The Longest Road (Book 2): The Change

by Thompson, A. S.

  “You have two options. One you stay and we figure this out. Or two, you try and leave and I beat the living shit out of you,” Travis said, taking one step forward. “And I'm really hoping you choose option number two.”

  Larry's lips quivered. Slowly, he backed away.

  “Is there anything else?” Nick asked.

  “Yes,” Lisa said, speaking and signing at the same time. “The last couple of days, I saw Kelly and Larry bringing food back to their boat. I thought it was just left over meals, but last night I saw Kelly accidentally drop some cans from her coat.”

  Kelly didn’t even protest. She was so nervous that she cowered behind Larry like a kid who got caught stealing red handed. She had never been accused of any crime, ever. Now she was facing serious charges.

  Larry on the other hand, was furious.

  “What? Why should we listen to her? She's deaf!”

  Lisa did not take kindly to an attack on her handicap. She brushed past her father and got up in Larry's face.

  “Exactly, you idiot. I'm deaf not blind. And I know what I saw. With my own two eyes, I watched a pompous, arrogant asshole and his trophy ditz of a girlfriend steal our food!” she exclaimed, shoving him at the end. “Don't you ever make fun of me again or so help me…”

  “Lisa, honey, it’s okay,” Wally said, pulling his daughter back.

  It was the first time ever that Larry didn't have a comeback. It was almost a blessing when Nick interrupted.

  “Okay, Larry, now it's your turn. These are some pretty serious accusations, what do you have to say about them?”

  Larry either couldn't think of anything or didn't want to dig himself any deeper.

  “Fine, let's move on to Kelly,” Nick said, peering around Larry's shoulder. “Kelly, what do you know about this?”

  Larry turned and glared at her. “She doesn't know anything. Do you, Kell?”

  Nick was beyond irritated. He was tired of Larry's games. “I wasn't asking you. Now shut your mouth and let her speak!”

  Kelly wasn't sure which was worse. The punishment that she would receive from Camp or from the hands of her abusive boyfriend. Her lips trembled and her eyes darted back and forth between Nick and Larry. She started out with a wicked stutter. “I-I-I-I didn't want to. L-La-Larry said it was okay…”

  “Shut up, bitch!” Larry shouted. With a closed fist, he cocked his arm back and tried to swing at her.

  Travis saw this coming, and lunged forward and delivered a series of punches. The combination started with two thrust punches to Larry's stomach, then a left hook to his cheek and ended with a right uppercut to his jaw. The punches were painful and hard, but Travis had decided on speed rather than power, only because he wasn't sure how many haymakers he could deliver before Nick and the others broke it up.

  “A-owww,” Larry whimpered as he fell to the ground. He curled up in a ball and used one hand to grab his stomach and the other his face. In between gasps for air, he sobbed like a baby.

  Travis triumphed over Larry's body like Muhammad Ali over Sonny Liston’s. He had been waiting a long time for the opportunity and relished the moment.

  The others stood with smiles on their faces. They were happy to see Larry down for the count.

  Nick shot Travis a look which said, “Good job. Next time maybe hold back just a little.”

  The others were shocked though when Kelly came to her boyfriend’s aid.

  “Baby are you okay?” Kelly said, trying to help Larry to his feet, but the CFO pulled away.

  After catching his breath and dignity, he struggled getting to his knees.

  Ranger Nick pat Collin on the shoulder and said, “I got this. Go ahead and get back to whatever you’re doing. I'll meet you back inside after we're done.”

  Collin nodded and limped off back to the Ranger's station.

  Nick squatted down next to Larry and said, “Now, what do you say we go check out your boat?”

  Larry's nostrils were flaring and his teeth were grinding down to the gums. He was minutes away from being discovered, but there was nothing left he could do. He was all out of plays.

  ***

  Inside the Com-room, Elias waited eagerly. He had already scanned the entire room as a way to pass time, but Collin had said he would be right back. He could no longer help himself. He double-clicked the mouse.

