"My niece... she disappeared last year. I wonder if…" Captain O'Donnell said. She gnashed her teeth together, and her cheeks flared. "Don't worry, Kenny, we'll catch Tweed and put a stop to this."
"You have to be careful. The Martin Hale men on The King’s Archer have guns. And with all of the people imprisoned on that ship, you have to be careful and not put them in the crossfire," Kenny said.
"We'll be careful, but we've got to stop him. There's no way to avoid a gunfight."
"I need to go on board again to free Sarah and my mother," he said.
Captain O'Donnell leaned out of the wheelhouse and yelled down to a crewman. "Pete! Bring this boy a gun. Oh, and get him some damned pants too. He's going over with the boarding party." Turning to Kenny, she said, "When we board, you show the crew where the prisoners are and make sure they all get off Tweed's ship safely. You look like you're about done in from your go around earlier with Tweed's men. Let my men take care of Tweed. You see to your mother and fiancée."
Kenny wanted to confront Tweed and make him pay for all that he'd put Sarah and his mother through. Sarah's parents were dead and Tweed's men had beaten them both. He knew Captain O'Donnell was right, though. He was in no shape to be on the front lines of the fight. "All right. Thank you for your help. I thought... I thought there was no hope."
Captain O'Donnell spun the wheel and turned the massive riverboat to follow a bend in the river, her ship racing downstream as it moved with the river's current. The outline of a steamship became visible as they rounded the bend, a thick black cloud of smoke rising from its smokestack. "Don't give up hope. Not yet."
Patty leaned out of the open wheelhouse door and yelled to the crew below, "All hands! Prepare to board!"
Chapter 21
A cloud of dust rose into the air, kicked up by the hooves of a hundred horses, obscuring the valley below. Chief Bud Howell raised his arm up high above his head and pointed to the left and to the right, signaling to the massive posse gathered behind him that it was time to split up and move into their assigned positions. Twenty members of the posse remained with Howell, their horses stomping restlessly as they waited for the other groups to get into position. The animals seemed to pick up on their owner’s tension.
As a strong wind drove the cloud of dust away, Howell brought his powerful binoculars to his face, scanning a clearing at the far side of the valley. Dozens of horses and riders were gathered there. Their individual features indistinguishable from each other at this distance, but Howell picked out what he was looking for. A horseman waved a red flag above his head; Roy, leading the other half of the posse, signaled their readiness.
Howell raised his own flag high over his head, waving it about. Through his binoculars, he saw that Roy had tossed his flag to the ground, their signal that everyone was ready and they would move on Bachman Detention Facility immediately.
Chief Howell dropped his flag and pulled a metal flask from his jacket, swigging a drink of corn whiskey before he stuck the flask back into his jacket pocket. His nerves were shot and he was at the limit of his mental reserves. Utterly exhausted, he had no willpower left to fight his craving.
Two days ago he'd made the trip back to Wheeler. On the way, he bought a second horse from a farm a few miles away from the prison camp for the fat Martin Hale guard to ride. As promised, by the time they arrived at the farm the man's feet were blistered and raw from walking up and down the steep mountain trails Howell had taken to get there. Howell swapped his horse for a fresh mount and tied the prison guard on the second horse. The fat guard's punishment wasn't over, though. He'd never ridden a horse before, and when they arrived in Wheeler, the man was bawling like a baby, his behind riddled with saddle sores.
Howell had been relieved to see that Roy and his crew had kept to their schedule and were already in town when he arrived. He filled Roy in on what the situation was. It took some persuasive arguing to keep Roy from rushing into the prison camp with only the few men they had at their disposal. Roy was understandably frantic at the news that his son might be still alive, imprisoned in the camp. Howell laid out his plan to gather the prisoners’ kin together, and Roy had reluctantly agreed.
