A Haunt of Jackals

by G. R. Carter

  Chapter 25

  Exercise Yard

  Western Illinois Correctional Facility

  Mt. Sterling, Illinois

  Night Two of the Great Reset

  Morton and his remaining Eels jogged out into the wide-open yard, evenly spread in a line. He intended to make a wide circle out past the loading docks, hoping to spend just a few brief moments looking for any signs of movement before approaching.

  For the first time tonight Morton wished for less light. An occasional flash above made their shadows dance. Worse, they were highlighted against the still-burning fuel tanks. He glanced over at the blaze, which had spread to the maintenance building. Likely that would continue to spread throughout the entire facility. He wasn’t sure how well the fire suppression system would work without electricity. He’d worry about that later, though, once they had the loading area secured.

  “That’s close enough, fellas,” a voice called out from the dark. “We don’t wanna hurt anyone.”

  Morton froze in his tracks. The men behind him tried to do the same; some had more luck stopping than others. A few muffled curses mixed with a chuckle from somewhere out in the distance.

  He had been through so many ups and downs today, he didn’t panic. He simply didn’t have the energy. “Now what?” he said in disgust to himself, and to the sky above. Without thinking of the danger, he took a step towards the voice.

  “That’s close enough, Yank. Reckon you’re the man in charge, eh?”

  “Sure as heck don’t feel like it tonight,” Morton said. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  Silence hung for a moment and then, “Friends of a friend, maybe. We’re lookin’ for a fella. You all seem like the type might know where he is.”

  Morton had heard the accent somewhere before, but couldn’t place it right away. “Yeah, well, we’re kind of busy right now.”

  “Yeah, Yank. I can see that. I can also see you don’t have any weapons,” the voice chuckled. “How’s it even possible for a group of Yanks to not have guns? Loki’s balls, boys! I thought in this part of the world everybody had guns.”

  Morton’s patience with the game was running thin. “How about you loan me some of yours then? We got somewhere we need to be,” he growled.

  “All right, Yank. Calm yourself. Just to show good faith, I’ll let you know that there’s two hostiles standing on the other side of that truck over there. Holding some type of AK, can’t make out the type,” the voice called. A solar storm ignited above, just long enough for Morton to catch a glimpse of a shape about twenty yards from their location.

  “How about you show good faith by coming out of the dark?” Morton asked. Then he thought about what the voice had said. “And how in the world can you see anyone standing by those trucks?

  “Same way I can see there’s ten of you.”

  Night vision scopes, Morton thought. Of course.

  “You guys military?” he asked.

  “Something like that.”

  Morton took a chance. “Tell you what: you help us and I’ll take you to find your friend.”

  “Howsabout you just tell us where to find him, and we’ll be on our way?” the voice asked.

  “Because Special Forces operators don’t leave behind people who need help. I know, because my son was one,” Morton nearly choked on the words. He’d never used his son’s death or his service in any conversation, certainly not as emotional blackmail.

  “We’re retired, Yank. We don’t fight for a flag or a greater good anymore. We make our own decisions.”

  Morton chaffed at the wasted time. He had men trapped in that prison who needed him. But he was out of options. “So you’re businessmen, then. I understand. Let’s make a deal. I’ll be your guide wherever you want to go. But I’ve got men trapped in that prison I need to get to safety. Going through that loading dock is the only way to do that,” he told them.

  He turned to look at the dock area, barely visible in a mixture of shadows and low light from the fire. “You’re going to have to shoot me in the back to stop me.” Morton started to walk.

  “Almighty Thor! I like you Yanks sometimes,” the voice said. “Metal balls like Mjolnir itself!”

  Morton stopped. He half-expected to wake up any minute; this just had to be some sort of bizarre nightmare. “Who are you guys?” he asked in confusion.

  The voice didn’t answer, but Morton found himself surrounded by four men in camouflage with blacked-out faces. Each held a weapon at an angle across their chest. Night vision goggles sat on top of each man’s identical boonie hat.

