“Wait!” they shout. “Stop! Don’t leave us! Wait for us!”
“We should take them,” I say.
“Yes, we should take at least some of those poor souls,” my mother agrees.
But Ben doesn’t listen. He slams the door shut.
“We can’t take everyone,” he says. “We need to concentrate on the mission and the mission only.”
I can’t help but notice the hogtied laundry truck driver. He’s still struggling to free himself from the duct tape.
“Well, that sucks,” Mike says, seating himself on the floor, his back against the metal paneled wall. He is all skin and bones. “But I get it, I guess. The van is only so big.”
“Many of these people can still escape if they make it through the open fence and into the woods,” Tony points out. “It’s their only hope.”
Ben looks at his watch again.
“Ten seconds, Gus,” he barks. “You gotta go now or that fence is gonna close on us.”
He moves up front. Tony and I follow so we can see out the windshield. Gus turns the key and fires up the van engine. He shoves the tranny into drive and gives it the gas. The van tires spit gravel until they catch. We begin speeding for the still open fence like a dragster right out of the starting gate. We’ve got about one-hundred yards to cover before we reach the gate and only five seconds to get there.
That’s when I make out the Everest Officer standing foursquare in the center of the open fence gate. He’s got his M16 aimed at us, pointblank. Shots ring out. Bullets bust through the windshield.
“Get down, everyone!” Gus shouts. “We’re taking fire!”
Dropping to my knees I see something that makes my heart sink into my stomach. The gate is closing. I can also hear an alarm sounding now. It’s a loud, pulsating, piercing general alarm.
“You three!” Tony shouts at my parents and his little brother, “backs up against the bay doors and stay down! Laundry boy, you too.”
Ben pulls a fighting knife from off his utility belt, cuts the tape that binds Young Man. He immediately shifts to the back of the van, settling himself beside Mike.
“The electricity is back on!” Ben says, returning the knife to his belt. “Can this thing go faster?”
“Giving it all it’s got!” Gus shouts.
The fence is closing rapidly.
“We’re not gonna make it,” I whisper. “We’re not gonna make it.”
“Yes, we are,” Tony insists. “We’re gonna do this.”
More shots, and the right side of the windshield blows out. The bullets ping against the interior of the van like the metal balls inside a pinball machine. I feel a sharp sting in my thigh. A bullet has managed to scrape me. What do they call it? A flesh wound. I feel something wet against my face. When I touch it, I see that it’s blood. But it can’t be my blood. Or can it? Maybe Gus and Ben are hit and just don’t know it. They’re up front after all. They’re sitting fucking ducks. We’re all sitting ducks.
“Stay down!” Ben screams. “Stay the fuck down!”
“Here we go!” Gus shouts. “Brace yourself ‘cause it’s gonna be tight.”
Multiple rounds bouncing and ricocheting inside the metal paneled van.
“It’s a goddamn shooting gallery!” Tony shouts.
My mother screams and Gus yells, “Hang on!” as we bust through the fence, the feel of the van bucking, bouncing, and tearing through the narrow fence opening.
“We did it!” Tony shouts, not without a laugh. “We freaking did it!”
“And we took that guard along with us,” Gus says, his eyes in the rearview mirror. “He’s roadkill now.”
Gus hooks a right onto the main road without slowing so that the van’s back end fishtails. I go down onto my ass and Tony nearly falls on top of me.
“Easy cowboy,” I say. “Don’t be breaking any bones on me.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” he says. “I’m just glad to be out of that death trap.”
I feel something warm and wet under me then. I place my hand on the van’s metal floor. When I bring it to my face, I see blood. Fresh blood.
“Oh my God,” I say, my eyes immediately focusing in on my parents.
What I see doesn’t just devastate me. It rips my heart and soul right out of my chest.
I go to them on all fours. I want to save them somehow. But it’s too late. They’re gone. All of them, gone like they were never alive in the first place. We didn’t rescue them. We killed them.
