Colton waited for Thompson to explain, stony faced and sick to his stomach.
“That’s disappointing, Chief. You don’t remember capturing one of my men? You told me about it earlier.”
“Shit,” Colton muttered.
“There you go. You remember,” Thompson said, slapping Colton harder on the shoulder. “Anyways, I’d like Jason Cole back. Once that happens, I’ll see if you and I can work out some sort of ‘alliance’ between Estes Park and Fort Collins. I’ve heard a rumor that you’ve got a nice cache of supplies to trade. Otherwise, I’ll ship you back home in several small boxes.”
***
Fenix awoke sometime in the middle of the night inside the cold jail cell. The bastards had only given him a shitty blanket and no pillow. He shivered on the hard floor, mind racing. Would Redford really give him a chance to take Estes Park? In a few hours, he would find out. In the morning Redford and his men would either lop off his nuts and hand his mutilated body over to the Feds or they would set out together to destroy a mutual enemy.
At some point Fenix finally drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened by a loud banging. The door to his cell creaked open, and Hacker stood there holding a lantern, illuminating the tools hanging from his duty belt.
“Get up, you pig fucker,” Hacker said.
Fenix slowly rose to his feet. Half asleep and furious, he considered throwing a double fisted punch, but Hacker didn’t give him the chance. He reached out and grabbed Fenix by his shirt to drag him from the cell.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Redford wants to see you.”
Hands still cuffed, there wasn’t much Fenix could do but follow. The lantern rocked back and forth as Hacker walked down the hall, shedding light on several other empty rooms. Fenix wasn’t sure where the man was leading him, but he followed like a good sheep, biding his time and hoping he wasn’t being led to slaughter.
A sour sensation worked its way through his gut, partly from the shit dinner they had fed him and partly from anxiety. He calmed his nerves by imagining all the ways he could kill Hacker. His favorite involved gouging out the man’s eyeballs and filling up the sockets with burning lamp oil.
Hacker led them down a concrete staircase several floors beneath the ground. A radiation sign hung over a steel door at the bottom.
“Where you taking me?” Fenix asked.
Hacker grabbed the door and pulled it open to reveal a wide room lit by more lanterns and candles. Several hard looking men sat around a poker table in the middle of the room. They looked up from their cards, their smiles all folding into frowns when they saw Fenix.
“What the fuck is this racist sewer rat doing here?” said a guy with a red bandana tied around his head.
Fenix almost laughed at the stereotypical Rambo wannabe, but he kept his mouth shut and scrutinized the other men. Two of them appeared to be American Indians. They wore necklaces with feathers and bracelets made of bone. There were dozens of poker tables, roulette tables, and blackjack tables set up in the small underground casino.
Redford sat at the bar along one wall, still dressed in a colorful blue suit with a red pocket square. He turned and looked at Fenix, then said, “Finish your game later, boys.”
The men got up and started walking, their eyes all on Fenix.
“He doesn’t belong here,” said the guy with the bandana.
Fenix ignored them and crossed the room with Hacker at his back.
“In there,” Redford said when they got to the bar. He gestured at a red door on the adjacent wall. Hacker opened it and ushered them inside toward a desk stacked with radio equipment that looked older than dirt. The man sitting in front of the equipment pulled off headphones.
“I want you to radio your second in command and tell him about the attack on Estes Park. We will need fifty men and several vehicles. They will meet us at these coordinates in three days,” Redford said. He handed Fenix a piece of paper.
“Sounds like a plan to me, boss.” He walked over to the equipment and waited for the other man to get up.
“I don’t like this, Nile,” the man said to Redford.
“It’s my decision, Theo.”
“This isn’t the right move,” Theo said as he stood. “Teaming with a bunch of neo-Nazi fuckers isn’t going to go over well with the other men.”
“Hey, I really object to the harsh language,” Fenix said.
