by Rod Little
“Easy now,” Shane said calmly, his hands raised up in surrender. “We're not looking for trouble. We just want to know what's going on.”
“Well,” said the shotgun-man. “Trouble is what you found. And how do you know we aren't lookin' for trouble.”
Mitch snorted and smiled. “Trouble is his middle name.”
“Alright,” the toothless driver cut them off. “We'll take 'em to Dexter tonight. He'll decide whether we kill 'em or not. Or if we're gonna use these ones to get the box out.”
“Yeah. Send these bitches in there. Why should we risk our skins to get it.”
Get the box out?
Sam wondered what was going on. If these men needed something, chances favored it wasn't a box of roses from a church chapel. The million dollar question was: what and where?
“We'll need these pups to make supply runs, too” the man reminded them. “Thanks to Bill, we don't have any more boys to send out. And those girls back there aren't worth a damn for supply runs.”
“They got their own purpose,” said the shotgun-man, smiling and looking into the distance. “Oh yeah.”
The boys sat on the ground where they were told, and kept their eyes on the six men around them. A fire burned twigs inside a ring of stones, and the men were roasting some kind of meat over it. Sam didn't want to think what it might be. Had these men taken the dead lizard carcasses?
The men gave the boys a small bottle of water and a small portion of whatever meat they had cooked. It looked like chicken, but was probably pigeon. Sam was hungry, and didn't focus on it too much. They ate in silence.
In the afternoon they all loaded into the truck again, and headed out on a dirt road. The boys guessed they had driven twenty or thirty miles east, when they came upon a large compound. It was surrounded by broken down cars, stacks of tires, and part of a makeshift wooden wall. It was heavily guarded by at least a dozen gruesome looking men with no humor on their faces. Only scars and tattoos.
Inside the walls, the compound looked like a military base. Over fifty men and women went about chores with guns strapped to their belts or backs. The few women there were big and scary. They passed a cage with two younger women inside, maybe in their twenties, scarcely dressed in torn clothing. They looked sadly at the boys, as if they knew something bad was in their future.
The boys were taken into in a building that served as the gang's command center. They were forced to sit down in wooden chairs at a large oak table.
Here they met Dexter, the leader. He wasn't at all what they had expected. Dexter was a small, slight notion of a man in his early forties. He looked more like a square insurance salesman than the leader of a gang of psychos. Unlike his troops, he was clean shaven, and had no visible tattoos or piercings. Teaching a math class would suit him better than this setting.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Dexter said. He shook their hands. “My name is Dexter. I run this wonderful place. It's safe here, so you can relax. And your names are...”
The boys introduced themselves warily, first names only, and shook his hand. Dexter was a little too creepy to fathom.
“I hope my men have treated you well.” he continued. He examined the bruise on Sam's face. “Sorry about that. Sometimes they get too spirited.”
Sam just glared back.
“Well, anyway. Let's get to business.” Dexter unrolled a map in front of them. “I need something from here.”
He pointed to a place on the map. It meant nothing to the boys. It looked to be a few miles from the compound, based on the labels in black marker, but they didn't know it.
“What is it?” Shane asked.
“It's a house. And it has a box of things that belong to me,” Dexter said. “Weapons, explosives, and a couple other things you do not need to know about. It will take two of you to carry it. You and you,” he pointed to Shane and Jason. “Sam, you'll stay here. And if these two don't come back with my box by tomorrow, I will cut off your hand. If they're not back by the next day, I will cut off your head.”
He said this all as a matter-of-fact, the way you'd explain how milk comes from cows. “No hard feelings. But I will give Sam the most horrible death. Trust me on this, my new friends.”
He snapped his fingers and a guard stepped into the room. “Oh. Of course, we'll give you some guns, and your bow. Can't let you get eaten before I get my box.”
“How nice of you,” Shane said. “And why don't you just send a dozen of your own men in to fetch it?”
“That's simply not possible. The people living in that house have lots of gun power, and they hate me. They would not like to give anything to me. You see, they know me, and our hatred is quite mutual.”
Dexter paused for effect.
“And the area is filled with hell hounds. Creatures. That's what we call them: hell hounds. So, it's a little dicey getting in there and then back out. If we make a lot of noise going in there, all hell will break loose. Chaos. If you know what I mean. Probably both sides will lose a lot. But these people don't know you. They'll welcome you with open arms. No shots, no sounds, no problems. And in the night, you two will sneak out with my box. Bring it here by tomorrow noon.” He looked up from the map. “This will work, guys, trust me. I can't send my men in, it would be a blood bath. And well, not because I like my men; I just need them. I don't need you. If you get killed, I will put an end to Sam here, and we will find another crew to help us out. Got it?”
“Got it,” Shane sighed. He saluted Dexter with two fingers and resisted the urge to give him the middle one.
“Don't those people guard their house at night?” Jason asked. “How are we supposed to just go walkin' out with your box?”
“You'll figure it out,” Dexter said. “You're smart guys.”
“What the hell is in this box of yours?” Shane pressed. “The One Ring? Your precious?”
Dexter laughed. “Funny. Yeah, it's something like that.”