  The "Angels of Death" file produced at least two dozen sub-folders. From there, Elias opened one entitled "OPERATIONS.” Inside this folder were another set of folders including mission reports, cables and intelligence briefs, but most interesting was the one entitled "SUSPECTED TERRORISTS.” Elias rolled the cursor over it and opened the file.

  “There's no way,” he gasped. He blinked twice to make sure that he was reading the contents correctly. “It can't be.”

  Elias was so enthralled, he didn’t notice the Com-room door open.

  Collin stood at the crest of the door and said, “Eli, what are you doing? I thought I told you to wait for me?”

  Shocked, Elias pulled back from the monitor and quickly rose to his feet.

  “Collin, I, uh, I was waiting, but my curiosity got the better of me,” he admitted, with a nervous smile. Subtly, he used his body to block the computer screen, but Collin could tell something was off.

  Using his cane, Collin limped forward a step. He squinted his eyes and attempted to look around Elias' six-foot, two-hundred pound frame. The test proved accurate as Elias shifted his body to keep the computer screen blocked. “What's going on here, Eli? Why won't you let me see the screen?”

  “There's something I need to tell you…”

  “I'm going to ask you politely one more time. Move out of the way, Eli.”

  Elias lowered his head and sighed. Then, he looked up and into Collin's eyes. After a tense few seconds, he stepped to the side.

  “It's not what you think. I can explain. Just give me a chance to.”

  Collin slowly inched toward the computer screen but kept split attention on Elias. “A chance to explain what, Eli?” Collin asked, finally getting within range of the monitor. He shot one last look at Elias, who had now backed up enough to give a comfortable amount of separation.

  Elias swallowed and let Collin discover for himself.

  At first Collin couldn't believe what he was seeing. Three times he looked at Elias, and then back to the screen.

  “You?” Collin asked, utterly dumbfounded. Plastered on the monitor was a digital dossier of one of the suspected terrorists responsible for the global outbreak. On the left hand side of the page was a picture of a man who looked shockingly similar to Elias. In bold, black letters next to the photo was the name “West, Craig a.k.a Black Mamba.”

  Collin tensed up and backed away toward the door. He was expecting many things but not this. Not that this man, who he had been living with for months, was one of the terrorists responsible for the pandemic.

  “Is this you? Wh-who are you really?”

  Elias raised both of his hands in an attempt to pacify Collin. He matched Collin step for step, but not in an aggressive way.

  “Yes, it's true. My name is Craig West, but I am not a terrorist.”

  Oddly, West grabbed one of the roller chairs and pushed it over to Collin. Then, he spun one around for himself and sat.

  “Please, have a seat. I'm not going to hurt you. It'll just be easier for me to explain without this standoff.”

  With his cane in one hand and the back of the chair in his other, Collin seriously debated his next course of action. Part of him wanted to go running out of the room, screaming for help. The other wanted to give this mystery man a chance to explain himself and why he had been lying since the day of his arrival.

  Before Collin had a chance to make a decision, a series of events transpired, beginning with the eruption of gunfire outside.

  “What was that?” Collin asked, turning toward the distinct pops.

  “Sounded like automatic weapons. I wasn't aware we had any left,” West answered
.

  “We don't,” Collin replied, cringing. “Follow me. But we aren't done here, understand?”

  West nodded and followed Collin out of the Com-room. As they neared the station's front doors, the gunfire grew louder and more frequent. Peering through the glass, West and Collin witnessed the carnage.

  Outside, bodies were scattered about. Some attempted to crawl for cover, others were unmoving and presumably dead. Those who were still on their feet were hysterical, running around like chickens with their heads cut off. No one had any idea who was attacking or from where.

  Suddenly, the massive Los Angeles prison bus smashed through the front gate, followed by a pack of motorcycles and police patrol vehicles. It was a blitzkrieg attack, a forceful, calculated assault intent on keeping the survivors off balance. And it was working.

  “Bikers! Go now and sound the alarm!” Collin ordered.

  West complied without a moment's hesitation.