I go to my mother who’s sitting furthest on the left, my father right beside her, pressed against her left side. Mikey was sitting beside my dad. Now, he lies on his left side, a portion of his skull blown off. The young laundry van driver next to him has taken a round directly to the forehead, or so the nickel-sized entry wound tells me.
My mother’s eyes are still open, as are my father’s. It’s almost like they’re both still alive but stunned. The bullet that pierced my dad’s neck tells the whole story. It’s the same with my mother. The two bullets she took in the chest, one of which went right through her heart, means she never knew what hit her. As the tears fall from my eyes, and my chest grows heavier than I could ever imagine, I can only hope they died in peace, knowing they were free of that horrible prison fulfillment center and they were with me, their only daughter . . . their only child.
“They’re dead, Tony,” I manage to say, after a long beat. “They’re all gone and they’re never coming back.”
I see Tony out the corner of my eye. He turns. His face loses all its color when he sees the four bodies . . . when he sees the damage done to them. He, too, breaks out in tears and comes to me. He holds me tight, pressing my head into his chest.
“How could this have happened, Tony?” I beg. “We were supposed to save their lives, not end them.”
His tears combine with mine, every single one of them bearing our combined grief.
“We did what we could for them, Tanya,” he says, his voice hoarse and bitter. “We tried our best.”
“We didn’t do our best,” I say. “We failed.”
“Don’t say that, Tan,” he says. “Don’t say that. We can’t do that to ourselves.”
But my grief is now quickly turning to anger. I push Tony off me, wipe my eyes, and gaze at Ben and Gus. Ben is watching us through the rearview while navigating the road. Ben is pursing his lips, shaking his head, not like he’s disappointed or saddened, but more like he’s disgusted with what’s turned out to be an entire waste of time. Or perhaps that’s just me putting thoughts into his head. Me, the editor, trying to come up with a storyline that makes sense.
Gus taps the brakes and turns the van onto the two-track. He pulls up beside the Land Cruiser. He gets out and comes around the back of the van, opens the door slowly and partially so the bodies don’t fall out.
“I’m so, so sorry, Tanya,” he says, his face a mask of pain. “So sorry, Tony.”
“It was an accident, Tan,” Ben says from up front. “You have to believe that. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been any one of us who got hit.”
I slide my mother’s legs forward so she’s lying on her back. Then I do the same for my dad, then for Mike, and finally the nameless young man. Now, Gus can open the doors wide.
“An accident?” I say. “I’m beginning to think this operation was more than just a rescue mission.”
“What’s that mean, Tanya?” Gus asks.
Extending my hand, I run it gently over my mother’s eyes, closing them. I repeat the solemn process for my dad, then Mike, then the driver. I slip out of the laundry truck, and face down Gus. Or, face down isn’t quite the right word for it, since he’s so much taller than me. But right now, I don’t care how tall or tough he is. I only know what I feel and what I feel is white hot rage.
“This was never an operation to rescue three people from that horrible prison,” I say. “This was a carefully orchestrated execution of every Everest guard we coul
d possibly kill.”
“Tanya,” Tony says, like he wants me to bite my tongue.
“No, Tony,” I say, “I’m not finished.”
“It was a mass execution and it was something else, too,” I go on.
“What else was it?” Gus says, stone-faced.
“It was a test to see if Tony and I had what it took to be members of the Resistance. Sure, we were able to liberate three family members, but I’m guessing that wasn’t the priority in this mission. I’m guessing the priority was to kill as many of the enemy as possible and to see if Tony and I possessed the killing instinct. Because, otherwise, we would have found a much easier way inside that fulfilment warehouse. We would have extracted my parents and Tony’s little brother, and we would have gotten the hell out of there with plenty of time to spare.” I’m shouting now, my hands clenched into fists. “They would still be alive. Don’t you understand me, Gus Truman? Don’t you get it? If they were the priority in this fucking mission, they would still be alive.”
