you everything. And believe me when I say that you’ll want to hear it.”

  “Just out of curiosity, what happens if you don't get them?"

  “There are two versions. Which one do you want?"

  “The truth,” West answered, pulling back the canister.

  "G-yah!” Albert shrieked, grabbing his head. “Two minutes 34...33……..32."

  The counting grew slower and off. The pain continued to strike Albert like waves against a beach. He slid from his chair and curled into a ball on the carpet, moaning and groaning.

  “Craig, I don’t think he’s faking,” Shanna said, witnessing Albert’s body convulse violently as Daytona’s had.

  If you want help and all the answers, West thought. “Fine.” He labored to bend over and put a pill in Albert’s desperate mouth.

  Seconds later, Albert’s breathing lessened as did the convulsions. The muscles on his neck loosened and the redness on his face dissipated, though a small amount of blood trickled from his nose.

  Albert sighed a relief that could only be felt by enduring that particular pain. Sitting back in the chair, he brushed his suit pants and ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Thank you.”

  West maintained his piercing stare. "You said there were two versions?"

  “Right...please, do attempt to follow,” Albert replied, collecting himself as his composure had long since gone with his pride. "If you were asking my mother, she would lie and say that it was a genetic defect in our birth. See, Daytona and I weresupposed twins- not true- which also leads into the second and actual version. As you just heard, both Daytona and I were created, and part of that genetic splicing and cloning process involved a sort of ‘ticking time bomb’ that must be reset on occasion…”

  Travis looked to West who was staring at Shanna; none could believe the words they were hearing, but they listened anyway.