by Joel Shaw
“What about the engineer? Where is he?”
“Right here.” Jordan stood nearby, cloaked in a veil of invisibility, grinning at his sister.
The gathering of friends and foes were dumbfounded. They heard a male voice, but could not see him. There were some shuffling of feet, furtive glances were exchanged. They were about to bolt; the lot of them, like cats from a sprinkler.
Jordan, a mere ten feet away, removed the veil with a snap of his fingers. “I’m the engineer,” he said.
Sheila was stunned to silence, but not for long. “Is that really you?”
Jordan pulled the hoody from his head. There was no mistaking the red fly, away hair and the too large eyes.
“It really is.” Sheila broke character as she rushed to her brother’s arms.
The captured Swans clung to hope. This was the distraction they needed. Their captor’s didn’t know about Juan. Juan would save them. Where was Juan?
#
Juan was cowering in a bathroom stall, terrified, waiting for the commotion in the warehouse to subside.
Just before the shooting started, Milton had entered the bathroom to use the modern facilities. His urgent need to defecate could not be postponed.
Juan watched through a crack as a lithe black man passed by his stall and entered the stall to his left. He held his breath.
Milton sat on the throne and got comfortable, like the good old days when he would spend thirty-minutes or more on the john reading his favorite magazines. He missed flushing toilets; shitting in a bucket was no longer novel nor humorous. There was toilet paper, too. He filled his pockets with the stuff while he studied the graffiti on the partition walls. One particular piece peaked his interest. One of the Swans was obviously a gifted artist. The large, detailed image depicted the ornate Seal of the of the United States. At the center of the seal was a red, white and blue shield. A corner of the shield was dog-eared. Was it a piece of tape? No...it wasVelcro. Milton ripped the shield off, exposing a two-inch diameter hole drilled through the partitions. A glory hole? He contorted his half-naked body to get a view through the hole. A large brown eyeball was staring back at him.
“What the fuck?” He reached for his Colt 45, it was tangled in his trousers. He could hear some frantic movement from the peeper’s side of the stall. Did the peeper have a gun? Gimme my goddamn gun...
The adjacent stall door squeaked.
Milton was frantic, he removed his trousers and held them upside down while shaking them until the firearm clattered to the floor. He grabbed it, disengaging the safety as he struggled to balance on the rim of the toilet for a better view of his adversary.
“Where did you go, asshole?” he yelled, “I have a gun and I ain’t afraid to use it.” He fired a round at the mirror for effect, hoping to scare the little cock sucker out of hiding. The mirror shattered, scattering shards of broken glass across the tiled floor.
“Where are you?” He was playing now. Confident and self-assured. He assumed that his bathroom adversary would have shot at him by now if he was armed. He could afford to be cocky. And he was. His pants and underwear lay at his feet on the floor. His nine inch penis swung like an elephant’s snout between his legs. No time for modesty. As he admired his snout, he noticed a movement reflected by a piece of the broken mirror near the end stall.
“I see you.” He taunted, “Come out, come out, whatever you are.” He was grinning. An unexpected turn on. His trunk had transformed into a cannon. He held his Colt over his head, close to the ceiling tiles and angled it downward toward the far stall. He discharged the remaining six rounds through the partition.
Juan, thrice perforated, fell to the cold, tiled floor.
Milton returned to the seated position and finished his business with satisfaction. He put on his underpants and trousers, washed his hands and stood for several minutes admiring himself in the solitary piece of mirror that clung to the wall. He picked his afro into perfect symmetry. Not bad for an old man. He thought his mother would be proud of him after his manly performance. He returned to the stall and flushed the toilet, just like his mama taught him.
He cast a boyish grin skyward. “I know your’re watching me,” he said.
Milton’s shot into the mirror interrupted the more formal proceedings on the warehouse floor; his successive shots sent the lot helter-skelter, including the almost- captured Swans.