  “Heath Bohrmann. I’ll introduce you to the rest later. You got yourself a deal, though. Figure you’re a man of your word,” the voice he’d been communicating with in the dark said.

  “Red Morton. And I’d keep my word, even if you weren’t scary guys with big guns.”

  Bohrmann laughed a little too loud. “Yanks!”

  Then the smile faded from his face. “I won’t risk my men on a breach, Red. But we’ll take out those two lookouts for you if you want. And any other unfriendlies who might pop up.”

  Morton was a little disappointed, but it was the best deal, and the most help, he’d got all night.

  “Fair enough. I guess I need to figure out if those are bad guys or my guys standing out there.”

  Bohrmann took off his goggles and handed them to Red. “Reckon they’re bad, Red. Seen some nasty stuff come out of that dock so far.”

  Morton looked at the disgust on his new acquaintance’s face and decided not to ask. He slipped the goggles on and was immersed into an alien world. Everything was green, objects distinguished only by different hues. The detail was incredible, and Morton flinched when one of the men standing at the dock looked his way.

  “Don’t worry,” Bohrmann told him. “They can’t see you.”

  Morton nodded and watched as the driver-entrance door swung open. He gasped as a body was tossed out. He watched it slowly tumble down the steps and land on a pile below.

  “Told ya you prolly weren’t gonna like it, Red,” Bohrmann said somberly.

  Morton said nothing as he pulled the goggles off and handed them back.

  “What did you see, Sarge?” McCoy asked.

  Morton didn’t answer the question. “You can take them out from here?” he asked Bohrmann.

  “Sure, mate,” he replied. “I’ll get a bit closer to make sure of it. But as long as they stay put, we’ll drop ‘em both.”

  “And whoever comes out of that door, too,” Morton told him.

  “Plan to draw them out in the open,” Bohrmann said with a nod. “I can see where your son got his wits to be an operator. Okay, Red…” Bohrmann nodded again and gave a grin only apparent in the dark because of the contrast of his blacked-out face. “I’ll call ya Sarge, if that’s okay?”

  He huddled with his three men, whispering just below earshot of Morton and McCoy. A couple of hand motions, a slap on the shoulder, and the three were gone like ghosts.

  “I’m going to stay with you and your boys, Sarge. Figure you’ll need at least one weapon with ya, just in case things take a turn for the unfortunate,” Bohrmann said.

  “I…we appreciate the help,” Morton said. “I’ll make sure it’s repaid.”

  Bohrmann smiled again. “Okay, my guys are gonna drop the two outside. We’ll wait for that to happen. After that, a couple of your men are gonna head up to the door and wait for someone to open it. I’ll scratch whoever opens the door, and you’re going to hold it open. The next guy comes to check out why his buddy disappeared, we’ll drop him. We’ll just keep repeating the process until evolution has her way with these critters. That a plan for ya?”

  Morton shrugged. “Better than the plan I had.”

  “Which was?”

  “I was just going to go up and knock.”

  Bohrmann chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Yanks!”

  Chapter 26

  Ridgeview Hunting Lodge

  Rural Brown County,
Illinois

  Night Two of the Great Reset

  When Darwin finally caught up with Kara, she was moving from one group to the next, making sure they were settled in and warm. He watched her for a moment, enjoying how she seemed to make everyone feel comfortable and welcome.

  At least, almost everyone. She caught Darwin’s eye and walked over to him.

  “I’m really worried about Sy. Out there in the dark with those inmates around… I wish I hadn’t talked him into going,” she told him.

  “Sy’s a big boy, Kara. Bright, too. He won’t get into any trouble. Tough in a fight, unless I miss my guess.”

  That seemed to brighten her mood a little. As she looked up at him he noticed a little bruise forming on her right cheek. His anger at JR Casey started to swell again. She patted his arm gently and said, “Hey, are you ever going to tell me where you went this afternoon? Sy was worried about you.”

  “Sure I will, in a bit. Reckon we can get everyone settled first. Then we’ll have a chat.”

