Devastation

by Paul Kirk

  “What’s your take on her comin’ around?”

  “I dunno, ma’am. She’s coming around a bit. Starting to do some mumbling today. That’s a good sign, I think. The infection in her leg wound and her fever pose an ongoing challenge. Give her another day or two and we’ll know.”

  “We’ll do that. Not that I have much choice.”

  “Go ahead, ma’am, ask the question.”

  “Alright, I will. How’s the baby?”

  “Cassie says the baby hasn’t aborted and that the woman’s only in toward the end of her first trimester. She says the infection in her thigh shouldn’t hurt the baby at this stage.”

  “Another baby. Can you believe it, Scott?”

  “Yeah, we’ve got more than we hoped for coming out on this little adventure, huh?”

  “Yep. Let’s hope she comes outta it, though.”

  “Of course.”

  “In the meantime, you need some sleep.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That’s an order.”

  “Understood, I will.”

  “I mean it, Scott. I do”

  “Yeah, I know. ‘Night.” Scott forced his head deeper into his sleeping bag, closing his eyes. Convincingly, he appeared asleep in seconds. Satisfied, Colonel Starkes strolled down the side stairs to the second floor, spotting the major speaking to several men and a few natives near a folding table in the center of the room. She waited near the stairwell for an opening in the discussions and then slipped to the major's side.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Same. Maybe a bit better according to Scott.”

  “He’s still awake?”

  “No, I ordered him to sleep. Cassie kicked him out, he’s sleeping nearby, right next to the door.”

  “Huh. That man carries loyalty to a new level.”

  “He sure does. Glad he’s on our team.”

  “I hear that.”

  “Shamus and GT should be proud to have had him as a friend,” suggested Colonel Starkes.

  “Oh, they are, ma’am. Hell, they’re just as loyal to him as he is to them.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “There’s some serious history with those three. I’d love to know more about it.”

  “Right. There is that. When you know more...let me know.”

  “Huh. It’d take a nuclear bomb to separate those three for any length of time.”

  “Hmm—”

  “It’s uncanny.”

  “Speaking of your friend Shamus, what’s he saying about all this?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “C’mon, major. What’re you and Shamus focusing on at the moment?”

  “Umm—”

  “Dammit, you have a green light for speculation. Go. Where’re you two putting your brainpower?”

  “We’ve secured enough fuel and established a safe haven, and mostly restocked supplies. As a result, we’re wondering about checking back in on Phoenix. You know, to see what’s up.”

  “A huh.”

  “Maybe settle a few scores. If we can.”

  “Hmm, it’s funny how you two think. That’s my thoughts exactly.”

  “Ma'am?”

  “What? You think I have no urge for revenge?”

  “No offense, ma’am—”

  “C’mon, don’t get your panties in a bunch, major. I’m just pushing your buttons.”

  “Oh.”

  “How about you and a few men make a recon run to check in on that bastard for me? Would you?”

  “Phoenix?”

  “Are we talkin' about someone else?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I didn't think so.”

  “Okay. I'm on it.”

  “Pure recon at this point, understood?”

  “Okay.”

  “Check that…if you have a clear shot at the bastard, don’t let me stop you. Or, if you so chose, when you’re fired upon.”

  “Understood.”

  “But don’t go looking for a fight, hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You know how critical that bird is to our return trip."

  "Of course."

  "Have at it, major. In the meantime, I’m going to check in on CJ and Nicole.”

  “Sure. Right.”

  “I’ll give them your regards.”

  “Thank you, ma'am.”

  Colonel Starkes left the floor. Chest heaving slightly in excitement, Major O’Malley felt a surge of pride in serving such a fine commander.

  CHAPTER 7.5-Rory

  “Rory made it back an hour ago with a report, Phoenix.”

  “Rory?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who the fuck’s he?”

  “Umm, he's the young upstart we found comin’ outta Toledo a year or so back. Full name’s Rory McDonnell. Redhead sporting a Mohawk. Serious attitude. You remember him, don’t you?”