Sheila raced after two quick fellas. She leapt through the door and was caught like a panther in a snare. She fought to free herself from the unyielding grip. She hung like a dead chicken with feet swinging inches above the ground. A needle prick in the neck startled her and the flames died. She lay like a waif in the arms of an enormous human who carried her to a nearby two-wheeler and tossed her across the frame like a sack of oats. The rider saddled-up behind her and maneuvered the electric bike through the forest at a break-neck pace.
#
Leland and Jerry ran out the loading dock door chasing a Swan apiece. Much to their chagrin, they were eating another piece of humble pie as they chased the escapees; they should have secured the prisoners immediately.
The two runaways sprinted the length of the train then scrambled into the container on the first car. Once inside, they searched in earnest for the promised crates of weapons and ammunition. They found the bulky army-green shipping containers at the rear of the container. The lids were locked. Caldwell pulled his multi-tool from its sheath and pulled the awl from its nest. He worked the awkward tool into the keyway hoping for a miracle. He worked the tool back and forth with exaggerated motions knowing all the while that his efforts would be fruitless. Soon, he heard footfalls in the gravel. Robinson urged Caldwell to hurry but it was too late, the invaders were outside.
“All right you land-grabbers,” Jerry yelled, “we got your sorry asses.” He clambered onto the car and crouched near the doors with arrow ready. He couldn’t see more than ten feet into the forty-foot container. Then he saw a light beam flash between two crates deep inside. He knew his weapon was less than ideal for this situation.
“Stay where you are.” He cautioned. His mind raced...what to do...what to do?
Caldwell and Robinson ignored the command and continued their efforts to open the locked case marked 12 Pack Weapon Transport M16A1.
Leland joined Jerry on board. Jerry risked another peek into the dark container, looking for a target. He could’t see the light but he could hear frantic whispering.
Leland had a different point of view. He was pleased that they had managed to capture the two men so quick and he wasn’t about to repeat his earlier mistake of not binding them. The fact that they were already in a cell of sorts was a bonus.
“Looks like they’re ready to be locked up for the night.” He grinned at Jerry who was happy to let Leland take the lead. Leland closed the heavy, steel doors and locked them. In their moment of questionable triumph they exchanged high-fives with unwarranted smugness and jumped off the train. What now? They scanned the area for any remaining escapees. Should they search the train? Search the warehouse? Find the rest of their little army? They were stumped and disappointed.
“Shit, dude. We had them. We fuckin’ had all of them,” Jerry hung his head in sincere shame. In spite of all his reading about war and tactics, he now realized that reading and doing are two different things.
Leland chose to remain optimistic. “Cheer up dude, at least we got two of them locked up.”
Jerry was inconsolable. “You know what? I think we suck as mercenaries. If these guys had any bullets, we would be d.e.a.d. dead.”
“I think you’re right...wait...wait a damn second. Why did they run all the way to the end of the train to hide in this car?”
Jerry began nodding his head in time with the belittle-me waltz. “Duh...because there is something in that container that they wanted and I bet it ain’t sleeping bags...” he smacked his head with the heel of his hand.
Leland finished the thought. “Right...they were likely aft
er weapons and ammunition.” He groaned audibly.
“We really do suck at this, cowboy,” Jerry said.
Leland nodded in agreement, “You said it, chief.” At that instant he saw a radio antenna sticking out of Jerry’s back pocket, reminding him of Faye.
“Does that radio work, Jer?”
“The radio in your back pocket...does it work?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t tried. What’s up?”
“I left my radio with Faye. She’s on channel fourteen. See if you can raise her.”
“OK, let’s see.” Jerry powered on the radio and rotated the volume knob, then turned the channel to fourteen. “Hello...Faye...ahhh...this is Chief Goodthunder...over.”
Faye almost lost her balance on the bike when the radio suddenly came to life. She stopped and pulled the radio from her grip. “This is Faye. What’s going on, Jerry.”
Leland grabbed the radio before Jerry could object. “Faye, this is Lee. How are you? Are you OK?”
“I’m tired and I’m going home to get some rest. Tell Milton that I have his bike. He can pick it up at my house if he wants it.”
