The Devil's Colony

by Bill Schweigart

  Severance had nothing to say.

  “It’s the price of admission. You have all the time in the world to make up your mind, but it should be noted the same can’t be said for your first two scouts.”

  Severance nodded.

  Someone passed Breaux a megaphone, and he handed it to Severance.

  “Olly olly oxen free,” said Severance into it, his voice metallic. He looked at Breaux, who nodded at him, then added, “They have our friends.”

  Severance pitched the megaphone to the ground.

  “Don’t feel too bad,” said Breaux. “You never really had a choice.”

  The men stood side by side, watching the trees across the field. The entire treeline quavered and danced as the perimeter of torches cast shadows against the pines and oaks and cedars as if they were a screen. A floating white bird seemed to fly from the trees and pass between two torches. As it approached closer, the crowd saw the bird’s wings were spread and in the center of the bird’s chest was an inverted triangle. The bird itself was emblazoned on the chest of a Native American man.

  Moments before, Alex had been floating above it all with Severance. Then Erica had dipped the aircraft to just above the treeline, where he and Davis rappelled to the black forest floor, detached the ropes, gave a thumbs-up, and disappeared. Now Alex walked slowly, and as he approached, Severance heard a few gasps and a swell of murmurs from the crowd, punctuated by a few surprised obscenities.

  Alex cut a striking figure as he strode toward the crowd. He was taller than most men, with a thick black bar painted across his eyes and carrying his war club. His expression was one of pure disdain, and despite themselves, the stunned people stepped aside and let the man, defiant and terrifying, pass unmolested.

  Breaux nodded to two of the Black Cadre. One patted Alex down for weapons, while the other tried to remove the club from his hand. Alex did not budge.

  Breaux stepped forward. “May I?”

  Alex looked at Severance, who nodded. Alex held it up for Breaux, another tall man. When Breaux pulled, Alex froze his arm, almost pulling Breaux off balance, and stared him in the eye. He paused for a moment, then released it.

  Breaux inspected the club. He ran his palm along it, peered at the tiny fissures of the ball end, pressed his thumb gently to the serrated blade that jutted from it. He whistled. “This is exquisite. How about I hold on to it for a while? For safekeeping.”

  One of the Black Cadre removed a large handgun from the waistband of Alex’s pants and handed it over to Breaux. The surrounding torchlight flickered off the polished black steel of the barrel.

  “Now this is more my speed,” said Breaux. “STI 1911. Old-school operator piece. What outfit you serve with, friend?”

  Alex remained silent. Severance could tell it took all of the man’s willpower not to spit in Breaux’s face.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” said Breaux, tucking the 1911 into his waistband and retrieving his phone from his pocket again. “If Ben and Lindsay aren’t enough to get you to stop playing games, maybe this will.”

  He punched a button on the phone and waited. After a moment, he handed the phone over to Severance. Severance listened and his knees went weak, the bottom falling out of his stomach. “Never leave a man behind, Mr. Severance. Or in this case, a lady.”

  He clenched his jaw and handed the phone back to Breaux.

  “All this time your man’s been watching us,” said Breaux, “he wasn’t there to see that we were watching you too. They snatched her up right after you left. Didn’t even have to kick the door in. She was getting into her car. I think she had a mind to follow you.”

  “Don’t hurt her,” said Severance.

  “The Black Cadre doesn’t answer to me, they answer to the Big Man. And the sooner you stop playing games, the sooner you can see him. So bring in your real triggerman, the one with the long gun probably trained on my melon right now. Have him lay it down and walk out.”

  Breaux let his eyes drop to the megaphone, then met Severance’s gaze again.

  Severance stooped to pick it up. He pressed the button and fought to keep his voice steady. “They have Miranda. Come out. Please.”

