by Trent Reedy
“That’s what keeps us running!” Cal parked the truck by the trailer. A chunky man came out onto the little wooden steps and saluted. We returned the salute. Cal dropped his truck’s tailgate. “Help me with this?”
The pallet held a big coil of rope, some canned food and boxed pasta, and a couple duffel bags. It was light enough for us to carry the whole thing to the bed of Cal’s truck. We covered it with a tarp and used bungee cords to secure it all.
“You can sleep if you want to,” Cal said, issuing the Brotherhood salute as we left the compound.
I couldn’t, though. I had to stay awake to make sure I understood the route to the compound. Cal had just shown me how to get my people out of town and away from the Brotherhood.
Back in Freedom Lake, Cal parked in a garage the Brotherhood had built after they set up their headquarters in the old cop shop on Main Street. It was a proper dock, where we pulled up next to a high concrete platform. Stacks of pallets and a bunch of fifty-gallon drums cluttered the whole place. “Great.” Cal yawned as he shut off his engine. “Where the hell are the guys? We can’t just leave this stuff in here.” He flopped back in his seat and looked over at me. “Come on.”
“Maybe I should just stay here,” I said. “The less Brotherhood guys see me, the better.”
“Don’t worry about the guys. Everybody’s excited you’re joining us. It’s cool.”
I followed him out of the garage, squeezing my rifle and hoping Cal was right about the Brotherhood being cool with me being there. After a quick check of the yard inside the HESCO barrier wall got us nowhere, Cal turned back. “There must be someone inside.”
“This the stuff to fix the burned kid?” a man said, back in the garage.
Cal stopped around the corner, out of sight. He looked at me, confused. “Burned kid?” he whispered.
“No,” came another voice. “It’s for that Chinese teacher. Ex-teacher, I mean.”
Cal frowned and held his hands palm up in front of him like, What the hell?
“You’re both wrong.” Crow’s voice came from inside the garage. “This is for someone else. And I’ll knock you both out if I hear you talking about this stuff just anywhere. That’s inner circle only. Brotherhood captains and higher. Where’s Riccon?”
Cal started ahead, but I held him back for a moment. “Don’t go in yet,” I whispered. “Don’t let them think we were listening right out here.”
“It’s no big deal,” Cal whispered back. “Who knows what they were talking about? Probably nothing.”
He didn’t sound convinced. “Okay, let’s go,” I said. “Be cool.”
Cal nodded and led the way into the garage. “Hey, Nathan. We were looking for someone to check this load in.”
Nathan Crow stared down at us from the platform. Jake Rickingson and another man I didn’t know were with him. Crow smiled. “Danny Wright. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Cal’s kind of showing me the ropes before my induction this weekend,” I said. “Besides, someone’s got to keep him from falling asleep at the wheel.”
He laughed. “Well, thanks for the help. You all set for graduation?”
I’d felt bad lying to Cal earlier, but I had no problem playing this asshole. “You bet. I even found a tie, and I think I can fit into my old suit jacket.”
“Fantastic.” He motioned for the two men with him to get the load from the truck. “Well, thanks for making the supply run. Sorry about the late notice.”
“No problem,” Cal said flatly.
I snapped to attention and offered Crow my best Brotherhood salute, squeezing my left fist so tight over my head that my arm shook. Cal did the same, and Crow returned the salute.
Minutes later, we were safely outside the compound, driving back to Cal’s.
“What do you think that meant, ‘fix the burned kid’?” I asked.
Cal shrugged, refusing to look at me. “I don’t know. Maybe there’s medicine in the duffel bags for some patient? Maybe even for Sweeney.”
The guys hadn’t sounded all nice and helpful. “And the ‘Chinese teacher’?” There was only one Asian teacher in Freedom Lake, and he wasn’t Chinese.
“Dunno, man.” Cal gripped his steering wheel hard. “Could be anything. Something on that pallet that some teacher needs? You gotta remember that the Brotherhood are helping out a lot of people all over northern Idaho.”