Dividing the stack of letters from the prisoners’ families up between Roy, himself, and four members of the Joker's Hangmen, they rode to each farm, convincing the relatives to help, one by one. Each of them traveled to another residence listed on the letters. By the end of the next day, Howell had an army composed of over a hundred armed and outraged people at his disposal. It was a motley crew to be sure, but they were unified in purpose by their desire to free their loved ones and punish those responsible.
The air seemed to be charged with electricity, rife with tension. The fathers, mothers, brothers, and wives of the missing prisoners rode horses, carrying shotguns, rifles, pistols, and various handheld weapons. They outnumbered the Martin Hale prison guards two to one. They were armed to the teeth and had the element of surprise on their side. It was now or never. Howell had to get them moving before they were spotted or the guards would have time to mount a defense.
"There's the signal. Let's move out," Howell said. He took one last drink from his flask and spurred his horse on.
The posse thundered down the worn gravel road, kicking up a massive cloud of dust that masked their approach to the facility. As they reached the outskirts of the camp, a cry went up from the guards keeping watch at the perimeter. A few of them pulled their pistols out and fired, but they were quickly shot or rode down by the posse, trampled underneath the heavy hooves of the horses.
Chief Howell led the group with him to the camp's administrative building. As they neared the building, guards broke out the windows and opened fire. Shots rang out around him. He pulled the reins, did a tight turn to the left, and charged for the cover of nearby trees. Most of the others in his group followed him, although a few kept riding towards the building, opening fire with shotguns and pistols from horseback. Two members of his posse were cut down before they made it close enough to hit anything with their return fire, and a third man was shot in the back as he realized his mistake and turned to retreat.
Howell slid down from his saddle and ran behind a large tree. He smacked the horse on the backside and watched it retreat to a safe distance up the hill. Unslinging his Remington 700, he brought the weapon to his shoulder and knelt in a shooting position, using the tree's trunk as an anchor point to steady his aim. He estimated the distance to the administrative building to be seventy yards. Howell watched the windows, looking for a target. One of the guards fired a shotgun at the posse through a broken out window, then ducked behind cover. The guard hadn't been trained well or he wouldn't have presented his entire body in the window when he fired. Instead, he would have only exposed what he needed to aim and fire. It was about to be a fatal mistake. His target selected, Howell kept his sights on the window and waited.
The guard showed himself in the window and as he brought his shotgun up to his shoulder, Howell squeezed the trigger, sending a .308 caliber bullet through the man's chest, dropping him instantly.
Members of the posse next to him followed his lead and opened fire from the cover of the trees. Many of the rounds hit the side of the building or went wide, but they at least provided him covering fire and allowed him to concentrate on taking out the men inside the building. Howell methodically shot each and every guard that exposed himself until no more dared to show their faces. He watched the building for a while, ensuring that there were no more combatants inside.
With no targets left in the building, Howell's team ceased fire, but in other parts of the camp hostilities still raged. The soft pops of pistol fire were heard amongst the larger boom of shotguns and crack of rifle fire, echoing throughout the valley.
Suddenly, a huge explosion rocked a building one hundred yards to the right of the administrative building. A massive shockwave went through the air, nearly knocking Howell off his feet. The explosion blossomed into an orange and red fir
eball that expelled black smoke as it rose into the sky.
The explosion must have come from the meth lab he'd found, likely a result of a stray round from the gun battle breaking a beaker of some unstable chemical. Howell shrank behind the tree and shielded his face from the debris that came rained down a few seconds after the explosion. After the falling debris died down, he peeked out and saw the ruins of the meth lab burning brightly. Other nearby buildings began to burn, their roofs ignited by the flaming debris thrown free from the explosion.
The front door of the administrative building opened a hair and someone inside waved a white t-shirt through the open space. A voice called out from within. "Don't shoot! We give up! We surrender!"
Chief Howell trained his rifle on the open doorway, ready to respond if the Martin Hale guards tried to pull a fast one.
Some of the posse members closer to the administrative building shouted a response to the guard's surrender. "Drop your weapons and come out with your hands up."