  The wait was interminable, but another shadow detached from the trees. A lone man crossed the field. The initial surprise of watching a tall Native American emerge from the trees had worn off and now the crowd was immediately hostile at this next affront: a black man walking into camp. It was confirmation of everything they had been fed. The outside world was at their gate and would never let them be. Severance could feel their anger, the hatred rippling through the crowd. It made the hair on his neck stand up. The spectators made a path for Davis, but not as wide. As he walked, a wiry skinhead leaned in and sucker punched him in the jaw.

  “I said parley, God damn it!” yelled Severance.

  Breaux lunged past Severance, nearly bowling him over, and caught the wiry skinhead by his shirtfront. He smashed his fist into the man’s face. The people shrank back like an ebb tide. He punched him over and over until the man could no longer stand. Breaux released his shirt and the man toppled to the ground, his face a ruin.

  “Don’t y’all know what the hell parley means? These men are under my protection,” growled Breaux. “For now.”

  No one said a word. Breaux stepped over the unconscious man, advancing toward Davis until they stood face-to-face.

  “Hello, Galahad.”

  “Hello, Mother.”

  Chapter 41

  Breaux burst out laughing. He pulled Davis into a massive bear hug. Davis did not hug the man back, instead balling his hands into fists. Breaux released him, then held him at arm’s length, looking him over and smiling like a Cheshire cat.

  “This is hilarious,” said the man. “Too much.”

  “Mother?” asked Severance.

  “I was the OIC of our old CAG unit, Bravo Red,” said Breaux. “Didn’t you tell him, Galahad?”

  “No,” said Severance, raising an eyebrow. “No, he did not.”

  “Duncan Breaux,” said Davis quietly. “Bro, brother, mother.”

  Breaux threw an arm over Davis’s shoulders. “Taught him everything he knows about operating. By the way, Little Galahad, you’re adorable as ever, thinking I didn’t know the second you stepped into my AOR.”

  Davis felt bile burble at the back of his throat. “Bullshit,” he said.

  “Slithering around on your belly like a snake.” Breaux shook his head and made a tsk-tsk sound. “I taught him everything he knows about operating, but not everything I know.”

  Davis met Severance’s eyes, but could not read them. There hadn’t been time to tell him, and it wasn’t like Severance was a paragon of truth anyway, but still, he felt shame.

  “Well, it’s been great catching up, but now that everyone’s here, it’s on to business. Let’s go up to the house,” said Breaux.

  The chief of security led them through the field, through the tent city. Severance looked around, likely wondering which one Ben and Lindsay had shared. Davis knew exactly where it was, caught it out of the corner of his eye as he passed, and noted it was unoccupied. Christ, how did it go sideways so quickly?

  Who are you kidding, Galahad? he thought. This whole op was FUBAR from the jump. This was inevitable.

  They continued past the collection of cabins and buildings. People were appearing everywhere. Word was spreading like wildfire throughout the camp. Davis estimated there were more than one thousand, and those were only the people who had come out to have a look at the man from the helicopter and the Native American and the black man who emerged from the woods.

  “Word travels,” said Breaux.

  “What?” said Davis.

  “I heard about your troubles on the border. I am sorry about Candace—”

  “Keep her name out of your mouth.”

  “Be that as it may. But like I told you when you punched out: Attachments, other than your brothers, lead to no good. Maybe if you’d stuck with us, you’d b
e on this side of the equation.”

  Davis looked around at the sea of seething white faces, cursing him as he passed.

  “I doubt that.”

  “Damn shame. We’d have made a hell of a team, boy.”

  “I’m not a mercenary,” said Davis.

  Breaux chuckled. “Oh, you’re not? What are you then, a ‘consultant’? Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, Galahad.”

  “At least my clientele isn’t deplorable.”

  “I am not my clientele. Only color I ever saw was green. Or in this case, gold.”

  They marched past the barn, and now everyone had peeled off, none daring to venture to the main house. Davis and Breaux were in front, with Alex and Severance two steps behind, flanked by four black-clad men.

  “Well,” chimed Severance, “any friend of Galahad’s is a friend of mine. And I’ve been known to bestow heaping amounts of money—green, gold, silver, whatever—upon my friends. How about we become friends, Mr. Breaux? What say you side with the angels?”