I don’t even realize I’m weeping until I feel the tears dripping off my chin. At first, I assume the dripping sound I’m hearing are my tears hitting the grassy ground. But that’s when I notice the blood dripping out from under Gus’s tactical vest. Tony sees it too, because he goes to Gus.
“You’re hit,” he says, placing his fingers on the vest zipper.
“Wait,” Gus says, pushing Tony’s hands away. “Tanya has just gone out of her way to make a point, and I wish to respond.”
Ben comes around the laundry truck. He’s limping. Limping noticeably. What’s also noticeable is his blood-soaked thigh and the temporary tourniquet he’s fashioned out of duct tape. His face is pale, if not ashen.
“Let him talk, Tony,” Ben says weakly.
It’s like he’s about to pass out.
“You’re right, Tanya,” Gus says. “This mission wasn’t only about extracting your folks, or about bringing Tony’s little brother home. But then, it never was, nor did I hide that fact. I explained from the get-go that we would be taking out as many Everest guards as possible. I believe the exact word I used was to kill them without hesitation and you agreed with the idea. Why do you think we brought AR-15s with us? If the mission were purely an extraction, we wouldn’t have bothered with long guns. We would have limited our weaponry to pistols only. You’re right, it would have been a matter of finding the easiest way in and the easiest and quickest way out. That’s how it would have gone down.”
“But it didn’t happen that way, did it, Gus?” I say.
“I’ll be honest, Tanya,” he says, his eyes suddenly looking very tired, “if it weren’t for your parents and Tony’s brother, we never would have chanced the operation in the first place.”
Take a step back, Tanya . . . a big emotional step . . . and rethink this thing . . .
My God, my parents, Tony’s little brother, and a total stranger are laid out in back of a laundry truck, and I’m suddenly feeling horrible for screaming at Gus. Maybe he’s right. Maybe the right thing was to kill as many of the enemy as possible while still attempting to save our loved ones. Maybe it was a good test for Tony and me to see how we would react under fire, to determine if we could take orders without hesitation, to see if we could stand our ground while being shot at without running away in fear. I’ve been trained in self-defense, and I can shoot with the best of them. I’ve also read enough about war and war-like situations from my authors over the past twenty years to know what it takes to be a soldier. And that’s what the Resistance is made up of—soldiers. Because this thing we have with the Everest Corporation, it’s not just a disagreement, it’s a war. An all-out war.
The blood drips. Heavy drops coming from just under Gus’s left shoulder. Tony unzips the Resistance leader’s vest and looks inside.
“Shit, Gus,” he says, “you’re hit bad. You need medical attention now.”
“I’ll grab the tape,” Ben says, limping back to the van.
He comes back around with a roll of duct tape in hand and a red handkerchief.
“Pull off the vest,” Ben says, “but be careful.”
Tony gently slips off Gus’s vest and then Ben applies the temporary bandage. It stems the bleeding for the moment, but for how long is anyone’s guess. That’s when I hear them coming from out of the near distance. Sirens.
“Oh, good Christ,” Gus says, “here they come. The Everest police. Everyone grab your weapons. We’re gonna make a stand right here, right now.”
I look into Tony’s eyes. I think he senses what I’m thinking.
“No,” I say. “You and Ben are hit bad, Gus. You’re in no condition to fight. You two get back in the laundry van and leave right now. Right this second, do you understand me? Tony and I will take the Land Cruiser and meet up with you later on.”
Gus and Ben eye one another.
Ben asks, “What the hell are you gonna do, doll? What’s the plan?”
“I think I read this in one of your thrillers once, Ben. You know, when your team of mercenaries was all shot up except for one man and they were being hunted down by the Taliban in the Afghan mountains near Kandahar. He told them all to go get help as fast as possible while—”
“While he ran the opposite direction to try and throw off the Taliban’s scent.”
“I believe that maneuver is called, give the rabbit a chase,” Tony says, not without a sly smile.
The sirens grow louder. The police can’t be more than a mile away now.
“Gus,” I say. “You and Ben go. Go now, while you’ve got the chance.”
