He got all the way to the front door before Sanchez caught up with him. “Listen, man, you know I would like to help you.”
“This is my fight,” Nate replied. “I get it. Maybe it’s best if I do this alone.”
“If there’s anything else I can do to help…”
Nate’s eyes rose to meet Sanchez’s. “Actually, there might be.”
Chapter 36
An hour later, they arrived at Sanchez’s place, a quaint two-story home that featured a long driveway and a detached garage out back. Out front was a snow-covered porch with a swing and a set of summer chairs, also buried by the elements. The only thing missing were kids building snowmen in the yard. Speaking of which, they hadn’t seen a soul on the streets since leaving Five’s opulent, if tacky, colonial-style mansion.
They led the horse to the garage out back and set him up with a few fistfuls of hay and a half-dozen carrots. After they were done, the two men headed inside. Nate paused briefly to stomp the snow off his boots near the entrance, leaving them by the door.
“Where’s Suzie?” he asked, regretting the question practically the second it had escaped his lips.
“Suzie’s long gone, man,” Sanchez said, hanging his jacket on a nearby hook. “She left me last year. Took the dogs and everything.”
“No way! I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know.”
Sanchez ran his hands down the front of his face and let out a deep sigh. “How could you? It was right after we worked the Macomb job together.”
Nate nodded. He remembered like it was yesterday. The wife of an upper-class businessman had thought her husband was having an affair. What she didn’t know was that he had more than another woman on the side. The guy had an entirely separate family—two families, in fact, and he’d been splitting his time between each of them. A real multitasker, that was what Sanchez called him. But the job had chewed up months of their time putting all the sordid pieces together. Suzie must have grown tired of spending evenings and nights alone. It was something of an occupational hazard, one might say.
“Worst part about the whole thing,” Nate told him, referring to the work they’d done for Mrs. Macomb, “was how she blamed us for what we’d found. Like we were making it up. She was the one who hired us, for God’s sake.”
Sanchez grinned, but there was pain behind his eyes. “Kill the messenger, right?” He stuffed his hands in his pocket and looked around. “Let me show you the stuff.”
Nate followed his friend into the basement. It was nicely finished with a dark wood floor and a drop ceiling, but that didn’t change how cold it was on their feet. Removing his phone, Nate shined the way with the flashlight app. They stopped before a work bench strewn with tools. Above it was a rack with three long rifles. The one in the middle caught his eye: H&K G36 with x3 optical sights and tac light on the front rail. It was a civilian version of the famous German assault rifle. Gas-operated, normally with a thirty-round mag (5.56×45mm NATO), Sanchez had outfitted this baby with a hundred-round drum magazine.
“You okay parting with the H&K?” Nate asked.
“She’s my pride and joy,” Sanchez admitted, “which is precisely why I think you should take her. I’ve always got the Colt AR and the SR-25.” The latter was a semi-automatic sniper rifle that used the larger 7.62×51mm NATO round.
Nate removed the G36 from the wall mount, then stared through the scope at the light bleeding in through the basement’s single window. The duplex crosshairs would do just fine.
“I got something else for you,” Sanchez said, reaching beneath the work bench and coming out with a package wrapped in opaque plastic. “Might stop you from getting your head blown off in the first five minutes.” He handed it to Nate, who tore it open. Inside was a set of MARPAT overwhites, essentially winter-themed camo he could put on over his existing clothes. A roll of white tape on the table could also be used on the rifle to keep it from sticking out.
Sanchez was staring at his old work buddy for what felt like a long time when he finally said, “She reminds you of your sister Marie, doesn’t she?”
Nate set the camo gear down and said nothing. He knew his friend was talking about Dakota.
“She’s about the age Marie was when she vanished. We’ve known each other for a long time, Nate. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Sure. Ten years at least.”
“That’s right, and in all that time you never told me what happened. Given we might never see each other again, I’d say you at least owe me that.”
The corner of Nate’s mouth rose into a pained expression. He started to swallow and found what had always been a simple act had suddenly become far more difficult. “Marie was three years younger than me and a freshman in high school. I was in my first year of college. I guess you could say we got along as well as a brother and sister could be expected to, despite the gap in our ages. But we also didn’t have a whole lot in common, save for our love of shooting. I’d bought a shotgun a few months earlier and had decided to introduce her to the joys of target shooting. Some people fire off a few rounds and find it’s not their thing. Marie was different. She got a real thrill from feeling that wooden stock buried into her shoulder, from watching those watermelons disintegrate before our eyes as she pulled the trigger. It’s a powerful experience for a young person. I’d gone through it myself a few years earlier and wanted her to also know that same sense of exhilaration.
“I was away at college back in those days, but whenever I’d come home she and I would head out to an empty field and blow away stupid stuff like shaken Coke cans and oversized watermelons. I kept the shotgun in my room back then, tucked under my bed, and told her never to touch it. One day, when I wasn’t home, Marie broke those rules and took the gun out. She wanted to show her friend Bobby Hayes. Bobby was a year younger than she was and didn’t have much in the way of friends. Looking back, I think Marie was trying to take him under her wing the way I had done for her. Wanted to give him that same exhilarating experience she had felt that very first time. Ironically, she was in the middle of running Bobby through the safety procedures when the shotgun accidentally went off and blew away his right leg just above the knee. My sister panicked and ran for help, leaving poor Bobby in that clearing, screaming in agony. She didn’t know much about tourniquets or how to deal with gunshot wounds. Hell, neither did I back then. Needless to say, the paramedics found Bobby not long after, lying right where he’d been shot. Said the kid had probably bled out in less than three minutes.