  Collin pivoted in the direction of Nick’s office, intent on readying himself with a weapon, but two steps later he was stopped. A grenade blast tore through the glass doors. Collin flew ten feet, and then slid to a stop next to the reception desk. His body lay there, unmoving.

  ***

  West heard the explosion and after sounding the alarm, he rushed back to the main entrance. As he rounded the corner, he noticed four bikers outside, advancing into the Ranger's station. Immediately, he ducked back behind the wall and peeked his head out. Within seconds, Craig West's mind assessed the situation and determined it to be a no-win scenario.

  The bikers carried fully automatic weapons, and Craig didn’t possess even a handgun. He thought about dashing to the Ranger's office and grabbing one of the shotguns off of the rack, but it wouldn't be realistic. The bikers would blast bullets through the drywall and glass and tear him to shreds before he made it to the cabinet.

  Then, he thought about rushing the bikers. He possessed the best hand-to-hand training given to Special Forces operators, but the men were too far away. Even if he managed to sneak up, there were still four of them.

  One by one, the four thugs entered the station and cleared the room.

  “Yo, ese,” one of the thugs said, getting his partner's attention. “This that pendejo that dropped Jimmy?”

  The other shined his flashlight on Collin's bloodied body and replied, “Ya, I think it is.”

  “Ah shit, homes, he ain't moving. You better hope he’s alive,” another one said, sweeping the room with his light.

  The fourth man watched their backs, but added, “Ya, for real ese, Jimmy said he wanted him alive. Good job with that fuckin’ grenade, idiota.”

  “How the fuck was I supposed to know he’d be in here,” the first rebutted.

  Craig looked to Collin. He had never left a man behind, and didn't want to start now, but a rescue attempt would be futile. Even if Collin was alive, there was no way of getting to him, let alone getting him out. He was outmanned and outgunned. Fortunately though, this was his element: war.

  Craig gritted his teeth, then like a ninja, he disappeared out the back into the darkness of the moonless night.

  Outside, the gunfire grew less and less, but the painful howls and screams remained constant.

  Chapter 8

  Providence State Beach

  November 28, 2009

  0815 hours

  With each passing second, the day grew more beautiful as the sun baked away the morning fog. The knee high waves gently crashed on the sandy shore, creating a soothing melody. A group of seagulls resting on the beach scattered once the high tide reached their position. They squawked and flapped their feathers until finding a suitable place on top of the rolling ocean. All things considered, it was a peaceful morning.

  “Wh-what happened,” Collin said, waking to a painful reality.

  At first he had no idea where he was, just that one of his arms was handcuffed to an iron bar. As his eyelids blinked the haze away, he soon realized two things. First, that he was inside the Ranger station's twenty-five by twenty-five foot cell. Second, he wasn't the only one.

  Travis, Steve, Larry, Wally, Nick and Ryan were similarly bound, although a few were gagged as well.

  Sitting to Collin’s left was Nick. It appeared that the Native American had sustained trauma to his forehead; trickles of dried blood lead away from a cut near his hairline.

  Collin nudged him and whispered, “Nick! Nick!”

  “I guess it wasn't a dream,” Nick said, waking after the third set of nudges. He caressed the gash on his forehead and winced.

  “What happened?” Collin asked. “I don't remember anything.”

  “I'm not surprised. After we all got dragged in here, I overheard one of those thugs say that you nearly got blown to bits.”

  Collin looked down at his clothes and saw multiple lacerations and abrasions. “And that would explain why I feel like I did.”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “I-I was talking with Elias in the Com-room,” he replied, trying to piece together the memory. Then the revelation hit him. “Elias! Where is he?”

  Their conversation and commotion stirred awake a few of the prisoners, but Larry remained out cold.

  Travis was gagged so he was unable to contribute. Wally was doing his best to stop a pounding headache. Steve managed to pull his gag down and respond.

  “If he's lucky, he made it out of here alive.”

  “And if he's smart, he's miles away by now,” Nick added.

  “So, what happened?” Collin asked.

