A Haunt of Jackals

by G. R. Carter

  A strong hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He didn’t bother to see who it was, he just kept watching down the corridor, waiting for the mob to appear.

  He didn’t care, he’d fight them all. One at a time or all two thousand. He was going to kill all of them for what they’d done to his men—every last one.

  Chapter 22

  Ridgeview Hunting Lodge

  Rural Brown County, Illinois

  Night Two of the Great Reset

  The sounds of night were a serenade, the solar storms a shadow ballet dancing across the stems and stalks of autumn fields. Sy was dozing on the comfortable seat of his four-wheeler, his beat-up old Carhartt a cocoon against the night’s chill. At least an hour had passed since the last load of guests had arrived, maybe longer.

  Headlight beams appeared around the corner, bouncing as they passed over Wolf’s Creek Bridge. The unmuffled exhaust of an old grain truck echoed in the night as the driver stomped the accelerator. His foot was on it until the last moment, then the brakes squealed, trying to bring the heap to a stop. The back tires were sliding on the gravel when it finally came to a rest a few feet beyond the lodge’s driveway entrance.

  Sy didn’t need to read “Tucker and Sons Farm” painted on the side to know who it was. Everyone in the county knew the truck from a thousand trips to the grain elevator. Old Man Tucker stayed seated behind the steering wheel. His window was down and he leaned out to talk to Sy. The truck was still running—not so loud now, but still too much noise for a decent conversation. Tucker turned the truck off and he waved for Sy to come over.

  “Awful big hurry there, ain’t ya, Tucker?” Sy called as he dismounted. His bad knee, a memento from his football days, was stiff from sitting so long. The blood started to flow as he made the walk to Tucker’s truck. He climbed up on the running board and looked inside.

  “Hey, Dillon,” Sy said to the man in the passenger seat. The youngest Tucker son was just a couple years younger than Sy, and was a former teammate. They’d never been close, but were as familiar as everyone who’d played ball together. He was holding a long-barreled rifle, pointed out the window on the other side. “Rollin’ heavy tonight?”

  “Sure am, Sy,” Dillon replied. “Looks like you’re doing the same.”

  “Got a couple coyotes the other night. Figured I might get another tonight while waiting on folks to arrive. Surprised to see you all on this side of town.”

  “We got trouble, Sy,” Burton Tucker said. The man was dead serious and not in his usual sparring mood. “The prison’s gone dark. Looks like the animals are rioting.”

  Sy whistled softly. “Man, of all the places I wouldn’t want to be when the lights go out. Like a nightmare.” He thought about Kara’s ex-husband; that didn’t bother him so much. Whatever happened to him was well deserved. But there were plenty of other folks he knew who worked out there, good people just trying to make a living in a dangerous spot. “I hate it for those guards. Tommy Morton’s dad is one of the higher-ups, isn’t he, Dillon?”

  The younger Tucker nodded. Tommy Morton had been his best friend growing up. They remained close until the day Tommy was killed in the Sandbox. “Yeah, Red is a good man. I know he’s out there. Figure he’s in the thick of it, knowin’ how serious he takes his job.”

  The three were silent for just a moment, each lost in the thought of themselves trapped in the dark surrounded by two thousand angry inmates.

  “It’s bad news. I wish we could help in some way. But I still don’t see why that brings you fellas all the way over here in the dark,” Sy said.

  “We think some’a them animals got out of the cage,” the elder Tucker told him. “There was an explosion at the prison. Lights went out. There’s been gunfire, too. Folks heard automatic weapons outside in the yard.”

  “Holy…” Sy stuttered.

  “Dang right,” Dillon Tucker said. “Imagine if just a fraction of those inmates get into town. Pitch-black, can’t see nothin’. Man, that’s gonna be bad.”

  “We need to tell Sheriff Gray,” Sy said.

  Tucker shook his head. “Already been to see him. He’s got one deputy in town, that’s all. The other one is out at the Kaplan place, trying to figure out if they had something to do with the explosion. Witnesses talked about a couple old trucks and some jeeps being around there just before it went up.”