  “Hmm…”

  “You nearly put a bullet in ‘im when he first showed up.”

  “Oh yeah...the tough, skinny little bastard who took out five men when we caught him stealing those two horses?”

  “Yep. Not so skinny, but, yeah, him.”

  “If memory serves, you pressed the issue not to kill him when we caught up to him. Why’s that again?”

  “Well, because I found out he was a trained Navy Seal and could be pretty damn useful if we could turn him to our ends.”

  “Did we?”

  “Seems like it today.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “How ‘bout I bring him in and let him speak for himself.”

  “Sure, uncle. Sure. And, let Rory know if I don’t like what he’s saying, I just might kill him where he stands.”

  “Ahh, okay.”

  Reed opened the penthouse door. Nodding, the two huge bodyguards signaled to the smaller, muscular man who stood nearby, letting him enter the suite. Calmly, Rory McDonnell strolled through the doors, self-assured. Not slowing down, he made his way straight to the wet bar, as if he owned the suite. Passing Phoenix, he smiled, but continued in his efforts to fix himself a drink.

  “I’ll shoot you, you fuck, you touch my good liquor.”

  “Well, so shoot me, Phoenix...go on then.” Rory poured a generous tumbler of Wild Turkey barely glancing at Phoenix or Reed. “Look at that, we got ice!” he yelled. Satisfied after tossing in a few cubes from the bucket, Rory toasted no one in particular and took a long, deep drink.

  “Uncle?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell me why I haven’t shot this asswipe yet.”

  “Umm, because he knows the whereabouts of that third party involved in the firefight.”

  “Right. Yeah, that’s right!” Phoenix snapped his fingers. “Okay. Sure. Then, I guess I’ll just shoot him after we hear what he has to say.” Phoenix pointed the barrel of the Judge in the direction of the small, muscular, red-haired man.

  Gauging Phoenix’s reaction, Rory halted his third deep sip of the Wild Turkey. “You mind pointing that piece of shit Judge somewhere else?”

  “Yeah, I’d mind.”

  “Hah! I guess I better give you some street cred, Phoenix, before you up and shoot me.”

  “What?”

  “Gotta give you some credit. You built Cleveland into a workable town these past five years. Mighty admirable. Heard about it all mostly second hand, ya know, ‘cause I’ve only been hanging for a year.”

  “Huh?”

  “But, gotta give you that, no question...you da man…plus, you built a community here that cracks a solid effort at sustenance and control. Though a bit overbearing at times…”

  “What are you rambling?”

  “You da man, see? And, you’ve got a decent formalized and well-armed paramilitary unit in excess of 600 men set up under your direct control nicely broken into effective “Pride” brigades, trucks and cavalry which is, perhaps, the most impressive.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Though, now that I think on it, I’ll have to kn
ock that count down about fifty or sixty or so men.”

  Gritting his teeth, Phoenix stared at the young man. “Start talking some sense, kid.”

  “Kid? I ain’t much younger than you. But, I guess, Phoenix, it’s the reason why you ain’t dead yet with a broken neck.”

  “Rory?” cautioned Larry Reed.

  “No, uncle. I see where this is going. Let Rory talk. He's an ex-navy seal. Now I remember why I let this bastard live.”

  “Why’s that, Phoenix?” asked Rory McDonnell, interested. He stared into the huge barrel of the .45 pointed in his direction. He seemed to have no care at all.

  “Well, because you got more balls than brains.”

  “Huh, how about that? People have said that before—”

  “Start talkin’ before I shoot ya. For real. Especially now, because you’re drinking my Turkey.”

  “It’s very tasty. Thank you.”

  “I don’t like that.”

  “Oh, sorry on that.”

  “Start talkin’.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Where’s the rest of the men that were with you?” asked Phoenix.

  “Dead. Just where Paulson took ‘em.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that piece of shit shoulda never had the privilege of managing men in combat.”

  “Larry? Talk to me,” said Phoenix. He kept his focus on Rory.