“She’d tried to do something good. Show the kid he was important and worth loving. But sometimes even the best of intentions come back to bite you where the sun don’t shine. About a week after the kid was buried, Marie herself went out to the spot the kid died and never returned home. We spent the next few days searching high and low for any sign of her. Was she lost? Had she gone somewhere and taken her own life out of guilt? Or worse, had some sicko pulled up beside her on a desolate stretch of road and kidnapped her? We conducted more searches than you can imagine. Days stretched into months and then years. By then, we were no longer expecting her to come running through that door. And the reality we begrudgingly came to accept was that she was no longer alive. To this very day, I’d be just as happy to find my sister’s body as I would to see her alive. It sounds like a strange thing to wish for, I know, but the human psyche craves closure. Living with that sort of mystery every single day has a funny way of gnawing at your soul, one bite at a time.”
Sanchez’s face was a mask of grief. “Oh, man, that’s terrible. I couldn’t imagine.” He must have recognized something in Nate’s face. “So when you dropped out of university after your injury, it was really you setting out to find her.”
“Not consciously,” Nate admitted. “But it was a big part of why, when I finally came home, I decided to become a cop.”
Sanchez was quiet, thoughtful for a moment. Then: “You blame yourself, don’t you? For her disappearance… for her death.”
Aft
er she’d been missing for ten years, their family had pushed to have her legally declared dead. If time healed all wounds, then signing the paperwork to ratify your sister’s demise had a nasty habit of tearing them open again.
“And why would I not shoulder at least some of the responsibility? I was the one who introduced her to it. Maybe if I’d had a gun safe, locked up tight, Bobby might never have gotten hurt and she might never have gone off―”
“You can’t think like that. You’ll drive yourself crazy. Coulda, woulda, shoulda, right? You told her not to and she broke the rules. I mean, you weren’t even there.”
“That’s the problem, Sanchez. I wasn’t there to protect her and I should have been.”
Sanchez grabbed Nate by the shoulders. “So you think saving this girl will wash away your sins, is that it?”
“Something like that,” Nate replied, his voice low and filled with resignation. “But before any salvation, I just need one more thing.” His eyes rose to meet Sanchez’s.
“Anything,” his friend said.
“I need to know where to find Jakes.”
Chapter 37
Armed with an answer to his question, Nate left Sanchez’s place. He did so on foot, the sun having just set. Sanchez would keep an eye on his horse until he returned. There was no sense dragging the poor beast along only to leave him on the street to fend for himself.
Jakes was holding Dakota at the City Hall building on the corner of State and 2nd Street, which explained why Nate was positioned a hundred yards to the north, surveying the area through the scope of his rifle. The structure in his crosshairs wasn’t so much one building, but two. The original section was eight stories tall, gleaming white and built in the 30s. The newer half had been added a decade ago in order to accommodate for Rockford’s impressive growth.
But apart from leaving Wayne behind, Nate hadn’t left empty-handed. Sanchez had hooked him up with one drum mag and six additional thirty-round magazines for the H&K. Along with that came a few extra mags of .45 ACP for the Sig and Colt Defender he carried. Finally, in case he managed to work his way through all that firepower, he’d brought his hatchet. Everything currently on him was housed in a white chest rig worn over his camo suit.
Before leaving, Nate had asked Sanchez if he’d be willing to head north to the sports complex shelter and check in on Amy and the others. He had also purposely told Sanchez to withhold news that Evan was in Rockford at the Javon Bea Hospital. That would have to wait, since he didn’t want to risk Lauren heading out into a squall in search of her husband. Besides, with the real authorities sidelined, the human animals bottled up in a city without power were bound to erupt at any moment.
Speaking of beasts, Nate had hardly settled into his recon nest when he caught the sound of someone or something sidling up from the adjacent alley.
Shadow whined and licked his hand. Nate reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handful of kibble he’d grabbed from Sanchez’s place.
“I had a sneaking suspicion you might show,” Nate said, grinning as he held out his hand. “Here, compliments of Fonzie and Chachi.”
Shadow sniffed at the niblets before digging in.
“There you go.” He watched the wolf finish, running his powerful tongue down Nate’s fingers and along his palm. “You better lie low, buddy. You won’t wanna be anywhere near what’s about to go down, trust me.”
The wolf stared at him, licking his lips.
Nate returned to his reconnaissance. Out front, two large men stood guard. Although standing wasn’t entirely accurate, since they were shifting from side to side, stomping their feet in a vain effort to root out the cold. That was good for Nate. Their discomfort was a distraction he could use to his advantage.
Every so often, he witnessed an array of figures entering or exiting the building. Some appeared to be security, while others were simply regular folks, perhaps petitioning Jakes to help with food or to admit a loved one to the hospital. But why they had come and where they were going, Nate could not say for certain.