“She’s right,” Ben says. Then, turning to me. “You meet us back at The Alamo in fifteen minutes. You understand me?”
“But that means we will only be ten minutes behind you,” I say. “That won’t be enough time to shake the Everest police.”
Ben might be in pain, but that doesn’t stop him from grinning slyly.
“That’s the point,” he says. “You lead them back to The Alamo, and as soon as you’re through the gate, we’ll have a pleasant surprise waiting for them . . . All of them.”
“Take no prisoners,” Gus says.
The sirens get louder.
“Go guys,” Tony insists. “Go now.”
Gus reaches for the keys on his utility belt. He tosses them to me.
“Take care of my four-by-four,” he says. “I love that ride like I love myself.”
“I’ll try not to scratch it,” I say, my voice cracking. “And take care of my parents and Tony’s little brother. They are still precious cargo to us.”
The young laundry truck driver is no doubt precious cargo to someone out there . . .
Gus and Ben painfully get back in the laundry truck along with our deceased relatives. Turning over the engine, he pulls out onto the two-track and then goes left onto the main road. He speeds away as fast at the vehicle’s RPMs will allow.
“You driving with that leg?” Tony says, glancing at my thigh wound.
“It’s just a scratch and you know it,” I say.
“Soon as we get back get it cleaned and dressed.”
“That is we make it back,” I say. “Which is why you’re driving.”
I toss him the keys.
“After the way you handled outrunning that drone back in Albany,” I say, “you’re the designated driver. Besides, a Land Cruiser isn’t all that different from a Jeep.” Pulling back the bolt on my AR-15. “I’ll be the designated killing machine.”
Did I just actually say that? I’m starting to sound like someone I don’t recognize . . . My parents are dead. Tony’s little brother is dead. All I want to do right now is kill anyone or anything that belongs to Everest. I don’t feel sadness or remorse. I’m not depressed, and I’m not about to collapse into a useless sack of tears and snot. I just want to kill and kill again . . .
Tony hops behind the Land Cruiser wheel, and I slip into what has now literally become the shotgun seat. He starts the 4X4 and drives the two-track to the main
thoroughfare where he makes a right and comes to a stop in the middle of the road. We see something coming for us. Two pickup trucks, both painted Everest black and both of them armed with tripod-mounted machine guns.
“Look at this, Tony,” I say. “It’s like we’re trapped inside one of your novels. We’re the good guys and here come the terrorists.”
“And you know what happens at the end of my novels, Tan.”
“What’s that?”
“The good guys always win because the good guys wipe out the bad guys.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say, “doll face.”
He laughs while the Everest machineguns flash and the bullets fly.
A round hits the windshield to my right and produces a nickel-sized hole.
“Oh shit,” I say, “Gus isn’t going to like that.”
Three more rounds blast out most of the windshield’s left side. I immediately drop onto the center console.
“Fire back!” Tony barks.
“Good idea,” I say, as sarcastically as possible.
Placing the barrel of the AR-15 out the broken windshield, I open up on the two trucks. The rounds ricochet and spark off the windshields and the front grille.
“Bulletproof glass,” I say, releasing the magazine, and punching in my third and last one.
“Nothing’s totally bullet-proof when you get close enough,” Tony insists.
“That a fiction you’re making up?”
“Hey,” he says, “I do my research.”
More rounds coming at us, shattering more glass and coming way too close for comfort.
“What do you think, Tony?” I ask. “Those dot com bastards close enough yet?”
“Time to become the rabbit and run away,” he says, shifting the transmission into reverse. “Time for the hunters to give chase.”
Slapping the gas, he backs the vehicle up, hits the brakes. The tires scream and burn as we come to a full stop. Pushing the tranny in drive, he spins the wheel to the left. Punching the gas, Tony turns the 4X4 one-hundred-eighty degrees until it’s facing the opposite direction. We motor forward and away from the two pickups. We are now officially the rabbit. The hunters shoot. A portion of the back window and my passenger side window blows out.
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