Sandy raised the AR she’d taken from Roy after he was killed. “Should I assume we’re back to square one on weapons and ammo as well?”
Nobel shook her head. “We lost part of the stash I’d saved from our gunshop, but I knew enough not to keep all my eggs in one basket. The vast majority is hidden in three locations around the city. I’m going to put a few of you in charge of retrieving those weapons, dividing them up further and reburying them.”
“Why not just leave them where they are?” Betty asked. As a nurse and a pacifist, weapons were never something she’d quite understood.
“Redundancy,” Nobel replied. “If a single cache is discovered, we stand to lose a third of our firepower. Better to spread out the risk. Plus, agents in the field will need access to caches deep within enemy-controlled territory.” Nobel’s eyes settled on Caleb. “It’s time you were given more responsibility. I’m putting you in charge of that operation.”
Brooke raised her hand. “I can help him,” she said eagerly.
Nobel shook her head. “I was going to have you work with Betty on setting up a nurse’s station.”
“I’m really not the nursing type,” Brooke countered.
Caleb smiled and nodded. “No offense to Betty, but Brooke is right.”
“So be it.” Nobel relented. She then divided up the rest of the responsibilities. Tyrell and three other resistance members would head out in search of food and water. Sandy and Keith would set out separately to search for survivors and help establish additional safehouses. She would ride with Keith until he could find her some form of transportation—ideally a mountain bike, since it was quiet and didn’t require gasoline. Walter, Ann and Nobel would stay here and help find dead spaces between walls and other places to hide supplies and people in the event of a raid. The rest would remain on sentry duty in rotating shifts. Things would be tough, no doubt about it, but at the moment there was no other option.
Chapter 14
Randy
Randy was pulling his cruiser into the sheriff’s office parking lot when he saw a large number of vehicles. In and around them were a number of Fernando’s men. The contrast between the various groups couldn’t be more pronounced. While the Brigade soldiers were busy removing prisoners and unloading boxes of documents, the cartel enforcers stood idly smoking cigarettes and cackling at crass jokes. Randy’s Spanish wasn’t very strong, but it was strong enough to pick out the nastier parts of their crude conversations.
Fernando was by the lead Humvee directing traffic. Next to him was an overweight Mexican named El Grande. The expression on the cartel boss’s face left no doubt whatever they had just done had been a resounding success.
“Sheriff Gaines,” Fernando said, waving him over. It sounded as though he were in an unusually chipper mood.
“Keith told me you wanted to have a word,” Randy said. He watched the boss pick at his teeth with the manicured nail of his index finger. Fernando Ortega might not be as bad as his spoiled and psychopathic son, but that was hardly a glowing endorsement. How Randy longed for the days when Encendido had been firmly under Mayor Reid’s control. Before Reid had become desperate and called on his underworld contacts south of the border for assistance. The second Edwardo had strode into Reid’s mansion, Randy recognized it had been the beginning of the end.
Be that as it might, Randy laid most of the blame for Reid’s poor decision squarely on Dale’s shoulders. If that glorified farmer had only rolled over like the others in town, none of this would have happened. Since then Randy had been forced to play defense, handing over more and more authority on a daily basis. It was only a question of time before Fernando had no more need for him and his deputies. But that couldn’t be allowed to happen. Even if that meant plugging his nose and helping the resistance. Randy was a survivor. He’d outlived the disease, outlived Mayor Reid and he intended to outlive the cartel.
“We’ve routed the enemy,” Fernando said proudly, stopping to examine something he’d plucked from between his front teeth before flicking it away. “They were holed up at a school west of here.” A Cheshire grin on the boss’ face slowly started to expand. “I’m sure you know the one.”
Randy nodded slowly. “You mean the community college?” he said, surprised.
Fernando nodded absently. “Yes, we killed many of them and even snagged ourselves a few prisoners. This was one of the reasons I needed to speak with you. These prisoners must be processed before we begin our interrogations.”
“Processed? How do you mean?”
“Come now, Sheriff, you don’t expect us to head into an interrogation empty-handed. We must be able to show these poor saps they have nowhere to hide. That we already hold in our possession everything there is to know about them. I trust you and your men will be able to identify their vulnerabilities.”
“What about Dale Hardy?” Randy asked, both hopeful about and terrified of what he might hear. Hopeful because Dale needed to be taught a lesson. But also terrified because he knew Dale was one of the few people with the skills to reorganize the town’s floundering resistance.
Fernando grinned. “Their leader is being questioned as we speak.”
Leader? Even Randy knew there were others closer to the top. Knew there might even be several factions. In spite of his own surprise learning that Keith was one of their operatives, his deputy had remained tight-lipped about any other details. Not that Randy was fixing on turning him in. Not when his main focus was bluffing his loyalty to the cartel while working to undermine it.
“And when you’re done with him?” he asked, referring to Dale.
Fernando raised his arm and tilted his head while tugging at an imaginary noose. “The same as the rest of our prisoners. They must be made examples of. The residents of Encendido are a proud and stubborn people, but they must be made to understand what will happen if they dare to stand against us.” The cartel boss regarded Randy for a moment and then slapped him playfully on the cheek. “I like you, Sheriff. Don’t ask me why, but I do. Maybe it’s because I sense in you a kindred spirit.”