Redford directed his gaze at Theo. “This man can help us get Spears without putting our own men in jeopardy. I’d rather a few Nazis were lost in taking Estes Park than our men.” He glanced back at Fenix. “No offense.”
Fenix snorted and shrugged. It was good to know where the redskin stood, at least. They would work together for now to achieve their goals, but one of them would eventually stab the other in the back—it was just a question of who got there first.
“Don’t you want justice for Alex?” Redford asked Theo.
“This ain’t justice, and Alex wouldn’t have wanted us to join this piece of shit to avenge him.” Theo walked away, using his shoulder to hit Fenix on the way out of the room.
“You’re lucky you’re blood,” Redford said.
Theo slammed the door behind him, and Hacker looked uncertainly at Redford. It seemed everyone but Redford wanted Fenix dead. But that was fine, as long as the boss made the decisions.
Fenix sat down at the radio before Redford could change his mind. He picked up the receiver and scrolled to the channel the Sons of Liberty used. Then he relayed his message to Sergeant Zach Horton, his second in command. Fortunately for Fenix, his soldiers were more loyal and respectful than Redford’s men. It only took a few minutes for Horton to reply. The plan was set. In three days, Raven Spears would be dead, and Estes Park would belong to the Sons of Liberty.
— 18 —
Albert snuck a look around the corner to check the road for contacts. After finally getting his sister back to the office building where Sergeant Flint, Corporal Van Dyke, and Dave were hiding, they were preparing to move again.
The night vision optics allowed him to see in the darkness. In the green hue, he didn’t spot any contacts—just empty sidewalks and a street devoid of any foot traffic. But there were plenty of places for people to hide among the abandoned vehicles or in one of the many apartment windows towering above the street.
Most of the fighting seemed to be coming from the SC though, and despite the early morning hours, the violence had hardly calmed. Sporadic gunfire and even small explosions rocked the airport where the masses were attacking the walls and barriers.
He returned to the alley where Sergeant Flint waited with Jacqueline and Dave. The two people they’d rescued were shivering—although her shakes were from withdrawal, while Dave was almost paralyzed by fear.
Flint flashed a hand signal to Albert, indicating that Corporal Van Dyke hadn’t returned from scoping out the other end of the street. They waited in the alley for several minutes, listening to what sounded like a full-fledged battle in the distance. Albert kept his breathing steady, but the rotting scent of death and trash made it difficult and he found himself holding his breath.
“We’re going to have to find a way around the fighting to get back to the SC,” Flint said.
“Have you been able to get ahold of Captain Harris?”
“Negative. I’ll try again.” Flint moved to pull out his radio, but gripped his side instead, wincing in pain.
Flipping up his NVGs, Albert glimpsed fresh blood on Flint’s uniform.
“I’m fine,” Flint said before Albert could say a word.
A shadow darted into the alleyway, and Albert raised his M4. Flipping his NVGs back into place, he saw it was Corporal Van Dyke.
“The other way isn’t safe,” he said. “Need a detour.”
“Jesus, don’t sneak up on us like that,” Flint said.
Van Dyke sulked. “Sorry, Sarge.”
Albert reached down to help his sister up. She was too weak to move on her own, and with Van Dyke’s
help, Albert hoisted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Once she was secure, he took Dave’s hand.
“Stay close,” Albert said.
Dave nodded back. He was still gripping the sheathed knife.
Flint took point and moved out of the alley, striding onto the sidewalk and sweeping his carbine high and low. Albert followed close behind. With one hand still clasped around Dave’s and the other ensuring his sister didn’t fall, he wasn’t able to raise a weapon. He shifted Jacqueline higher onto his shoulders. She was so frail, and he hardly noticed the additional weight with the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
They moved down the side of the street at a good pace. Flint stopped at the next intersection and flashed a hand signal to proceed after a quick scan. The sound of gunfire continued in the distance, the pop of small arms answered by the crack of automatic rifles. Harris’s men were fighting back now, which told Albert things were spiraling out of control at the SC. How could they hold back tens of thousands of desperate, starving people? Smoke fingered into the skyline over the airport, and as they approached, Albert saw the flames for the first time. Multiple locations at the SC were burning.