  Sy nodded. “Sounds like the Kaplans, all right. Wouldn’t want to be that deputy out there snoopin’ around their place at night.”

  He patted the side of the truck. “I sure do thank you for coming out to warn us, fellas. I don’t guess anyone would make it out this far. But I guess we can’t be too careful.”

  Old Man Tucker’s voice growled in anger. “You think we just drove over here to warn you, Bradshaw? You’re thicker than I thought you were, and that’s sayin’ something, believe me. I come to fetch you and as many trigger-pullers as we can muster to head for town. Sheriff Gray’s outnumbered. There’s kids in town, women too, helpless. We got to get into town and make sure none of those creatures get to 'em.”

  Sy felt guilty at first for not thinking about that, then angry at what Tucker had said. “You mean like a posse?” he asked. “Tucker, these guys stayin’ here tonight have never shot at anything more than a deer. And several of them never even done that. You’re talkin’ about arming them and sending them into a pitch-black town to search for escaped killers?”

  “Dammit, boy, ain’t you been listening? Your people are under attack. Folks you went to school with, go to church with. There’s women and children in there, boy. Don’t you know what those demons will do to them?” Tucker growled.

  Sy refused to let himself picture what would happen, but he knew Tucker was right. He could no more leave those folks in Mt. Sterling to face this danger alone than he could if the lodge itself was under attack. “Okay, Tuck. You’re right. I wasn’t thinkin’ straight. I’ll get as many together as I can and we’ll be right back down.”

  The truck’s engine fired back up. “We can’t wait. I got half a dozen men in the back of the truck already. We’ll meet you down by the municipal building. Maybe some of the Kaplans are downtown, protecting their Brown Boar tavern. Hate to do it, but maybe we oughta link up with them. Hurry as much as you can.”

  Sy stepped down off the running boards and Tucker whipped the truck into the driveway. He slammed on the brakes, threw it into reverse and made a perfect three-point pullout. The gears whined as they synchronized, then all that was left was the sound of the engine, some dust, and one taillight in the distance.

  The noise faded, replaced by Sy’s four-wheeler’s engine. He kicked it in gear and pushed the throttle, picking up speed. The night air felt good on his face, and he didn’t mind the occasional bug that smacked against his skin. His mind raced. He had a lodge full of people, and now that burden would fall directly on Kara. He tried to think of what he would say to the crowd assembled at the lodge. He did a quick mental inventory of his weaponry, trying to remember who was staying at the lodge tonight and how to match them up with the right piece.

  There were plenty of people still up and moving around the lodge grounds when he came rolling in. He turned the key and killed the engine, letting the machine roll silently to a stop in front of the double-width staircase leading up to the grand entrance of the lodge. He jumped off in one motion, perfected from a thousand such dismounts. Two steps at a time, he bounded up to find Kara while the butt of his rifle thumped him in the leg each time. He switched shoulders as he walked through the double doors and into the Great Room.

  The whole space bristled with energy. It was the good kind of chaos. The sweet pandemonium of Christmastime at the grandparents’, when all of the cousins were in town and every inch of the living room floor would be covered with blankets and kids. Kara of course was right in the middle of it all, smiling and handing out needed supplies. One of the lodge staff was with her, holding a box of goodies and passing them to anyone looking for a snack. She
looked up and noticed Sy’s face; she acknowledged it with a simple nod. Kara turned to the staff member standing next to her and said something, then turned back to wave Sy to the kitchen entrance.

  He recognized nearly everyone packed onto the Great Room floor, and as he walked by he said hi, smiling and joking with anyone he could. A sense of conflict welled inside him. He was mad at Tucker for implying he might be doing wrong staying here to help at the lodge. After all, he’d opened his home to anyone wishing to stay. That was more than Tucker had been willing to do.