With nearly all traditional forms of communication down, it was hardly any wonder Jakes was a busy man. After wresting control of Rockford from the rightful authorities, maintaining a firm grip on law and order—however draconian that might be—required a near-continuous stream of information. That explained the flow of people in and around City Hall. And yet, in the time Nate had been observing the building, he hadn’t seen anyone matching Dakota’s description coming or going.
Rising from his perch, Nate pushed through the alley and north on 3rd Street. He then cut around behind City Hall, searching for a back way in. Poking out of an alley, he could see this part of the street was deserted. That was good, but what he lacked was perhaps the most vital part of any rescue mission: intel on what to expect inside. Sanchez and Five seemed confident Dakota was in there somewhere. But on what floor and, more importantly, in what room? The first rule of any successful snatch-and-grab mission was getting in and out without ever being seen. A firefight was a telltale sign things were no longer going to plan.
On a whim, Nate pulled the Geiger from his jacket pocket and switched it on. They were out of the exclusion zone, he knew that, but that didn’t mean they were free of any and all radiation. To his surprise, the needle spiked and the machine registered an intense amount of crackling static. But how could this be? He had expected to find it a touch above background, not several times that. Could the Byron plant’s situation have worsened in the time since his escape? And if so, had the exclusion zone perimeter been pushed even further?
Unforeseen as it was, the discovery only reinforced the dire need for speed. And not only to free Dakota. There was no doubt, once a guy like Jakes squeezed the information out of her, the girl’s predicament would go from very bad to hellish in a heartbeat. Being stuffed back in a cage would be Christmas compared to what a psycho like Jakes surely had in store.
A voice came from behind him. “Is that a Geiger counter in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” There was just enough ambient light to see it was Sanchez.
“The hell are you doing here?” Nate asked, shocked and yet at the same time happy to see his friend. “And how long have you been itching to spring that line on me?” His surprise grew when he noticed Sanchez was wearing a chest rig and carrying an AR-15.
“I thought about what you said and you’re right,” Sanchez told him. “As much as I tried, I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. I may not know this girl, but next time it might be someone I care about.”
“Did you get a hold of Amy?” Nate asked, already dreading the answer.
Sanchez shook his head. “I had a choice, either save you from killing yourself or check on your wife. I chose option one. You’re welcome.”
“You’re thanked,” Nate said. “Listen, you remember a few years back when I asked you to help me with the Johnson case?”
Sanchez perked up. “The jealous boyfriend who was holding the client hostage, threatening to kill her unless we tore up the evidence of his infidelity and told her we’d made the whole thing up? That Johnson case?”
“That’s the one. The more I think about it, the more I realize it’s also the way we need to play this.”
“No negotiation. Go in strong and shoot to kill.”
Nate grit his teeth and nodded.
“All right, amigo,” Sanchez said. He plucked a necklace of St. Christopher from under his shirt and kissed it before pulling the action on his rifle. “Lead the way.”
Nate looked at him. “Where’s my good luck charm?”
Sanchez winked. “You’re looking at him.”
They exited the alley, sticking close to the buildings as they struggled through the heavy snow. Reaching the intersection, Nate scanned in both directions. They could see one of the two guards, standing out front, showing them his back. But the guy’s incessant movement to keep himself warm meant that every few seconds he would turn around. Calculating the distance along with their
speed, he figured there would be a sixty-second period crossing the street where they would be exposed. Nate observed the man’s patterns. Two stomps of the feet followed by a glove rub, a lungful of warm air blown into cupped hands and a quick glance over his shoulder. Every time was nearly the same routine. Nate felt the pulse in his neck quicken.
The guard’s quick glance came. Then, as soon as the guy’s back was turned, Nate gave Sanchez the signal to move out. Both men hurried across the street as fast as they could. Ammo weighed more than most people realized, especially when you were lugging it over difficult terrain. Nate never imagined the streets of Rockford would ever be described in that way. And yet the last week had been nothing but one surprise after another.
The two men were nearly halfway across when the guard began to turn. Nate gave the order to drop and at once they dove into a bed of deep powder. A few seconds later, he lifted his head enough to peek out. The guard was still looking their way, his forehead scrunched up.
He’s seen us. Has to have. Better to rise up now and start firing rather than be shot lying down. The best chance of winning any shootout was being first to get your rounds downrange.
Then another, stronger voice told him to chill out. There would be plenty of time to blow cover inside once the bullets started flying.
The guard turned away and Nate hesitated a second or two on the off chance it was a ruse. When he saw that it wasn’t, he reached back and tapped Sanchez. They rose, pushing hard to close the distance between them and the back of the building.
At their destination, a low metal staircase led to a glass door. Nate and Sanchez made it and hugged the wall. Careful to keep out of sight, they climbed the few steps, one at a time, their heavy boots crushing snow into the metal grate beneath their feet. Nearing the top, Nate reached for the handle at the same moment that the door swung open on its own. Retracting his hand, he remained still. So too did Sanchez behind him.
America Offline | Books 1 & 2 | The Day After Darkness Page 19