by Jack Hunt
He looked on in horror at his brother’s beaten body hanging by his wrists from the pole at the center of the yard. A tear rolled down his cheek. He knew that he was responsible.
He thought he’d end up in the sweatbox, not beaten within an inch of his life.
Shelby had a bandage wrapped around his head.
“Well it looks like everyone is here,” Shelby said through his megaphone. “Now before you go, I thought it would be best to explain why this man here is being punished. As you know my aim is to provide freedom and to ensure those rights aren’t infringed upon by the government or any other group that’s out there. And to ensure your safety I have had to take matters into my own hands since the death of five of my men. This man you see before you, murdered them. Let me put that in perspective — the same people that were protecting you, he murdered them. Now I know you’re probably wondering, why should you care? It’s simple. We are the ones protecting you. And an attack on my men is an attack on you. There is no telling if he would have killed one of you and I certainly wasn’t going to wait until he did. That’s why he’s hanging there. And so if there is anyone else thinking of turning on us, let this be an example. Punishment will be swift and severe.”
Shelby fixed his gaze on Samuel. Samuel wiped the tears from his face but it was too late. He’d seen them.
“Today we will continue working on the wall to patch it up. I will also be having a group of you go out with ten of my men to hunt for food.”
“Hunt. But we have more than enough?” someone called out.
“Yes. Yes we do. However, those supplies dwindle every day, and we have even more mouths to feed. As you will come to learn, our group is very proactive. We don’t wait until the last minute before taking action, and neither should you.”
His words couldn’t have been clearer.
Samuel continued to stare at Ryan. He wasn’t looking at him. His head was drooping. Every so often it looked like he attempted to raise it but couldn’t. After everyone was dismissed, Samuel approached Shelby.
“Samuel. How can I help?”
“You said you would treat him fairly.”
“And I did.”
“By beating him?”
Shelby waved away his men. “Walk with me, Samuel.”
Samuel fell in step.
“I don’t have to remind you that we are living in dangerous times. In order to survive, hard decisions must be made. I’m not looking to win the admiration of anyone, neither will my actions be understood but rest assured, there is purpose behind them.”
“How long is he going to hang there?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“He’s still my brother.”
“And he’s a killer. Let’s not forget that. What would you have me do? Pamper him, lock him in a cell? What kind of message does that send to anyone else who might be considering walking in his shoes?”
“I thought you were going to place him in the sweatbox, like Timothy.”
“The punishment matches the crime. Do we place those who have murdered in a halfway house or in a maximum security prison?”
“Then how long are you going to keep him there?”
“For as long as I deem it necessary.”
“Which is?”
He stopped walking. “Do you know what else he did?”
Samuel looked at the bloody bandage.
“Let me show you.”
Shelby reached up and began to unravel the bandage. Once the final piece came off, it revealed a messed-up piece of skin hanging from his face. It was red and bloodied and completely raw.
“That’s right. He did that. I could have shot your brother. The fact that he is still alive is because I am fair. So don’t question me about what I should or shouldn’t do. Just fall in line and ask what you can do. Do I make myself clear?”
Samuel nodded. With that said, Shelby walked away leaving him to gaze upon his brother. He considered approaching him but the guilt was eating him up.
Chapter 19
Long before the sun rose, Jesse had been riding the streets of Lake Placid searching for that white Chevy truck that had been stolen from the police department a few months ago. He figured that whoever had taken it only had a few options for hiding it. Either it was inside a garage or concealed by a vehicle tarp. Using a mountain bike and the cover of darkness he’d been riding up and down streets in the hope of locating it. They could have used bikes to reach Saranac Lake that morning but that truck would have been real handy. He hadn’t told anyone when he left in the dead of night. Now, with the sun coming up, he’d all but given up, until he spotted it on the south side of town in an area where few people might have looked. He almost shot by it but caught it in his peripheral vision. After slamming on the brakes, he wheeled around and ditched his bike in a thicket of trees before bringing around his AR-15. As nervous as he was, there was a lot riding on this. As the sun broke over the trees he glanced down at his watch. It was close to six-thirty. They knew two men were using it as they’d encountered them on several occasions, usually after they had set fire to homes and stolen property.
Quickly, Jesse moved at a crouch through the trees surrounding the two-story white clapboard home. It had a white wraparound porch, black shingles and an American flag blowing in the breeze outside. His eyes scanned the windows looking for movement. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t leave keys in the vehicle and Damon had never shown him how to hotwire a car. In between the trees he could see the vehicle. His heart hammered in his chest. The exhilaration of finding it, and the anticipation of a confrontation kept him on his toes.
Shadows stretched across the lawn under the morning light. The chirping of birds in the trees, and the crunch of grass and gravel beneath his feet was all that could be heard. Jesse got as close as he could to the vehicle before darting out of the tree line and slamming his back into the truck. Breathing fast, he snuck a peek around the corner of the truck to check if he’d been spotted. So far so good. He readjusted his grip on the rifle and peered into the truck. He tried the door and it opened but sure enough there were no keys in the ignition. No surprise there. Still, he checked the center console and the glove compartment, as well as the sun visors before slipping out and heading towards the house. That morning he was wearing a ballistic vest and a SWAT helmet that he’d acquired from the department. His clothes were all black. On his back he had the words POLICE in white. It wasn’t his first choice of clothing but it was comfortable and light and easy to move in. He’d brought with him a hunting knife, a Glock 17 with two magazines, two smoke grenades and an AR-15 with three magazines. He expected to run into trouble and so was fully prepared.