Something was wrong, and Cal knew it. Still, I didn’t want to push him too hard, or he’d push back. “You don’t think they were talking about Sweeney and Shiratori, do you?”
“What?” Cal said. “No. I mean, maybe. I don’t know. It could be stuff they need in Spokane. Like I said, big territory.”
We’d reached his house, but he stopped in the driveway. “You’re not pulling in?”
“You go ahead,” Cal said. “I’m going to go for a little drive.”
“Alone? It’s after three in the morning.”
He slapped his armband. “I’ll be fine. Seriously, go get some sleep.”
“Rule number —”
“Enough with the rules!” Cal shouted. “This ain’t the occupation! The Brotherhood has things under control. I’m one of them. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, man.” I climbed down out of his truck. “Be care —”
He leaned across to shut my door and was backing out of the driveway a second later. Something bad was about to go down.
“I hope Cal’s okay,” I said the next morning, as me, JoBell, and Sweeney walked toward High School Hospital, where Sweeney had an appointment with Doc Strauss. Cal hadn’t come home last night, and I’d told the others about what had gone down.
“ ’Course he’s okay,” Sweeney grunted as he limped along, leaning on his cane. “It’s the ‘burned kid’ you should be more worried about.”
JoBell put her hand on Sweeney’s good shoulder. “We’re always worried about you. That’s why we make you keep going to these doctor’s appointments even when you think you don’t need to.” Sweeney had been fighting through the pain, forcing himself to move around a lot more. He didn’t have a huge choice in the matter, with the Brotherhood hogging all the meds, but now I think he was putting up with the pain in part to get back to his old confident self, and in part to privately say “go to hell” to the Brotherhood.
I heard a vehicle coming down the street behind us. I wouldn’t have noticed that before the war, but these days, the streets were mostly empty, and the only people driving in town were the Brotherhood. I grabbed the handgrip on my slung M4.
Cal pulled up in his pickup, and we all relaxed. His window was down. “Hey,” he said. He looked like hell, greasy hair and dark circles under his eyes. He wouldn’t look at us. “Hey, could you guys get in? I need your help with something, and I can get y’all wherever you’re going.”
Sweeney lifted his cane like he was saluting or toasting. “Thanks, but we’re good. It’s a nice morning, and I need to get used to getting places on my own anyway.”
“Please,” Cal said quietly. “Please. I need your help.”
JoBell went to his truck first. “What’s wrong?”
“Come on,” he said. “Can you hurry?”
We climbed into the truck. I rode shotgun with Sweeney behind me and JoBell behind Cal. Cal’s hands shook as he shifted into drive and headed down the road.
“Have you been up all night?” I asked. “Did you get any sleep?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about what those guys said last night,” Cal said to me. He seemed to notice the others, and added, “Did you … ?”
“I told them,” I said.
“Well, it’s probably nothing, but I got to thinking that maybe they were talking about Mr. Shiratori. Maybe they were worried about people trying to hurt Coach because of the Fed traitor stuff. So I parked in the alley behind Coach’s house and did patrols around his place a few times through the night, just to be sure he was safe. Everything seemed fine.”
“Then what do you ne
ed us for?” Sweeney asked.
“I want you to come talk to him with me,” Cal said. “Help me convince him to watch out for —”
“Oh no,” JoBell said. “No.”
Cal hammered the gas and we flew down the street. A second later, I saw what they’d spotted.
Two bodies hung from a tree in the Martinezes’ front yard.
“No, no, no!” Cal screamed. The truck hit the curb and we bounced up into the yard, shooting right by the tree. Cal hit the brakes, slammed the truck in reverse, and backed the truck’s bed under the bodies. “Help me!” He opened his door to jump out.
“Cal, stop the truck!” Sweeney yelled.
Cal stomped on the brake, shifted to park, and was out. I hurried right behind him. He dropped his truck’s tailgate and was up in seconds. With an arm around each body, he pushed up with his legs, trying to get the pressure off their necks. “Help me, damn it!” he shouted.