Dexter poured four shot glasses of whiskey, and sat one in front of each of the boys. He raised the fourth glass. “Drink to success, gentlemen.”
They drank. It burned Sam's throat and he coughed. He wondered what Tina and Ken would do when the three of them didn't return to the lodge tonight.
Dexter described the box in detail, and where it would be: in the basement. Then Sam's hands were tied behind his back, and he was thrown into the cage with the two women. Jason and Shane were given two handguns and a bow. Then Mitch and another man put them in the pickup and drove out of the compound.
Sam watched them go, and turned to the girls. One had dark skin, Hispanic, very pretty. The other was milky white, and looked like she'd never seen a day of work, sunshine, or hardship in her life. Until now.
“So. You come here often?”
“That supposed to be funny?” the Latino girl asked. “This isn't a club, you know. These men aren't playing around. They kill all the men and boys who come through here.”
“Sorry, I'm just nervous. Let me start again: my name is Sam.”
The Hispanic girl eyed him head to toe before answering: “I'm Camila. This flower puff here is Lucy.”
The other girl cowered in the corner with her hands against the bars and didn't say a word.
“Last couple of days, they've been bringing in a lot of men,” Camila explained. “But those men never leave alive. They use them for supply runs, then kill 'em.”
“But the women get it worse,” Lucy said. “It's awful.” Her eyes looked forward with the emptiness of a stuffed animal's button-eyes.
“Damn,” was all Sam could say. He tried not to stare at their bodies, naked except for underwear and torn shirts. Camila was especially beautiful, her torn shirt couldn't contain her ample form, but this was not the time for that; so he cleared his head
“Your friends...” she said.
“My brother, actually, and a friend.”
“What are they doing? A supply run?”
“The leader wants some box of stuff. In some hou
se.”
“Dexter. He's a bastard,” Lucy said. “He thinks he's gonna rule the world now.”
“Doesn't matter if they get it,” Camila said. “These men will kill you even if your brother brings them the supplies, or whatever they want.”
“What about the creatures?” Sam asked. “You see many of them?”
“The scalies?”
“The what?”
“That's what they call 'em here. A couple of those things attack the compound almost every night. Sometimes more come. But the men shoot them down. This place is pretty well guarded.”
“Thank God for small favors.” Sam muttered.
“God does not visit this place,” Camila said, dead serious. “He has forgotten us. Only hell comes to see us here.”
That was too deep for Sam. He had no answers for them, so he slipped to the ground and rested, his hands still tied behind his back. He wasn't worried about the ropes. When the time came, he could burn them off. That much he could do. But he couldn't pass these steel bars. He would need an escape plan for that.
Chapter 9
Jason and Shane were dropped off about a mile from the house in question. The truck drove away and left them alone with a warning to be back by tomorrow at noon ...with the box. When the pickup was out of sight, they crouched down and surveyed the grounds from behind some bushes. Their target was a medium-sized house of two stories that badly needed new paint. It stood alone on the side of the road, no other houses for miles. It was quiet. Nothing moved, save for a man sitting on the porch in a rocking chair, rocking leisurely and smoking a pipe.
Jason made a plea to change course. “Let's go back and rescue Sam. Then get back to the lodge.”
“Against fifty men? Look, I want to rescue my brother more than anyone, but we have to be smart here.”
“Look. Even if we do somehow get into that house and back out with the box, you think he'll let us go?”
“Of course not. He's already planned our executions.”
“So... what's the point?”
“The point is that whatever is in that box might be good for us too. Think about it: that Dexter guy really wants it. It must be really important for him to go through all this to get it. I get the feeling we're not the first guys he's sent out here to fetch it.”
“You mean, like it has potent magic? Voodoo dolls? A ring of power?”
“No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know.” Shane shook his head in frustration. “Maybe it's a doomsday device. Whatever it is, we can't let this Dexter prick get it.”
“I hear that.”
“So, we should get it out of there and take it to the lodge. We get Ken to come, and then we rescue Sam. We can pretend to trade it to Dexter for Sam, if it comes to that. But we're not giving any more weapons, explosives, or voodoo dolls to that maniac.”
“Whatever it is, we can probably use it against him. As a weapon or as leverage.”
Shane smiled. “Now you're thinking.”
“And about Sam,” Jason was hesitant to ask. “Can he help? You know, with his... super-sparks? Whatever that was he did before?”
“Sam can take care of himself until we get back. Don't worry.”
But he was worried. Everything was turning sour, including his lunch. That mystery meat wasn't settling well in his stomach. Either that, or his nerves were making his stomach ache.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Shane said. “Maybe those people in the house will help us.”
Jason nodded. “They don't seem to be Dexter's best friends.”
They devised a plan to go inside and meet the people of the house, all in the open. They wouldn't mention Dexter right off. They wanted to look at the box first. They needed more information. After they knew what the box held, they could move forward with a plan.
With casual ease, they stepped along the road to the house. No weapons drawn, and purposely nonchalant in their advance. When they reached the porch, they raised their hands, palms up, and greeted the man in the rocking chair. He hadn't acknowledged them yet, or made any movement other than slowly rocking. The chair now creaked to a halt.