He made his way up onto the back porch. He peered through one of the windows into a living room. It was rustic but elegant in appearance with cathedral-style ceilings, wood paneling and a large roaring fireplace at the far end. He tried the back door but it was locked. Holding his rifle low he moved forward, checking windows as he went. All of them were sealed tight. Whoever was inside wasn’t taking any chances. The front, rear and back doors were locked. He backed up from the house and figured he’d give the single red door on the north side of the home a try. It was located on the second floor. To reach it, he swung his rifle around his back and climbed up the porch and hauled himself over the lip of the balcony. As soon as he made it to the top, he waited another minute to be sure that no one had heard him before approaching and turning the knob. Again nothing. He was close to smashing a window when he gave the second-floor window a try.
At last — it shifted!
He slid the window up and ducked inside, dropping slowly to the floor and peering around the room. He saw a double bed that hadn’t been slept in, a high-end floor rug, two side tables and a few pieces of Adirondack-style furniture. Other than that, it was empty. Although he moved slowly the hardwood floor still creaked. Every time it did, he held his breath, keeping the gun trained on the door in anticipation.
His pulse rac
ed, and beads of sweat formed on his brow.
He stayed calm, moving slowly until he worked his way out to the hallway that overlooked the living room below. That’s when he saw them — five men, asleep.
Shit.
They were positioned around the corner from the ground floor window. That’s why he hadn’t seen them. Had he known, there was no chance in hell he would have risked it. He would have waited until they left in the truck and followed them but now he was in the lion’s den.
Right then he heard the creak of a floorboard and an adjacent door to a bedroom across the hallway opened. A man came out yawning, the belt on his jeans undone, and pawing at his eyes. He took one look at Jesse, and the shit hit the fan.
Jesse didn’t hesitate pulling the trigger.
He fired off one round. It struck the guy in the chest sending him stumbling back. Jesse released his rifle, grabbed a smoke grenade, gave it a pull and tossed it over the banister down into the living room. The five men, startled by the gun going off, were trying to get a bead on him when the red smoke filled the air, causing even more confusion. Jesse used it to his advantage and unleashed a torrent of rounds. Even though his aim had improved over the last six months, most weren’t accurate but three dropped, a fourth was injured and trying to return fire while the fifth bolted out the back door.
All around him wood spat and splinters flew as rounds tore up the paneling.
Smoke made it hard to see the fourth guy but it also blocked his view of Jesse.
An engine roared to life, and Jesse darted back into the room and out of the window. The white truck reversed and spun around preparing to exit the driveway. Although he didn’t want to risk destroying the truck, he had to stop the driver before he vanished. Jesse brought up the rifle just as the guy slammed his foot on the accelerator and the truck surged forward.
Pop. Pop. Pop. The rounds lanced the windshield, the driver swerved and slammed into a tree. Jesse was about to climb down when a bullet struck him in the back. He crashed to the floor of the balcony, turning in time to see the man he’d shot climbing out of the window. His rifle had fallen out of his hands and he was now lying on his side. As the guy fired again, the round missed and a chunk of wood hit Jesse in the face. Reaching for his Glock strapped to his thigh, he returned fire as another round from his attacker skimmed his shoulder. Jesse squeezed off round after round, four shots in rapid succession, each one hitting its mark, two in the chest, and two in the abdomen. Unfortunately for his attacker, he wasn’t wearing a vest like Jesse.
His legs buckled and Jesse heard him take his last few breaths.
Gasping on his back, Jesse touched his shoulder. The round hadn’t gone through but had nicked it. The ballistic vest stopped the one that had hit him in the back. He groaned. Even though he was protected by the vest, being struck by a bullet still hurt. He staggered to his feet and looked over the balcony. The driver of the truck hadn’t got out, and the engine was idling.
Jesse climbed down, and cautiously approached the vehicle.
There was no need to worry. One look and it was clear the guy was dead.
One of the rounds had struck him in the throat. He was slumped over the wheel.
Jesse dragged him out and dumped his body to the side of the road and then walked down to collect his bike. He dropped it in the back, shut off the engine and then returned to the house to collect weapons, ammo and whatever else might be of use. As he gazed around at the dead bodies and chugged down a can of Budweiser, he felt his confidence rise. Gathering what he could from the house, he peeled out of the driveway heading for home with a sense of accomplishment.
Roughly one hour later on the outskirts of Saranac Lake, Jesse spotted the two of them. Elliot was holding up Gary and both of them looked exhausted. At first they must have thought they were in trouble as they hurried into the woodland to the north of Highway 86. As they got closer, Jesse veered off and Maggie called out to them.