“Contacts,” Van Dyke whispered from the rear guard.
Albert quickly took cover in an enclosed brick entryway to an office building on the corner of a four-way intersection. Dave tucked his small body behind Albert while Van Dyke and Flint found cover behind a Jeep Wrangler in the middle of the road.
“You sure you saw them?” a man said.
“Pretty damn sure. They had automatic weapons and moved like soldiers.”
Dave pulled on his hand. “Mr. Big Al, are those Orcs looking for us?”
“Shhhh,” Albert whispered. He carefully placed his sister on the ground. She winced in pain, her eyelids flickering. She was slowly slipping away. He had to get her to a doctor before she lost consciousness.
Across the street, Flint and Van Dyke were hiding behind the Jeep with their rifles angled upward. Both men had their NVGs flipped into position and glanced over at Albert. He nodded, weapon readied.
The voices were coming from the street they had just left, and Albert could make out the footfalls now. There were at least four men. He stole a glance, seeing five Latino men about three hundred feet away, all of them carrying rifles except for one that held what looked like an Uzi. Quickly pulling back, he motioned to Van Dyke and Flint, signaling five hostile contacts.
Taking them down shouldn’t be a problem, especially with the advantage of night vision optics, but Albert feared a stray round might hit his sister or Dave. Albert prayed that they would pass by. Still, he slowly readied his rifle, fully prepared to step around the corner and empty the magazine into the men hunting them.
Very carefully, he peeked around the corner again. The men were close enough that Albert could see the five-point sacred crown tattoo on the neck of the closest guy. Definitely Latin Kings. They were now less than one hundred feet away.
“I can’t see shit, Jose,” one of the gang members said. “Can I use my flashlight now?”
“No, and keep your mouth shut, you dumb shithead,” replied another man.
“This is fucking stupid. Why are we looking for a few soldiers out here? The airport is where the action is,” said another guy. “I’m ready to carve some mofos up!”
“’Cause these are the pricks that killed Del and Fernandez. The airport will be ripe for the taking tomorrow. Let the civvies do the hard work for us. We’ll move in when they’re done.”
Twenty feet away, Flint and Van Dyke were moving into firing positions. Albert balled his hand to tell them to hold their fire. It was too dangerous to engage with Jacqueline and Dave so close. Plus, if these guys weren’t using lights, then maybe they would just continue walking.
The first of the armed men took a left and moved into sight, heading right for the Jeep. Albert nudged Dave back until he was up against the door. The boy had pulled out his knife. He stood next to Jacqueline and said, “I’ll protect her.”
Albert heard the strength in Dave’s voice and saw it in the boy’s stance.
“Thank you,” Albert whispered. “For now, keep back and stay quiet, okay?”
He took a knee and aimed his rifle at a short man with a bandana covering his features and a wide chain necklace hanging down his chest. Just as he prepared to squeeze off a shot, the crackle of a radio sounded behind the Jeep. Albert cringed at the noise.
“Sierra 1, this is Echo 1. Do you copy? Over.”
It was Captain Harris trying to raise Sergeant Flint, and the message came at worst possible moment.
“There!” yelled one of the Latin Kings. All five gang members raised their guns at the Jeep and fired. The shots lanced into the side of the vehicle, shattering windows, deflating tires, and punching through metal.
Dave yelled, “Shoot ’em, Mr. Big Al!”
Albert pulled the trigger and hit the guy with the chain necklace in the temple. His skull shattered and gore exploded into the air.
The next guy turned to fire his Uzi, but Albert dropped him with a shot through the neck that obliterated his crown tattoo. As the man fell, he managed to fire a burst. Bullets zipped into the brick wall to Albert’s left, and one of them hit the ground in front of his feet.