Randy smiled weakly, not sure how he felt about the compliment. Fernando and his sociopathic son were about as soulless as they came, but was he cut from the same cloth?
“During the raid,” Randy asked, “did you happen upon an older woman named Betty Wilcox?”
“Names mean nothing to me,” Fernando said, annoyed. “But I can assure you no women were taken prisoner. Is this someone you know?”
Randy nodded. “Something like that.”
Fernando was about to leave when he stopped. “Oh, there’s something else. I would like any deputies not busy with the prisoners to be sent house to house.”
“Any particular reason why?” Randy asked.
The smile on the boss’ face faded into an icy, brooding look. “If there’s one thing I dislike most, it’s when people ask why. My first wife had that nasty habit. ‘Don’t go shopping today.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Make sure young Edwardo has something to eat for dinner.’ ‘Why?’ It got so bad I finally lost my mind. One night, she was talking to a girlfriend on the phone. I asked her to end the call, to which she replied with that terrible word. I grabbed a pool cue from the billiard room next door and swung it upside her head. After that I had El Grande drop her in a barrel of acid and bury it in the desert.”
Randy tried to swallow, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ortega. I didn’t mean any disrespect,” he said, juggling his words carefully. “I wasn’t clear what my men were looking for.”
The storm brewing on Fernando’s face cleared. “Terrorists,” he said, grinning again. “We got most of them, but a few managed to slip through the cracks. I’m confident that with your help, it won’t be long before they’re either lying in a mass grave or swinging from the scaffold.”
Randy had never imagined himself saying this, but—“Sir, aren’t you a bit concerned sending us house to house might pit the townspeople against you? I know it didn’t w
ork so well for us in Iraq. Folks here in America don’t take too kindly to dictatorship.” Randy was expecting to see that old anger in the boss’ face surge back. He was surprised when Fernando laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Sheriff, I’m not a dictator, I’m a protector. Like you, I would like to keep the streets of this great town and many others like it safe from terrorism. When we bring the criminals to justice, we will once again be able to live in peace.”
“I know firsthand that the people of Encendido are fiercely independent.”
Fernando knitted his heavy brow. “If you don’t feel your men are up to it, I’ll be more than happy to deploy the Brigade. I’m sure it’s a mission they’d greatly enjoy.”
Randy shook his head. “No, my men are up for the task. I only thought it wise that I speak my mind.”
“I know for a while you did your best to keep law and order in Encendido. But you asked for our help, and I don’t blame you because sometimes the worst kinds of cancer don’t respond to radiation. They need to be operated on. Sliced out with a scalpel and flung into the trash. That’s what we’re doing.”
“You’re the scalpel,” Randy said, unable to keep from smiling at the analogy.
Ortega shook his head. “No, you are.”
They stood regarding one another for a handful of seconds before Fernando turned to leave.
“One last thing,” Randy said. He hated being the one to deliver the bad news. “Our fuel reserves are really low.”
The dark clouds were starting to return. “How low?”
“Near empty. We’ve managed to scavenge quite a bit from around town these last few weeks, stabilized most of it for long-term use, but sending my men out on patrols all day long, well, it guzzles a lot of fuel.”
“I’ve already sent in a request a few days ago,” Fernando replied. “We’ll just have to wait.”
The comment immediately struck Randy as strange. Who had the request been sent to? And didn’t a guy like Fernando simply order what he needed, rather than submit a request?
Randy was mulling over this very question when a Humvee swung into the parking lot, skidding to a stop. Beige dust covered the vehicle as though it had been off-roading at high speeds.
Captain Lee jumped out, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. He was out of breath, tension forming deep grooves on his face.
Fernando watched him approach. To everyone around, it was apparent something had gone terribly wrong.
As Lee got near, the cartel boss waved a hand toward the sheriff’s office. “Don’t open your bloody mouth until we’re inside.”
Some of the enforcers who had been smoking and laughing looked on with concern.
Randy followed them in. He knew Captain Lee had left with Dale and two others. What had happened to worry the man so much? Randy’s curiosity was insatiable.
Fernando, Captain Lee and a handful of others stood in the reception area.
“He got away,” Captain Lee explained, his arms outstretched almost in a form of penitence.
“What do you mean he got away?” Fernando’s volatile mood swings were in full effect today and Randy was happy they were no longer directed toward him.
Captain Lee told them the story of how Dale had killed the Ventriloquist and then the driver.
“He’s been badly wounded in the abdomen,” Lee said, allowing the impression to float free that he had been responsible.
“Do you think he’ll bleed out?” Fernando asked, rubbing the scruff on his chin.
“Hard to say,” Lee replied. “I barely made it out myself.”
Fernando scanned him up and down. “You don’t appear to be wounded,” he observed, a hint of danger in his voice.
Captain Lee glanced down, his palms out, checking every inch of himself as if for the first time. “I guess not, but only by the grace of God.”