  “Tommy Paulson was a good man, Rory. A good tracker and leader. Watch it, Rory.”

  “Yeah, maybe he was, Larry, like you say. When nothing was threatening to cut him down dead on the spot.” Slugging the last dregs of the Wild Turkey, Rory returned to the bottle and made himself a fresh new tumbler, ice and all. Clearly, he was daring Phoenix to shoot him.

  “So tell us what the hell happened, Rory. You’re testing my limits, boy.”

  “Like I said, so shoot me.”

  Phoenix pointed the Judge at the glass in Rory’s hand and fired. The glass full of whiskey exploded and the bullet took a huge chunk of the hand attached to it. Surprised, Rory stared, in shock. Not hesitating, Phoenix slipped a step closer, aiming the Judge at Rory’s head, intent clear.

  “Fuck you, Phoenix.”

  “No, Rory. I’ve had just about enough of your games. Start talking real shit in three, two—”

  “Okay, okay! We followed them to Youngstown! Near a steel mill. They looked like—”

  Phoenix blew the entire back of Rory’s head off at point blank range before he completed his last sentence. Brain matter splattered onto the wall mirror behind, oozing down in a red, slurry cream. Calmly, Phoenix stepped across Rory's body and stood at the bar to fix a fresh Jack over a few tinkling cubes of ice. Still standing near the door, Larry Reed waited.

  “Uncle?”

  “Yeah, Phoenix?”

  “You and I are going to take my entire army after that man, that Connor MacMillen. We're going after him. You understand? I want to be in Youngstown by tomorrow night!”

  “Can’t be tomorrow,” said Reed, bracing for the outburst, “and it can’t be the entire army.”

  “What?” Phoenix struggled to keep some semblance of calm, bracing his hands on the bar. He forced his trembling fury to subside. Larry struggled not to glance at the Judge sitting on the bar.

  “You’ve spoken about the military weakness of overextending yourself. On several occasions, like in Erie, Phoenix—”

  “Fuck Erie!”

  “And, sending the entire army after that small team in Youngstown is overkill and just plain dangerous.”

  “You’ll do it if I say.”

  “Probably, but I’m hoping you see that frustration’s got a bite on your ass. Just take a minute to calm down.”

  “Calm down my ass!”

  “Besides, why not go after Starkes?”

  “We don’t know where the Bitch took that ‘copter except she was heading east!”

  “Good point. We know she went east and that’s about it.”

  “Both Starkes and that other team that screwed up our assault are heading east if Rory’s assessment is accurate.” Phoenix shifted into his thinking, calculating mode; Larry calmed somewhat, seeing the transition.

  “Let’s ask Rory…” suggested Larry, “Oh, maybe not.” He pointed to the dead Rory resting on the floor.

  “Don’t be a smartass. He was drinking my Turkey, like it was his birthright.”

  “That much is true.”

  “So, if both Starkes and that weasel Connor MacMillen are heading east, maybe we can end up killin’ two birds with one very big fuckin’ stone? Huh?”

  “Well, thank you, I do hear a plan finally forming.”

  “You know, that little team of men has seriously pissed me off and royally screwed up my plans! I know it was that Connor MacMillen they were waiting for, who else?”

  “We’ll need to keep at least 120 men in reserve guarding Cleveland and maintaining order, Phoenix. I'll have to activate them to full status and full pay.”

  “I see…”

  “Added to that, we’ll need at least forty-eight hours to establish the supply chain and have the men properly outfitted.”

  “You're right, dammit!” Phoenix slammed his hands onto the bar, shaking the floor beneath. Becoming more comfortable, Larry explained the required logistics.

  “Okay nephew, now listen up, you hear? If we’re taking more than one or two Pride Brigades, we need to plan this right, like always. Any less time and we’ll have to play catch up—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Fuck! You got two days. You hear me?”

  “I can work with that.”

  “Two days. And we go find him. We find that Bitch of a president and the ‘copter, too; we’re going to bring all of that back for Cleveland to see up close and personal, you understand? Heads on pikes. Broken bodies on display.”