Dave let out a cry and grabbed onto Albert’s belt, but Albert kept firing. By the time the other three Latino men knew what was happening, two of them were on the ground, bleeding out from mortal wounds. The fifth and final guy took off running.
Albert moved out, Dave still clinging to his back. He fired several shots at the fleeing gangster who vanished around a corner. In a quick motion, Albert pulled out his spent magazine and jammed a fresh one home. Then he raised the carbine in the direction of the guy that had fled, just in case he returned.
“Watch over Jacqueline,” Albert ordered Dave. The kid let go of his belt and hurried away. Albert kept his rifle trained on the corner.
“Sergeant, Corporal, you okay?” Albert called out when he deemed the area clear. He backpedaled toward the Jeep to check on Flint and Van Dyke, who were still crouched behind the cover. Flint made a thumbs up sign and then pulled out his radio to send a message to Harris.
Albert moved over to the downed men. Three of the four were clearly dead, but the fourth was on his back, kicking at the ground. He clutched his neck, blood streaming between his tattooed fingers. Albert kicked his gun away and then bent down for a look. The guy couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old, if that. They locked eyes and the young man’s lips moved, trying to speak.
Another kid, Albert thought. He considered putting him out of his misery, but Van Dyke beat him to the punch by firing a shot in the center of the young man’s forehead, ending his suffering with a crack that echoed through the night.
“Piece of shit,” Van Dyke said, spitting. “These are probably the guys that hung those guardsmen from the bridge after skinning ’em.”
Flint strode over and looked down. “Nice shooting,” he said.
It took Albert a moment to realize Flint was talking to him and not Van Dyke. In less than a minute, Albert had killed three men. Technically four, if you counted the one Van Dyke had finished off. A shiver rolled down his back. In his entire career, first as a police officer and then as head of Charlize’s security detail, he’d never been involved in a fatal shooting.
“We need to move before they come back. I’ve got the evac coordinates,” Flint said.
“What evac?” Albert asked.
“You got friends in high places, brother,” Flint said. “Apparently there’s a Black Hawk heading to a park three blocks from here. They’ll be here in thirty. The other birds are on their way to the SC to evacuate personnel.”
“Fuck yes!” Van Dyke said, too loud. “We’re finally getting out of this shithole.”
“Let’s move,” Flint said.
Albert hurried back to get his sister. “You okay?”
She worked her dry, cracked lips fo
r a moment before responding. “Cold…so cold…”
“Just hang on,” Albert said. He bent down and picked her up. Flint was waiting in the street with Dave. They continued onward at a quick clip, anxious to get away from the carnage and reach the evac point.
The first block was clear, and Albert started to relax. They were almost there, but by the time they reached the second block, Albert realized they were heading to the same park where they had killed those men, setting off the chain of events that had put a price on their heads.
The team cleared the trees surrounding the park and then moved through a gated entrance where they stopped at the sight of a man hanging by a noose from a tree limb. It was another National Guard soldier.
He pulled Dave close and told him to shut his eyes. For once, he was grateful that Jacqueline was too out of it to notice anything.
“What kind of animals could do this?” Flint said, even though he already knew. Whatever sense of law and order that had kept the most vicious gangs somewhat in check was gone now. They were living in a world without rules, without morals, and Albert was starting to think that the few remaining good people were no match for the bad.
He forced himself to look at the body as they approached. The clothing and skin had been stripped away, leaving ribbons of bright muscle exposed. Pinned to the man’s chest under the dog tags was a sign that read, This land belongs to the King. A five-point crown was drawn below the words.
“Cut him down,” Flint said.
Van Dyke nodded and ran over to the tree. He climbed up and, using his knife, sliced through the rope. The body crashed to the dirt and Flint bent down to retrieve the dog tags. Dave pulled his hands from his eyes to watch.
“Was that a person?” he asked.
Albert turned to look back the way they had come, anxious to get out of there.
“He deserves a proper burial,” Flint said. “He’s one of us.”
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