There were a few tense moments where nothing happened, and then a single guard came out holding the white t-shirt. He took a few tentative steps outside the doorway, looked about nervously, and then walked forward with his arms held high. Two other Martin Hale guards followed him, waiting to see if how the first guard was received. The men slowly moved away from the building.
Seeing no signs of any weapons on the men, Chief Howell lowered his rifle and stood up, preparing to take custody of the surrendering guards.
Shouts rose above the distant gunfire, some argument among the posse members closest to the building,
"Die, you sons of bitches," a posse member yelled. Some of the posse members opened fire on the unarmed guards. The guards screamed as they were riddled with bullets, their faces masks of disbelief as they died.
"No! Damn it!" Howell yelled, scowling at the posse members still shooting at the dead guards. Howell shook his head in disgust. He knew there would be bad blood when he brought these family members on board with the posse, but it was a shock to see. It was a risk he had to take to raise a force and free the prisoners. The shooting of unarmed men sickened him, but he knew some of these family members would be out for retribution for what was done to their kin.
Ugly as it was, he felt little sympathy for the dead men. They had it coming to them. Not a single man among them could claim ignorance or innocence of the prisoners’ treatment. What they had participated in was reprehensible and unforgivable, an ultimate abuse of power.
"Let's go see if they need help up at the mine," Chief Howell said, motioning to the posse. It was the only place he still heard gunfire. After the meth lab exploded, there had been a brief exchange of gunfire and then the area was silent. Good riddance.
They followed the gravel road to the mine, and Howell passed several freed prisoners walking away from the mine. The men's gaunt and dirty faces were blackened by coal dust, looking up at the posse in disbelief and awe. Something else was present in their eyes besides that hollow look. He saw hope there, that their nightmare might finally be over.
One of his posse members, a gray haired man wearing jean overalls and a baseball cap, rushed forward and seized a thin prisoner in a bear hug.
Wide eyed, the prisoner asked cautiously, "Dad?"
The gray haired man roared, crying as he clutched his son. The sight spread murmurs and cries of sympathetic joy amongst the posse, and they began to look around for their own missing loved ones.
Chief Howell wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaky hand and took the flask of whiskey from his pocket, drinking until the sweet liquid built up the calming and familiar heat in his chest. Strengthened, he continued up to the mine, witnessing other tearful reunions.
Word must have gotten to the men deep in the mine because streams of prisoners came out of the pitch-black hole in the side of the mountain. Chief Howell watched them trickle out. Posse members stood outside in the sunlight, intensely searching the faces of the emerging men, looking for familiar faces.
Roy was there, foremost among the posse, standing in the deep shadow of the mine. Roy's head swiveled from side to side, in search of his son.
Howell could see the conflict on Roy's face. The man had dropped the angry and tough shell he wore to keep others at bay. Roy's eyes gleamed with tears, and his face showed his worry and fear.
The stream of prisoners coming out of the mountain slowed to a trickle, and after a while no more emerged. Dozens of families outside of the mine hollered, whooped, and yelled, reunited with their families. Others weren't so lucky, and they clung to each other, consoling one another in their grief. The families passed words of comfort around, and reminders that there could still be other Martin Hale prisons to shut down; their loved ones might be out there.
Roy, who had been standing alone in the mouth of the cave for several minutes now, walked into the darkness, passing from sight.
Chief Howell knew how devastated he was. He knew the feeling of losing a son, and couldn't imagine what it felt like to lose a son and to not know his fate. Howell was torn as to whether he should go find Roy and try to comfort him, or whether his presence would only serve to open old wounds and enrage him.
An ear-shattering shout erupted in the darkness, echoing from the mine.
Howell winced, expecting the worst.
A moment later, Roy emerged from the darkness. A prisoner leaned on his shoulder for support, Roy's arm around him as the younger man hobbled out of the mine. Roy's face was split with a wide grin, and he repeatedly looked over at his son, as if to see if he was still really there or it was a trick of his mind and his son would disappear.