  “Sure...I do.”

  “We burn him here, slowly, in front of everyone. This Connor MacMillen first...no, last.”

  “Umm—”

  “Go on. Make it happen now, uncle. Let’s move.”

  Larry Reed wasted no time exiting the room.

  CHAPTER 7.6-Seven Days

  “She's not comin’, Mac. It’s been seven days. You said we’d wait five. Today’s eight.”

  “I know, John.”

  “So?”

  “So...I’m tryin’ to wrap my mind around the fact that Amanda’s...truly gone,” said Connor.

  “She saved the president; she paid the price,” suggested McLeod. His voice was gentle, probing.

  “Yeah, I think she most likely did save her, didn’t she?”

  McLeod stared east with the yellow sun rising on an uneventful stay at the Youngstown mill. He and Connor sat near the main camp atop the rusting steel billet in the shipping yard. Each to his own, they sipped a strange hot tea Rhonda had handed them a few minutes ago; liking the taste, McLeod detected a faint aroma of chamomile along with a hint of peppermint.

  “I think...I think she’s gone, Mac...we have to face it.”

  “Like hell.”

  “No...they woulda come by now. Amanda and the president. She knew the plan.”

  Connor sipped from the cup, before he splashed the remainder on the ground in anger. “Huh. You know, maybe she’s just outta commission from her injuries. Knocked her ass out, that’s one possibility. Don’t forget, Marty said she went down and they scooped her up.”

  “Sure...not likely, Mac, but maybe. But seven days? Going on eight? C’mon, Mac. Even you have to admit things aren’t looking up.”

  “I know. I know.”

  McLeod caught movement in the main camp to his left, tracking toward BB and Marty. Early risers, they were gathering gear outside their tents with a plan to do some more fishing at the pond near the southeast entrance. Of course, all had heard about the catfish and turtles stealing most of their bait the past few days; both men were intent on some serious revenge. Glancing past the two men, McLeod observed Jason and Jude tending the horses, brush
ing their coats and occasionally slipping each of the five horses a few handheld treats. Fifty feet to the right of them, in a battered and patched brown tent, Roger was most likely still asleep as was Cody, each bundled in the plump sleeping bags they favored. Indeed, waking those two up early was always a challenge and Rhonda was fairly protective of their morning sleep time, even while she helped prepare the morning meal for the crew.

  “We gonna wait the day out, Mac?”

  “Your thoughts?”

  “We go.”

  “Just like that! It’s that easy?”

  “Never said it was going to be easy. Not for you. Not for Marty. Not for any of us. You know that.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s simply something that has to be done. And, trust me; I know a little bit about moving on.”

  “Hmm.”

  “We need to move, Mac. As a team. Have some direction. We’re following you, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “So, what’s it going to be? Huh? We here for another day?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Well, I need to know because I have a new basket weaving project I’ve just got to finish.”

  “You always this much of a prick, McLeod?”

  “No.”

  Connor stared at his empty mug. McLeod continued. “Only when it seems necessary.”

  “Never did kill that fat rattlesnake for dinner,” mumbled Connor.

  “What’s that?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Okay.”

  Connor studied John McLeod, critiquing him deeply. Early in their travels, he’d come to the conclusion that the older man was a hard, yet gentle traveling companion and, surprisingly found he was glad to have him around. Casting a serious eye toward the bleakness of the barren steel yard, he whispered his thoughts. “I’m glad you found us, McLeod.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I said I’m glad you had the guts to come up on us at that old farmhouse.”

  “Ahh, yeah.”

  “You’re a great traveling companion.”

  “Oh...right.” McLeod took a moment to sip his tea, making an effort to clear his throat; Connor noticed.

  “Don’t go all wispy eyed ‘cause I said that, McLeod. It just needed said.”

  McLeod swiped at his left eye, as if some dust had blown in before squinting hard. They stared toward the main camp and saw Marty and BB stroll up to check in, likely wondering what today might bring.