  He grabbed an apple off of the kitchen counter when he walked in, rubbed it on his coat, then took a bite. Several hours had passed since his last meal, and his rumbling stomach reminded him that wasn’t standard operating procedure. He explained everything Tucker told him about what was happening at the prison, about the danger to the town. His heart hurt as Kara’s eyes watered. She mouthed the word “Peter,” then wiped her eyes with a drying towel hanging from the sink.

  She regained her composure, took a deep breath and simply asked, “So what’s the plan?”

  Her brother stared at her for a moment, surprised at her reaction. “You thinkin’ we oughta do something?”

  The look on her face told him he’d said something stupid. “Of course we should, Sy. We can’t just let something like that happen to our neighbors.”

  “We got a whole lodge full of neighbors right now,” he said, hurt once again at the implication he didn’t want to help.

  She conceded the point, looking out the kitchen window at people milling around a fire in the big stone ring that contained it. “What if they come here?”

  “The prisoners?”

  She nodded, still watching out the window. “After they’re done in town, they’ll be looking for more.”

  “I don’t know, Sis. Heck, most folks raised in that town have trouble finding us out here. I can’t imagine them prisoners could,” he replied.

  Kara wasn’t convinced by his tone. “We’ve got pamphlets up at every store and restaurant left in town. Plus, who knows what folks might say just to…” She didn’t finish, frozen by the evil image that popped into her mind. “We’re wasting time. We need to get a group put together to go help Tucker.”

  Sy was shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe the state police, or the National Guard, or somebody won’t be here to help. I’m sure Sheriff Gray got ahold of a government official. Regular folks shouldn’t have to do this sorta thing.”

  “Wake up, Sy!” Kara yelled at her brother. The big man startled at his sister’s tone. “There’s no one coming to help tonight! Maybe in the morning, or the afternoon, or who knows when? But not tonight! Good God, I would have thought you’d figure that out by now. You think the government’s coming to help us if the cities are in trouble? We’re just about last on their list when times are good!”

  Sy’s temper flared. “You all are acting like it’s the end of the world out there! The freakin’ power’s been off for just a couple days. Ain’t like it’s the end of civilization as we know it. This is America, for cryin’ out loud. There’s laws to stuff!”

  Kara’s face was stern. “Ben warned me that people wouldn’t be able to accept it when the day finally came…” she said, to herself as much as him. “Listen, Sy, I tell you what. You stay here and look after the guests. I’m going to raise whoever I can out of the group and head into town to help Tucker, okay?”

  “Ah, dammit, Sis,” Sy said as he slammed his hat on the stainless steel countertop. The metal buckle on the adjustable band struck the steel in a loud smack. He put the cap back on and stomped out of the kitchen.

  She stood by herself for a moment. A brief self-congratulation for getting her way was quickly replaced by the dread of what she’d done. Her brother was now headed into a very dangerous situation, one she’d caused him to do against his better judgment. She started to walk out to stop him when she heard him announce in the Great Room, “Listen up, please. I need all men to meet me in the tractor shed as soon as possible.” He walked out the entrance doors and stood on the porch, repeating the same announcement. She watched out the kitchen windows through tears as he took one long stride after another, calling out the meeting, as he made his way out to the tractor shed now serving as the men’s quarters.

  Going to help was the right thing to do, she knew that to be the truth. But good people got hurt doing the right thing sometimes. She prayed this wouldn’t be one of those times.

  Chapter 23

  Western Illinois Correctional Facility

  Mt. Sterling, Illinois

  Night Two of the Great Reset

  Before tonight, Morton hadn’t thought he could ever equal the depths of depression he'd reached at the death of his wife and son. He was smart enough to know his body chemistry was still reacting to the massive adrenaline dump it had used to save him in the warden’s office. The sight of his people brutally raped and murdered wrenched every feeling of hope out of his body. He’d fought panic as he and the surviving Eels fought their way back down the darkened maintenance tunnel, man on man with any weapon come to hand, or simply with fists when nothing else was available.

  And now, after they’d reached the door to safety—the one leading into the loading dock, armory and holding pen—no one was home. This must be what rock bottom really was.