  “Bikers,” Nick replied bluntly. “I'm guessing they had been scouting us since before nightfall. They must have watched us head over to Larry's boat, because that's when they hit us. We were completely unprepared.”

  As the subdued memories surfaced, Collin closed his eyes.

  “That's right. I remember now. I was working with Elias, and then we heard the first of the shots. When I got to the door, I told him to sound the alarm. But outside...it was...it was bad, wasn't it?”

  “Pretty bad. Could have been worse had it not been for the alarm,” Nick admitted.

  Steve took over next. “Ya, good thing, too. At first we managed to take out a few of them, but in the end...”

  Collin looked at Steve, and then his eyes darted to Nick’s. “In the end what?”

  “I had no other choice, Collin,” Nick said, hating himself for the decision. “I had to call a cease fire. We were outnumbered. There were already too many dead. We wouldn't have stood a chance.”

  “It was the right call, Nick. You probably saved the rest of us,” Steve declared.

  “How many, Nick?” Collin asked

  The Native American sighed.

  “How many survived?” he repeated.

  “Of the men? This is it.”

  “Just us? That’s what? Seven? Only seven men made it?”

  “Make that six of us,” Wally Spencer interrupted, pressing two fingers against Ryan Gill's neck.

  The young deputy’s body rested limply against Wally’s. Ryan’s eyes were grayed over; his arms were tied behind his back; a handkerchief was shoved in his mouth and secured by duct tape; massive amounts of blood surrounded the bullet hole in his white T-shirt. He had been dead for a few hours.

  Wally shook his head and continued. “Those bastards! He took a shot to the stomach. We tried to ask for medical supplies, but they just laughed at us.”

  “Damnit!” Nick cursed. As he looked to his former deputy, a lone tear ran down his leathery cheek.

  “I remember seeing Ryan,” Collin mumbled. “And the others dead or crawling for safety-”

  “They hit us so hard, Cully,” Steve said, reminiscing the night of pain and sorrow. “They got Micky, Cliff, Vinny and Gregg, right off the bat. Poor guys never should have been on guard duty.”

  “And Joey and Jigger, too,” Wally added. “After we made it back up here, they only got a few rounds off…”

  “And the girls? Whe
re are they?”

  “Can't say for sure. On our way back Joey told Lisa, Kelly, Jenny and Sarah to go wait inside the yacht. I think they made it. I hope they did,” Wally said, thinking foremost about his daughter.

  “I know Betty, Charlotte and Karen didn't make it,” Steve said, spitting up a combination of mucus and blood- after the surrender, a pair of bikers had given him a beating for killing a number of their friends. “Karen was returning fire near me, but I watched her take a round in the neck. When Nick called the surrender, I saw Betty's and Charlotte's bodies near the gate. I think they were bringing their husbands' dinner when it happened.”

  Collin took a moment to process the information. Nine of Camp's members had not survived the night. Ryan, too, had ultimately succumbed to the bullet in his gut. Ten murdered.

  “So what's the plan?” Collin started to ask, but the steel door was unlocked and swung open.

  “Buenos días,” Jimmy Sanchez said, walking into the detention center with a wide grin. He ordered the guards to open the cage, and then instructed them to get breakfast.

  Jimmy stepped into the small cage and continued mocking the inmates. “Glad to see we didn't wake you. Did you get good sleep?”

  Tyler followed closely behind Jimmy. He stood off to the side and leaned up against the wall.

  “Get fucked,” Steve cursed, spitting in Jimmy's direction.

  Travis, too, attempted to say something, but the gag impeded all speech.

  Jimmy easily dodged the projectile saliva, then, without hesitation, Tyler jammed a wooden baton into Steve's stomach. “Cállate!”

  Steve coughed and gasped for air. The others wanted to scream out in protest, but they held back after witnessing what any unruliness would bring.

  “What have you done with the women?”

  “Oh, your women?” Jimmy licked his lips as though Collin asked about barbecue ribs. “Mmm nothing...yet. Let's just say my men were a little too tired to help themselves to the buffet. But I'm not sure they will be for long. It's been a while since they've had some fresh meat.”