“Have you seen my dad? Is he OK?”
“Yes, I’ve seen him and no, he’s not OK...I think he’s lost his mind.”
Leland laughed. “It’s you Faye. He’s in love with you...” Leland held his breath, waiting for confirmation.
“That’s sweet of you honey, but I don’t think so. He left me mumbling something about rain and radios. He wanted to go to his office. I was too tired to argue.”
“Thanks Faye. I’ll check on him. We’ll see you at your house.”
“Sounds good. Be careful, honey.” Faye turned the radio off and continued her bike ride home.
#
Amber woke abruptly, through the drug-induced haze she soon realized that her hands and feet were bound. The last thing she remembered was being lifted off her feet and then nothing, blackout. She twisted her aching head in an effort to see where she was. She was relieved to see Sheila beside her, bound and bleeding from a gash on her forehead. She twisted in the opposite direction, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark. Her nose constricted from the damp, moldy air. There had to be water nearby, that much was certain.
Suddenly she was awash in daylight as the door to their tiny prison was opened. The glare blinded her. As her eyes adjusted, she could see a large, black silhouette blocking the opening. Amber couldn’t identify her captor’s gender, it appeared to be wearing a mask or a hood. Instinctively she thought the figure was male. It grabbed her by the feet and dragged her like a dead fish into the light, stopping at the rim of Quarry One. The hulk pushed her like a mop, forcing her head over the edge of the pit.
“Mornin’ little lady,” The voice was guttural.
“I’m afraid you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m going to have to send you for a little dip in this here pool. I hope you can’t swim.” A sinister chuckle was followed by a grunt as the monster propelled her forward over the edge.
Amber screamed as she plunged thirty feet, landing on her back with a thwack.
She panicked for an instant, thrashing and splashing like a hooked fish, terrified of what came next, until she realized that she wasn’t sinking. The mass of floating insulation and debris had saved her. She curled and contorted her body every which way in an effort to reach the fillet knife hidden in her boot. She pinched the wooden hilt between two fingers and slowly withdrew the knife.
Flies suddenly clouded her vision as they swarmed her, tasting this new addition to the stew. She shook her head violently to rid herself of the insects crawling up her nose, across her lips and inside her ears. The knife slipped from her grasp. She refused to give up, even as her slimy lifeboat began to sink under her weight, she fought against the ropes binding her. As the ropes became saturated, she felt the tension ease, she forced her hands and feet apart, the ropes continued to stretch eventually releasing their hold on her.
Amber gasped for clean air as she swam toward an outcropping, using the debris underfoot to propel herself forward. She slid onto the ledge and lay there, eyes closed, gagging and spitting. She lay still and quiet, catching her breath, evaluating her situation. An unusual sound penetrated her dilemma. She held her breath. She could hear humming. It was a woman’s hum, soft and lilting. She couldn’t see her adversary, but the humming confirmed her presence. Then she realized what she had done. She had identified her assailant as a female. Her mind wrestled with the notion. Her mind said male, the voice said female.
She traced the rim of the quarry with her eyes, looking for a way out. There was a a break in the wall on the far side of the quarry. She just had to get there via the only available route...through the pool of scum. She wasn’t sure if her attacker knew she had survived. Did it care? Best be quiet and wait for dark. A thought crossed her mind Would Sheila be joining her? She shuddered at the thought of both of them drowning in this pit. She steeled her thoughts and focused on surviving the ordeal.
She performed a quick evaluation of her physical condition. Her lower back hurt terribly. She had a sharp pain in her ribs. Her wrists and ankles suffered a few rope burns. Overall, she thought she was in fair condition. At least she could move. She felt her numerous pockets. They were empty. Everything was gone, even the picture of her mother which she carried in a secret pocket sewn inside her jacket sleeve. She felt her head, then wished she hadn’t. Her hair was matted and dripping swamp water. Where was her hat? Then she remembered. Despair overwhelmed her. She had been imprisoned, robbed and discarded like rotten meat. Would Sheila suffer the same fate?