  Morton told his men to keep pounding on the heavy steel door. He kept one ear listening for the slide of metal on metal as the three-inch bar was removed from the other side. But the only sound was his men pounding and yelling for help.

  Not here, not now, not after all this.

  The last batch of the pursuing inmates lay in a heap at their feet. Morton kept staring down the tunnel, waiting for signs of another rush of Syn-crazed maniacs. His eyes were playing tricks on him, making him see movement.

  No. If I panic, we’re all done for. Maybe he should have taken them out the front door, walked right out of the prison and into the night. He knew the trick to getting those blast-proof doors open. But of all the things he was sure of in this world, Lieutenant Watson on the other side of that door waiting to let him back in…that would have been one of those sure bets.

  Think, man. Come on, think.

  He thought again about the front doors, regretting not walking out. Then it hit him. In his panic he’d forgotten about the fire exit at the other end of the maintenance tunnel. In the anticipation of getting up to the main level he hadn’t noticed it, and in the terror of getting away he’d run right past it. Now he pictured it in his mind. It was one of the weak spots in security here at the prison, a weak spot he’d fought to have removed during the remodel. Safety code had trumped his objections. The architects and inspectors both laughed at the idea of inmates making it this far through all the other obstacles to escape. For once in his life, he was glad to be overruled.

  “Listen up!” Morton shouted. The two Eels closest to the door continued to pound and yell. “Hey!” he yelled, and their colleagues shoved the two, chastising them for not listening when the Sarge spoke.

  Their eyes were bright in the quickly-dimming emergency lights. They were combat veterans now, scared like he was, but they weren’t terrified. Part of that was confidence in their Sergeant, faith he’d have a plan to save their asses.

  “I’ve got no idea why that door is locked. All of you probably can figure it’s not good. So we need options. I’ve got just one right now,” Morton said, stern as he could muster. “There’s a fire door around the corner, down at the end of the hallway.”

  “The one next to the stairs leading back up?” someone asked.

  Morton nodded crisply. “That’s right. We’re going out that door, to the yard outside. Then we’ll circle back around and come in through the loading docks. Any questions?”

  “No question, Sarge. But I ain’t going back down that hallway.” Morton couldn’t see who said it, but he could see a couple of heads nodding slightly in agreement. Even with the fading emergency light, the t
rail of bodies, some still moving, could be seen littering the floor. The Eels had struggled for every inch to make it to this point. Now he needed them to retrace their steps.

  “Sarge, we got some wounded guys who shouldn’t move,” McCoy said to him calmly. Morton looked at three Eels sitting propped up against the wall. Each suffered from serious wounds, complicated by having been dragged to relative safety by their comrades for hundreds of feet. “Maybe a few of the guys should stay back here and look after them while we go get the doors opened.”

  Morton nodded. “Good thinking.” He mustered his command voice again. “Okay, I want eight with me, the rest can stay here and look after our wounded. Besides, chances are as soon as I leave Watson will finally get off the can and come open the door for us.” Nervous chuckles and smiles brightened the mood for a moment.

  Morton pulled his tactical suit tight, then grabbed a helmet from one of the wounded men; he’d left the remains of his in the warden’s office. The scratches and bruises on his face showed he’d been fighting without one ever since. “Two sticks, each of you,” he said to the ones who volunteered to go with him. “Good helmets? Okay, check your suits.” Each man checked another’s, then they all checked Morton’s.

  “Anyone got any juice left? Suit or baton?”

  The lack of response confirmed what he had assumed.

  “Okay, follow me,” Morton said, then began a quick-time walk. He would have preferred to jog—really, to sprint—but he needed to keep his breathing steady. He was careful to keep part of his vision on the floor, wary of tripping over any bodies.

  A hand reached up from a fallen shape to grab his leg. He shattered its radius with a backhand swing of his baton. The impact made his wrist burst with pain; likely he had a crack in there of his own, or at least torn tendons. The ache sharpened his mind, though.