  “Did you get JR calmed down?” she asked with genuine concern.

  King gave a mischievous smile. “Probably not exactly like you were figurin’. Sent him to the shed with the rest of the men.”

  “I was just out there checking on the arrangements. He wasn’t there.”

  Darwin’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. “Rack off, I told him. But to the shed, not off the property.”

  “Well no one’s seen him, and Trey was asking.”

  “All right, I’ll go have a look around in a bit. Little fella missin’ his ol’ man before hittin’ the sheets, is he?”

  Kara shrugged. “A little, I guess. I think he misses his nanny more than his mom and dad; he sees her more, I gather. He’s grown up with her.”

  King smiled. “Reckon you remind Trey of her a little, then?”

  Kara returned a grin. “Probably, yeah. I still look that young, right?”

  “No arguments here, darlin’.” He turned more serious. “How’s your boy holdin’ up? He was supposed to see his father this week, right?”

  Kara nodded. “Yeah, although if this crisis hadn’t come up, something else probably would have.”

  “Doesn’t break your heart for him to miss it, huh?”

  “I guess not. It should…I feel bad for a boy not to see his father…”

  Darwin held his hand up. “Kara, enough of the charade. I know who Max’s father really is.”

  Kara turned a hundred shades of red in an instant. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stuttered.

  “Ben and I were close, Kara. Close enough to tell secrets, some of which I’ll be tellin’ you soon. But he didn’t tell me about Max until around about two years ago, when he started gettin’ real serious about this doomsday stuff of his. He wanted to make sure that if anything ever happened to him, you and Max were looked after.” King’s smile was warm and understanding.

  Kara’s eyes welled up. “I used to tell myself it was a terrible mistake,” she said, looking down at the oak floor below her feet. “I betrayed Pete, myself, my family…” Her mind was focused somewhere in the past. “But the more I got know Max, the more I got to see Ben’s personality come out in him, I was glad Pete wasn’t his real dad.”

  “When did you tell Ben?”

  She smiled a little. “I never actually did. He just sort of knew by the time Max was three or four years old.” She grabbed King’s arm. “It wasn’t like I was his mistress. We were both just in a vulnerable spot that weekend.” Her mind went back to that time in the past. “I was trying to figure out how to get away from Pete. Ben’s wife had told him she was seeing someone else…they weren’t really together by then, but it still seemed to hit him hard.” She shook her head and smiled. “It just happened.”

  “Life I reckon. Max is a fine boy. I can see why Ben was so enamored by him…and by you.”

  Kara flushed again. Then her mood turned darker. “There’s so much to worry about now. JR is going to go crazy when Ben’s will gets read. I know there’s going to be provisions made for Max. When he finds out…”

  “He knows about you and Ben,” King told her.

  Her face went pale. “Is that why he’s acting this way?”

  King shook his head. “Naw, that was just JR bein’ JR. He didn’t figure it out until we had our little talk.”

  Kara squeezed King’s arm. “You don’t think he’d do anything to hurt Max if he figured out he’s Ben’s son, do you?”

  King shook his head. “Not as long as I’m around. His first thought that way will be his last thought, believe that.”

  For the first time since she’d met the immensely likable Aussie, Kara got a shiver down her back from the look on his tan face. The blue green eyes seemed to burn; there was something intense and wild hiding in there.

  She broke the mesmerizing stare and wiped her eyes. “Dang it, Darwin. We’ve already got so much going on. We really don’t need this drama right now.”

  King gave her his best reassuring smile. “Well look at it this way, darlin’. If it really is the end of the world, the good news is you don’t have to worry about anyone readin’ that will.”

  Chapter 27

  Exercise Yard

  Western Illinois Correctional Facility

  Mt. Sterling, Illinois

  Night Two of the Great Reset

  “Targets neutralized,” Borhmann told Morton as he watched through his night vision goggles.

  It crossed Morton’s mind those targets may have been someone he once knew, maybe even talked with twenty-four hours before. They could have been locals, helping someone escape, or maybe just inmates following the orders of their tribe. He had no way of knowing exactly. With daylight just a couple of hours away, he’d soon find out. If he lived that long.