She heard a rattle from above, then the husky voice addressed Sheila like a long lost friend.
“Nice to see you again, Whittaker. I don’t suppose you remember me, do you?
Amber strained to hear the reply but could catch only a word or two. Sheila’s voice didn’t carry. She thought she heard Jordan’s name mentioned. What did Jordan have to do with this? He was in Texas. She continued listening. Imagining the worst. Apparently Sheila was not cooperating. Apparently the husky hummer wasn’t happy about that. She heard a door slam, followed by the metallic rattle of a chain. Shortly thereafter, silence. What happened? She waited and waited, listening, soon the humming commenced. It sounded like the wedding march. She dozed off and on until the sun began to set, all the time working up the courage to slip into the filthy swill and swim for her life.
#
With the stealth of an Otter, Amber slipped into the green swill, holding her head as high as possible to avoid swallowing even a drop, she began to dog-paddle through the toxic swamp, focusing her mind and eyes on her destination three-hundred feet away. She sank beneath the sludge on several occasions as she searched with her feet for something solid to stand on, if just for a moment, to rest. Finally she found what she needed, a steel I-beam stuck out of the water like a half-submerged log. She clung to it, hyperventilating after the tremendous exertion. Using the beam as cover, she looked up to see if the giant she-man had detected her. The sky was moonless, dark and deep. She could barely make out the edge of the cliff. She had to keep going and she did. Stroke, kick, stroke, kick pushing the scum out of her way one yard at a time until she felt something solid under her feet. She waded to shore and collapsed into the brush. She was spent. She needed rest. She closed her eyes. Then fell into a deep sleep.
#
Sheila was having a fit, bound and locked inside a metal cabinet like a rodent. Jordan’s past had come to haunt her. Did he know that he had been followed all the way from Texas? Or was he? Who was following whom? Did he know there was a bounty on his head? One thing she knew for sure, Jordan would be looking for her. She rested her head on the steel floor, helpless to help herself. She closed her eyes hoping to sleep. Sleep didn’t come. She was tormented by her numerous mis-calculations. She had been sloppy and careless. She swore an oath to herself that she would not allow that to happen again. Moments ticked into hours as she wrestled
with the ropes that bound her and the hope that freed her.
#
Jordan exited the warehouse a scant minute behind Sheila, expecting to see her with a firm grip on one or two of the escapees. Instead, he saw no one. He was infuriated with himself. He had lost Sheila, again. His spontaneous journey had gone haywire. It should have culminated in a bullet to the head of his sister. Period. Quite the opposite had occurred. The motley mercenaries had thrown a box of wrenches into the mix with their unpredictable behaviors and impulsive actions. The situation was out of control. If his sister wasn’t alive, he would have left at the first sign of resistance. He had no desire to do battle with an enemy of unknown strength and resources but something had distracted him and it was gnawing at him like a locust.
After ‘retiring’ the original locomotive engineer in Salina, Kansas, he had spent hours in the cab of the lumbering locomotive day-dreaming about what might be inside the long line of blue containers that he was guiding North. There had to be some very useful items. He wasn’t a thief by nature but circumstances required one to take what one could get. He was interested in ammunition. Ammunition could be traded for anything on the black market. Ammunition was far more valuable than gold.
He checked his weapons and activated the NoVisVeil, rendering himself invisible. The only downside to the aging technology was that it would not function in the rain. That, he thought, would not be a problem.
He moved slowly, deliberately, there was no telling when one of the hillbilly mercenaries might suddenly appear. He had witnessed them in action and given their poor judgement and limited experience they were unpredictable and dangerous, prone to panic and quick on the trigger. He cinched the straps on his bullet-proof vest as the thought passed.
His mission was to eliminate Sheila as soon as possible. He began to doubt his decision to allow Sheila to travel North with Amber. He could have taken care of her in Salina when he first realized that the little gal from Tyler had actually stumbled upon his sister within three days. He didn’t believe in miracles, but that was close.