  “I’ll bite. Define heaping.”

  “You’ll never have to do anyone’s dirty work ever again.”

  “Ah, but idle hands are the devil’s playground, Mr. Severance. And I do so love my work.”

  “That’s a shame to hear. It would be a goodly sum, I assure you.”

  “Stop embarrassing yourself, Richard,” came a voice from the porch. Drexler stood above them, his hands on the railing, watching them approach. “I’ve promised him a godly sum.”

  Chapter 42

  Severance looked up at his old friend, backlit from the porch light. He did not have a cane. He looked older and thinner, even more so than when he had seen him in the diner, as if the two weeks had aged him years.

  “Love what you’ve done with the place, Henry. Very Salem Witch Trials. Only you know, Nazi-er.”

  “I told you you’d come around, Richard. In the end.” He looked to Alex. “Young Alex. It’s been a long time.”

  “Not long enough. And it’s Dr. Standingcloud.”

  Drexler offered him a slight bow.

  Severance spread his arms. “Look, here I am. So how about you let my people go.”

  “They never had to be here in the first place, Richard, if not for your hubris. This has only ever been about the two of us.”

  “Do you want me to beg? Fine, I’ll beg. Don’t hurt them.”

  Severance bent at the waist, about to get on his knees.

  “Stop,” said Drexler. He looked out over their heads, toward the tent city, the open field, and the treeline beyond. “You didn’t condemn them, Richard. Not really. There’s no place they could’ve hidden anyway. You’ve only moved them up in the queue. Come inside.”

  Drexler led them through the house toward his office in back. They stopped at the door and two guards, dressed in black, stepped aside. It was crowded in the hallway. Drexler pressed his back against the wall and gestured to Severance to allow him into the room first. Severance opened the door.

  The staggering amount of Nazi paraphernalia was like being doused by cold water. The banner—the black swastika on a white circle surrounded by a field of red—was so large and jarring that it took him a moment to notice Lindsay curled on the floor, her back to him.

  He ran to her and dropped to his knees, followed by Alex and Davis. He rolled his unconscious friend toward him, inspecting her for wounds. She was filthy, but other than that, she appeared unhurt. Peaceful even. He noticed then that someone, Drexler probably, had placed a pillow under her head.

  “She’s sleeping,” he heard Drexler say over his shoulder. The man continued past him to his desk.

  “Lindsay,” said Severance. “Lindsay, can you hear me?”

  She opened her eyes slowly. When she registered it was Severance, she smiled a dreamy smile. It faded when she saw the Nazi banner over his shoulder. Her brow creased.

  “It’s going to be okay, Lindsay. I’ll get you out of here.”

  “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” said Drexler.

  Severance helped her up. Alex righted the chair that she had clearly been sitting in when she passed out and Severance put her in it. Alex handed her the pillow and she clutched it over her stomach.

  She looked around then, registering Alex and Davis.

  Severance saw the relief on her face at the sight of her friends. Unbidden, the Wizard of Oz flashed into his head. But it wasn’t a dream. It was a place! And you, and you, and you, and you were there! Then he watched the relief slide away as she realized the cavalry was stuck here with her. And worse…

  “Where’s Ben?” she asked.

  Breaux, standing next to Davis, spoke up by the door. “Elsewhere.”

  “Bring him,” said Drexler to Breaux. “And my son.”

  Breaux raised an eyebrow.

  “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Breaux, but it’s unnecessary. We’re all old friends here. I don’t even have to remind Richard that the Black Cadre is chaperoning his girlfriend.”

  Breaux left the room.

  Severance shook his head in disgust. “Are you going to stop acting like a goddamn supervillain and tell me what this is all about?”

  Lindsay looked at Richard. She was fighting off whatever she had been dosed with. She spoke urgently, like she might forget if she didn’t get it out.

  “There’s a creature in the woods. It wouldn’t let us leave.”