  Bohrmann gave him a pat on the shoulder and a two-fingered chop. With the signal, Morton and a young Eel named Stanford started making the run across the grass towards the dock. By the time they got to the asphalt, the side-entrance door flung open.

  To Morton’s horror, the man standing in the doorway was Santos. The only three guards they had saved on their aborted rescue trip earlier in the night were cowards who had abandoned their posts and their comrades. Clearly Santos made it through okay until now.

  That ended when his head disappeared in a cloud of red mist.

  “No!” Morton shouted. He watched Santos’ body crumple to the ground under the weight of the gray-clad body he was dragging out. Another figure jumped out of the doorway. This one carried a rifle and pointed it right at Morton.

  Morton froze when he saw Angel Trevino staring at him. In his hands was a rifle from the Rapid Response Team. Before Morton could say a word, Trevino yelped and flew backwards. His finger instinctively gripped the trigger of the semi-automatic, ripping off a short burst as he fell. More men appeared. The first one dropped before the others realized standing there would significantly shorten their lifespans. One thought to close the door as he backed up, a decision that cost him his hand.

  Morton was still standing in the same spot, in a sort of shock from what he’d witnessed. He heard footsteps behind him and then a voice. “Sarge, you got some brass ones, but you gotta learn to move a bit quicker,” Bohrmann told him. He grabbed Morton’s arm and pulled him to the hinge side of the entrance.

  Both men slammed against the metal-and-concrete wall, flat as they could and looking up at the door. “Can you handle a piece?” Bohrmann asked.

  When Morton nodded, Bohrmann handed him a pistol. “It’s my spare, so don’t lose it.” He smiled at Morton, who shook his head at the man’s coolness.

  Bohrmann looked out into the darkness, held up three fingers, then made a fist and then a sideways cutting motion. Morton had no idea the meaning of any of the motions. But about three seconds later Bohrmann reached up and knocked on the door. “Guys! Hey, it’s me, help!” he yelled in a reasonable replication of an American accent.

  The door was elevated a
t the top of a metal staircase, about six steps up, with a metal railing on both sides. Bohrmann leapt up to stand on the side of the landing, hanging on to the top rail with one his left hand while he kept the right one free.

  The metal door moved just a bit, outside handle swinging towards Bohrmann but just out of reach. “Give me a hand, please,” he whimpered. The door opened just a bit more.

  “Ah, screw it,” Bohrmann said as he lost his patience and his American accent. He lunged at the door handle and grabbed hold. With all his might he pulled the handle, bringing the door and the man holding onto it from the other side. Another inmate stood on the landing, trying to figure out what had happened. He didn’t wonder long before going down. Then the man standing next to him spun like a top and hit the outer frame of the door before bouncing off and tumbling down to the concrete headfirst.

  Suddenly the doorway was filled with men trying to get out the door and into the night. For reasons Morton couldn’t possible fathom, instead of staying in the relative safety of the building, the herd ran towards the cause of their comrade’s death. Many tripped and fell over the bodies laying everywhere. Others jumped off the side of the landing onto the concrete below. The six-foot drop didn’t affect them all, but a couple weren’t able to regain their feet after making the leap.

  Morton wondered if Bohrmann’s men would open fire and try to kill them all, but they were disciplined; unless their team was directly threatened, it seemed, they were happy to let their enemy flee. Two dock doors were open now, and more men tumbled out of those and ran off.

  By fives and tens they fled—Morton lost track of the count. Inmates were running everywhere. To the left, to the right, out into the dark they disappeared, until finally just a few remained.

  “Like a salmon run, mate,” Bohrmann said with a smile.

  Their eyes told the story: Syn had robbed their ability to comprehend, or to realize how badly they outnumbered their tormentors. The scene was surreal, this nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. Shouts from inside the loading area shook Morton from his stupor. He took off at a sprint, still dodging gray-clad zombies stumbling across the concrete.