Minutes later they sank into the warmth of the rear seats while Clive Robins and two other men got in the back.
“Where’s Damon?” Jesse asked.
“Just head back,” Elliot said in an exhausted manner.
“Is he dead?”
“No.”
“Then where is he?”
“Jesse, just listen to me. Gary needs medical attention. Go. I’ll explain on the way.”
He swerved around, glancing down the road towards a sign for Saranac Lake before heading back to Lake Placid. On the way Elliot brought him up to speed on what had happened. Sean and Zach were dead, Ella was captured and Damon was going it alone.
“You left him there?”
“I had no choice. It was that or leave Gary.”
Jesse slammed his fist against the wheel.
“I’ll drop you off and then Clive and the rest of us will go back.”
“No. It’s too dangerous. There are too many of them.”
“Then how the hell is he going to survive?”
“He made the call, Jesse. He knows the risk.”
“And that’s it? We’re just going to leave him?”
“You have no idea who or what we were up against. I don’t like it any more than you but my concern is for Gary, then getting out of Lake Placid.”
“And leave him behind?”
“We have no choice.”
“You said we always have a choice.”
Elliot looked at him. Gary groaned in agony. The pain seemed to have intensified.
“I’m not having this discussion now.”
“Of course not,” Jesse said clenching his jaw. “Well you might be okay with leaving him behind but I’m not.”
“He can take care of himself.”
“Bullshit!”
Elliot didn’t respond any further. He glanced out the window looking off into the distance. When they returned, Rayna was there to meet them.
Neither Maggie nor Jesse told Elliot what had happened to Jill or Rayna. Rayna had told Maggie not to say anything about the rape, and to let her tell Gary about Jill. What she didn’t expect was to see him in the state he was when they pulled into the driveway. Elliot was the first out.
“Rayna. Give me a hand,” Elliot said.
Gary’s moaning got worse as they carried him down into the bunker so Elliot could treat his wounds. There was very little that could be done for broken ribs. Although it was painful, it was a common injury but without being able to take an X-ray they had to hope that none of the blood vessels or internal organs had been damaged. Best case scenario was he was looking at a good two months of recovery time, and chewing a shitload of pain medication.
“Where’s Jill?” Gary asked.
“Rest up,” Rayna said covering him with a blanket.
She tapped Elliot on the arm and he told Gary that he’d be back to check on him. Outside, Jesse and Maggie watched from a distance as Rayna talked with Elliot. They could only guess what she was telling him.
Chapter 20
Ella’s screams could be heard long before Damon had the Rusty Nail in his sights. He tightened his grip on the rifle and tried to stop his imagination from running wild. What was he doing? Damon crouched behind a tree. He snuck a peek knowing that going in was suicide. He’d contemplated throughout the night different ways of tackling the problem. He’d considered turning himself in and pledging allegiance to his group, in the hopes that he’d take him onboard as one of his men, but that idea fell by the wayside. They’d killed too many of his group. He wouldn’t buy it. Dallas would probably execute him or assume it was just a setup. And even if he didn’t, the chances of Damon getting near Ella would be slim to none. That didn’t leave many options. He could grab one of his men and use him as leverage to do an exchange but chances were Dallas would rather see his own men die than hand Ella over. They were nothing but a means to an end. Magnus had been proof of that.
Then of course there was the hope that Elliot would have a change of heart and return but even if he did, it could be hours
before he returned. Another scream cut through him like a cold wind. He couldn’t wait. She’d be dead by then.
His only option was to kill as many of Dallas’s men as possible before they realized they were being taken out. He wished it were night so he could use the cover of darkness. It would have been a hell of a lot easier but he had to go with the cards he’d been dealt.
Dallas loved every minute of it. He had Ella strung up by her wrists. The rope was slung over a thick wooden ceiling beam and tied off behind the bar. He had taken a hunting knife and torn down the back of her shirt exposing her bare skin so he could whip her with cable taken from the lighting equipment in the bar.
He stepped back to admire his work. Her back was red and raw with stripes that cut into the skin. He was sweating from whipping her for five minutes straight. Each time she passed out from the pain he would splash wine on her face.
Her head hung low and she groaned.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it? You know, what the body can withstand,” he said.
Dallas took a swig of his beer.
“I imagine by now you are wondering where your friends are?” He lit a cigarette, blew smoke out his nostrils then circled her. He smiled, satisfied that she was receiving a punishment that was worthy of her crime. “I know I would be.” He nodded and took another drag before sniffing hard. “Well I hate to piss on your fire but I don’t think they’re coming. In fact I got word from one of the blockades on the east side that two of them were seen limping away, heading for Lake Placid, I believe. Does that sound right?” He got close to her and blew smoke in her face, then took a swig of his beer.
“I remember,” she mumbled. It was so quiet he barely heard her.
“What?”
“I said I remember.”
“Remember what?”
“Killing your brother.”
He gritted his teeth. “Go on.”
“Yeah. It’s all coming back to me.” She raised her head, her face swollen from multiple beatings. “Begged for his life.” She snorted. “He was a real pussy. I’m guessing the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”