  “A golem,” said Alex. He stared at Drexler. “Isn’t it?”

  Drexler gave him a respectful nod in return. “You’ve become a wonderful field man.”

  “Why the camp? Why the golem?” asked Severance. “You gathered all of these crazies in one place and you’ve locked yourself in with them. I know you love being a martyr, but there are easier ways to save the world.”

  “Save the world?” said Drexler, a slight smile playing on his lips. “You always were naïve.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because I’m dying.” He looked at Lindsay affectionately. There was a heavy sadness in his eyes. “Bone cancer.”

  Just when Severance thought things couldn’t get worse, when they had reached the bottom, the floor opened to a lower chamber.

  “Why didn’t you come to me, Henry? I could’ve—”

  “What? Paid for treatment? I don’t need your money. In fact, my net worth these days likely exceeds your own.”

  “Your father’s gold. You found it.”

  Drexler nodded. “More important, I found his case files. His notebooks, his journals, everything. Access to all of the notes from his work in the Ahnenerbe. The details of every ghastly creature he ever encountered and how to dispatch them. Or summon them.”

  “The Beast of Barcroft,” muttered Lindsay.

  “A beta test, if you will. I provided the woman with the instructions, the incantations, and she did the rest. It worked perfectly. Except that it was a little too close to your backyard, Richard. I should have anticipated that.”

  “And last year? The Northwoods?” asked Severance.

  “There was also a chest in Father’s cache. Reading his journals, I knew I dare not open it myself. Or be anywhere near it when it opened. By then there were plenty of undesirables hanging around, so I sent it away with one of them.”

  “Nix Healey,” said Davis.

  “Indeed. A hanger-on. A prospect to a bike club. I paid him well and sent him away to an ‘antiques dealer’ on the West Coast with strict instructions not to open it. I told him it was an extremely valuable antique and opening it would damage the value of the chest and possibly render it worthless.”

  “There was no antiques dealer, was there?” asked Alex.

  “Of course not. I knew the speed freak would double-cross me the first chance he got. I figured he’d open it as soon as he cleared the state. The fact that he made it to Minnesota astounded me.”

  “One of the members of the Northern Stars biker gang specialized in fencing rare items,” said Davis. “I read thei
r jackets. Healey must have had a connection.” He stared down the old man. “Do you have any idea what you unleashed up there? It wiped out a town. You killed my friends.”

  “And my father,” growled Alex. “Many great men.”

  Davis stepped forward with his fists balled. Two of the Black Cadre advanced on him.

  “Don’t,” said Severance. He turned to Drexler. “Is that what this is all about? Because you’re dying? You have a mad-on at the world so you decide to sic these creatures on innocent people?”

  “No one is innocent. That’s the whole point.”

  “You nearly caused the apocalypse!”

  “Third time’s a charm,” said Drexler.

  With that, the door swung open and Breaux and Felix squeezed through it, dragging Ben between them. His head was hung forward and he was limp in their grasp. Breaux heaved him up and pitched him into the room. He landed in a heap in front of the desk, at the foot of Lindsay’s chair. Ben rolled onto his back and when Severance saw his face, he gasped.

  It was an obscenity.

  Ben’s face was knotted and misshapen and streaked with blood, but perhaps those scars could heal, thought Severance. What would not heal were the other scars. The mask of hate. The jagged swastikas carved into his cheeks. The SS lightning bolts. The word RAT scrawled across his forehead. “14/88” written over and over on every inch of flesh that was not already cut or bruised or swollen. The 14 was shorthand for the “14 Words”: “We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.” The 88 for “Heil Hitler,” the H being the eighth letter of the alphabet.

  Lindsay slid out of her chair and fell on top of him. “Ben!” she shrieked.

  To Severance’s surprise, McKelvie was still conscious. A string of spittle shone on his cheek. He reached up and let his arm drape across her back. Severance saw the man’s broken fingers and his stomach turned.

  Good Lord, he thought. This all is my fault. I did this to him.