A great weight lifted from Chief Howell's chest, as if he'd been freed of a terrible burden. He'd come expecting the worst for Roy's son. It had been years after all, and he had held out little hope of finding him. His own face lit with a smile, Chief Howell took his flask out and drained it. His debt was paid.
Chapter 22
Kenny stood just outside the wheelhouse of the Dawn ‘til Dusk, staring intently at the massive outline of the ship in front of him. A cloud of smoke and steam rose from her smokestacks, and her paddlewheel left a wide band of roiled water directly in her wake. The King's Archer was in his sights. Sarah and his mother were on the ship, as well as Tweed. He clung to the rails with a sweaty grip, his hands shaking with anticipation at the coming confrontation.
The Dawn ‘til Dusk gave off creaks and groans as its steam engine was pushed to its limits. The ship streaked down the river like an arrow, the log extending from the front of the ship like the blade of a knife, aimed directly at the paddlewheel of the massive ship in front of her.
The King's Archer stayed its course, steaming down the center of the Ohio River. Even if the crew had been aware of the danger, there was no way the larger ship could outrun Captain O'Donnell's smaller and faster ship. The King's Archer was designed for one purpose, to be the biggest freight hauler on the Ohio River.
Sixty yards of open water separated the mammoth ships, closing rapidly. Kenny's pulse pounded in anticipation as he watched the two ships grow closer and closer together.
"Brace for impact!" Captain O'Donnell yelled.
Kenny clung to the doorframe of the wheelhouse and bent his knees, but was wholly unprepared for the amount of force generated as the two ships collided. His hands were ripped away from the doorframe, and he was thrown across the deck of the ship. His body slipped underneath the deck railing, and he hooked his arms and leg around the rail at the last moment, preventing himself from dropping into the river ten feet below the second deck.
The noise of the impact was ear shattering. Splintering wood, twisting steel, and the crack of broken deck boards filled the air. The log tied to the Dawn 'til Dusk's bow was jammed deep into the back of The King’s Archer, wreaking havoc as it prevented their paddlewheel from turning.
The Archer’s engine strained and groaned against the log jammed in the paddlewheel, but the log wouldn’t budge. A deep grinding soun
d filled the air, as if steel beams had been shoved into an oversized pencil sharpener. Finally, the pressure became too great and the Archer's steam engine exploded. The side of the ship erupted, forced outward and upward as the huge steel boiler ripped through the ship's thick oak planks as if they were wet cardboard. The boiler was thrown fifty feet into the air and landed in the river with a hissing sound as the red hot metal was quickly extinguished. A cavernous hole was left behind, exposing the ruined remains of the engine room.
Victor Tweed and his crew appeared at the railing on the top deck, peering down at the gaping hole in the ship and the ruined paddlewheel behind the boat. Tweed's face was a mask of rage as he shouted orders at his crew. He lifted his gaze, following the log rammed into his ship, up the bow of the Dawn 'til Dusk, until he stared Kenny right in the eyes. A look of surprise crossed Tweed's face. His shock didn't last long, and Tweed ran a finger across his throat, glaring hatefully across the water.
"Cut it loose," Captain O'Donnell yelled. On the deck below, the crew set to work with axes and saws, cutting loose the heavy ropes binding the log to the bow of Dawn 'til Dusk. When the last rope was cut away, her crew gave the all-clear sign.
Kenny got to his feet and made his way to the wheelhouse, just in time to feel the deck lurch beneath him as Captain O'Donnell put the engine in reverse and the ship began to pull away from The King’s Archer. Once the two boats were separated, she thrust the engine into gear and spun the wheel, coming alongside The King’s Archer.
"Get ready to board!" O'Donnell yelled.
The crew tossed hooks and ropes over to The King’s Archer and drew them together. O'Donnell killed power to the engine and let the river's current and momentum push them the last couple of yards together. "Come on, Kenny, we don't want to miss the action."
EMP Aftermath Series (Book 3): Retribution Page 14