“Do not bring him into this,” Fernando hissed. “I don’t pay you and your men to run away.”
Now it was Captain Lee’s turn to be upset. “I lost a good man back there and at least half a dozen more in the assault on the college. I got a full report on the battle by my subordinates. You sent them head on against a fortified position when there were plenty of lateral entry points available. I didn’t come here so my men could be wasted. Yes, Mr. Hardy got away, but the second I refuel and resupply, I intend to put together a team to head back down and make sure the deed is done.”
For a moment, Randy realized the lack of fuel might mean Captain Lee and his team would be stranded in Encendido, giving Dale a chance to escape and begin the journey home.
A roaring sound from outside drew their attention. Randy turned and peered out the glass doors to see several trucks barreling along Coronado Boulevard. Three of them were tankers filled with fuel. The vehicles slowed and pulled into the sheriff’s office parking lot, the cartel men outside providing a security screen against attack.
“Looks like you’ve got the fuel you need,” Fernando said. “Now go get me Dale Hardy. Within twenty-four hours I expect him to be standing on that scaffold with a noose around his neck.”
Chapter 15
Dale
Riding a mule, Dale realized quickly, wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be. There was no saddle for Alberto, apart from two thick wool blankets folded and thrown over his back. After the first hour Dale lost the feeling in his rear end. By the second, he worried something would need to be amputated.
To some degree, the pain in his belly had settled after being treated by Javier back at their camp, although it tended to flare back up whenever he mounted or descended. They had stocked up with a paltry few supplies before heading out, something that worried Dale. In addition to the weapons and ammo he’d taken from his captors, Carlos had brought two rifles. One was a Winchester Model 70 bolt-action rifle he kept in a rifle scabbard on Alberto. The other was a scoped .22, slung over his back. Before heading out, Dale had also replenished his two canteens in a small well behind Carlos’ hut.
They continued north, through a low plain covered in desert bushes and the occasional cactus. It seemed they were heading toward a low mountain range, a spot which Dale could tell was deceptively far. By the time they stopped at the end of that first day to make camp, one of Dale’s water canteens was running dangerously low. He knew a lot about living on a homestead and being self-sufficient, but he would also be the first to admit living off the land wasn’t his strong suit.
The camp Carlos chose was well hidden, surrounded by a collection of vegetation. Dale dismounted, slowly and painfully. Afterward, Carlos tied Alberto to a nearby honey mesquite. He then poured water from a metal container into his cupped hand and brought it to Alberto’s mouth. The mule drank his fill and then nibbled at the nearby bushes. A few feet away, Dale busied himself scouring the campsite for twigs, branches and anything else they could use for firewood.
He paused when he saw Carlos reach into his knapsack and remove a black plastic bag and a short length of rope. Was Carlos really that environmentally conscious?
Dale was further perplexed when the young man fed several branches from a palo verde tree into the opening and cinched it shut with the rope.
The boy noticed the strange look on Dale’s face and explained that he was getting them water using a transpiration bag. Placing it over the branches of the tree would cause the heat from the sun to draw moisture into the bag, condensing droplets on the surface overnight. To Dale’s surprise, Carlos informed him the same branches could extract two gallons of water per day for three days. The beauty of this technique was that it worked with deciduous trees, coniferous trees and bushes alike.
With that done and a decent amount of wood gathered, Carlos smiled and patted the stock of his .22. “Now, Mr. Dale, we find dinner.”
The two stalked silently through the desert landscape hunting jackrabbits. As Carlos explained, they were plentiful and active all day long. Every so often, the boy stopped to inspect the ground, looking for the telltale signs an
animal was near. After twenty minutes of searching around, Carlos stopped and dropped to one knee, patting the palm of his right hand against empty air. Dale got down, wondering if his guide had seen something.
Carlos brought his right hand to his mouth where he licked the inside of slightly splayed middle fingers and laid them across his lips. He then made a sucking motion, as though he were drinking through a straw. Quickly, the move began emitting a strange squeaking sound. He continued until the furry head of a jackrabbit appeared from under a bush. Remaining quiet, Carlos nestled the rifle to his shoulder, eyed the scope and fired. The sharp crack was followed by the rabbit dropping into the dirt. Dale was impressed. Tonight they would eat well.
Just then, movement in the distance caught Dale’s eye and he pushed Carlos closer to the ground. Two vehicles, a beige Humvee and a pickup truck, headed west, moving at tremendous speeds.
“Are those the men who took you?” Carlos asked, watching them go by.
“Ten to one says they are,” Dale replied. “Where do you think they’re going?”
“My guess would be Cananea. Perhaps to get more men.”
Carlos was probably right. He had not seen anyone in the bed of the pickup. They seemed determined to recapture and then execute him in public to serve as an example to anyone else thinking of standing against the cartel.
They waited until the trucks were well out of sight before collecting their kill.
Back at camp, they skinned and gutted the animal, making sure to throw the entrails far from their sleeping area. There were plenty of coyotes and other wild animals around who might be attracted to a free meal.
Defiance: Judgment Day (The Defending Home Series Book 3) Page 8