When the old man finally spoke, his voice was thick and hoarse, the voice of a lifelong smoker. “Come on up.”
“Hello Sir.” Shane introduced Jason and himself.
“Jake Thompson,” the man said, continuing to puff on his pipe, but no longer rocking back and forth. He looked like a man in his late sixties, a bit scruffy, but not menacing. His beard was long, gray, and needed a trim, and his faded overalls sported a million pockets, most likely for a variety of tools, screws and tobacco..
“We're walking the countryside looking for shelter. Hoping you might let us stay here a night or two.”
“Yeah,” Jason added hesitantly.
“Is that so?” The man stood up and opened the screen door. He motioned for them to go inside. Shane was surprised he hadn't asked for their weapons, or any assurances of peaceful intent.
Inside, a group of four men and two women sat at the kitchen table. They were pouring over stacks of papers: manuscripts, charts, and drawings. Some of the pages had scientific calculations on them. These people all wore glasses and looked like stereotypical academics. It was an odd incongruity considering the situation. Had Dexter not realized? His thugs could have just walked in here and taken his precious box without a fight.
A tall thin man stood up and shook their hands.
“Walter Feynman,” he said. “Can I get you two gentlemen a lemonade?”
A woman was already pouring them each a glass. She looked more like a doctor than a housewife. It turned out she was in fact Walter's wife, and a professor of physics.
“So,” Walter went on, “you're the two he sent in.”
“Pardon?” Shane sipped the lemonade. It tasted bitter with no sugar.
“Dexter. He sent you two to steal something from me.”
“What do you mean?” Shane feigned ignorance, but had a feeling it was pointless.
“Don't do that,” Walter said impatiently. “We can pretend not to know, but it just wastes time. I do know that Dexter is trying to get something of mine. Of ours.” He made a gesture toward the others with his left hand. “And this has his handwriting all over it. He sent you two in here to get something for him.”
Jake spoke up, “It's a little suspicious the way you just walked up here. You didn't wave any guns in my face. Was it because you already knew something about us?”
“Well, no... you see...” Jason sputtered.
Shane cut him off with a look. “Alright. Here's the deal. Dexter has my brother. He plans to kill him if we don't bring back this... box, or whatever. He wants some box.”
“The formulas,” Walter explained. “He wants the formulas stored in the vault.”
“Okay.” Shane said. “He didn't tell us that, but whatever. We have to take it to him, or he'll kill my brother.”
Walter took off his glasses and cleaned them with a tissue. He replaced them on this face and looked directly at the boys. “Not a chance in hell.”
“Sir...?”
“Do you know what the formulas are, son?” Walter explained, “They are the means to create weapons, biological weapons. Highly targeted to a specific genome. He intends to target a virus at those creatures out there, and destroy them.”
“I'm not seeing a down side to that,” Jason said.
“The down side, son, is that it could wipe us all out.” Walter raised his voice for the first time. “Dexter is reckless. We know him a bit better than you. He used to work with us, until we kicked him off the team. He always thinks he's doing what is right, but he rarely ever does. Those biological elements could easily strip the Earth of all life – not just those lizards out there.”
Walter's wife put her hand on his shoulder, and he calmed down and lowered his voice again. “And there are several different species of mutations out there. He may not realize that. Not all the creatures share the same genes.”
Another m
an stepped into the room. This man was big, muscular, like a human tank with a crew cut. He had guns strapped to his back, belt, and boots, and carried an automatic machine gun in his arms.
“Everything okay in here?” He asked Walter.
“It's fine, Sergeant.”
Is that a title or a name? Shane wondered.
“Impressive guns there, but you've only got one man?” Shane asked. “Dexter has fifty or more. Aren't you afraid he'll come busting in here anyway? Regardless of what we do?”
“We have more guns,” Walter said. “And more creative weapons.”
“Look, just give us something to take back. He's gonna kill my brother!”
“He would spot a fake formula, and kill you just the same,” Walter told them. “And there is no way I will ever let him have the real ones.”
Shane looked helplessly at Jason, who was lost for words or ideas.
“He'll kill you either way,” the Sergeant said.
“I am sorry,” Walter added. “It's a hard pill to swallow, but you must consider your brother dead at this point. There is nothing I can do to help you. At least the two of you can walk away from this alive.”
Jason finished his lemonade, and sulked in silence. Shane paced to the window, then back. “So why did you even bother to let us in?”
“To see if Dexter has a personal message for us,” Walter said. “Actually him sending you here is a message. He's telling us he's coming for it. He knew you couldn't succeed, but this was his way of warning us that he's serious. Still, I was hoping for a more personal message, maybe a note he gave you.”
Shane shook his head. “No. No message. He just told us to steal some box you have here.”
“Ah. A pity. I had hoped to get something more from him. After all, I can't just check his Facebook page anymore. If you know what I mean.”
Two men at the table chuckled.
Shane shrugged. “So what now?”
“Well, that's up to you,” said Walter. “You can go back and try to rescue your brother, or you can move on. But you cannot stay here. And you cannot have what you came for.”
“This sucks,” Jason said. “You're supposed to be enlightened. I can see you're not just some gang of thugs here. So you should help us.”