But I could see we were too late. Whole clumps of Mrs. Martinez’s hair had been yanked out, creating bald patches on her scalp. The rope cut into her swollen, red-purple, stretched-out neck. Like Mr. Martinez, her eyes bulged. Her lips were blue. Both of them had notes pinned to their chests, hateful words scrawled in red crayon.
I put my arms around Mrs. Martinez’s cold, stiff body. “Cal! Your sword! Cut ’em down!”
“Damn it!” He jumped up on the wall of his truck bed and drew his blade.
“Where’s Jaclyn!?” JoBell shouted.
Sweeney caught up to us. “Danny?”
I looked at him and shook my head. “Pull security! Jo, find Jackie!”
“I’ll check the house!” She ran toward the Martinezes’ front door.
“Wait. Rule number one!” Sweeney followed her.
“Right,” I said. “Go!”
Mrs. Martinez dropped into my arms, her dead weight surprising me. I laid her down clumsily in the truck bed.
“Get the rope off her neck!” Cal yelled.
I grabbed Jaclyn’s dad. “Cut him down first!”
Cal sliced the rope in one big slash. I thought I was ready, but Mr. Martinez was heavy, and I fell, landing on Mrs. Martinez with her husband on top of me. The truck shook as Cal jumped down to the bed. “Come on! Help me.”
I freed myself from the corpses as Cal fought to loosen the tight noose around Jackie’s dad’s neck. I rolled to my knees next to my friend and put my hand on his big shoulder. “Cal.”
“Help me, damn it!” He shook me off so hard, I almost fell down.
“What’s going — oh no.” Mr. Shiratori stood behind the tailgate.
Cal groaned something between a human scream and an animal roar. I couldn’t tell if his fingers were bleeding from clawing at the rope or if it was Mr. Martinez’s blood.
“Cal, we’re too late,” I said.
Mr. Shiratori joined us in the back of the truck. He put his hands on Cal’s shoulders. “Cal. Cal?” He let go of Cal and stood up straight. “Riccon!”
Cal finally gave up, his body shaking as he hung his head. “Yes, Coach.”
I put my arms around him and leaned down, trying to get him to see me. “Buddy, you did all you could. You did everything — we were just too late.”
“Those bastards,” Mr. Shiratori said.
It was quiet then, except for Cal’s sniffles. Then I looked up to see Jaclyn shaking, staring wide-eyed at the horror in Cal’s truck.
JoBell and Sweeney came back out of the Martinez house. “Danny, we can’t find —” JoBell started. “Oh, Jackie.” She ran toward her friend.
But Jaclyn was too fast. She threw herself onto the back of the pickup, clawing and kicking her legs like mad to get closer to her parents. “Mama!” she gasped. “Papa!”
I reached for her, but took an accidental elbow to the face. Like Cal had done, she tried pulling at the ropes. “They’re not breathing!” She pressed her mouth to her mother’s cold lips and blew. She tried again. “Please!” she grunted as she pushed on her mother’s chest. “No! No! No!” Her screams faded into whispers as she ran out of breath.
Mr. Shiratori pulled her back. “Jaclyn.”
Cal sat against the wall of his truck bed, hugging his knees to his chest like a little kid, crying. JoBell joined us on the truck, putting her arms around Jaclyn, who screamed until she was out of breath, gasped for air, and screamed again. Jaclyn’s parents had been murdered, hung by a red ski rope with blue flecks — the very rope that me and Cal had hauled to town last night. I met Cal’s horrified eyes. He knew who was behind this.
Minutes later, Jake Rickingson pulled up in a new-looking Jeep Wrangler four-by-four. He hurried out of his vehicle with his hand on his belt-holstered .45. “What’s going on here?”
“Jaclyn’s parents were murdered!” Sweeney shouted.
Rickingson frowned at him. “Damn it. This is why all of us have to be on guard. We have people who would sell us out to the US, and others who want to play vigilante and take the law into their own hands.”
“You’re the ones —” Sweeney started.
“Shut up, Eric!” JoBell yelled at him.
“Come on. You’re not buying —”
“No, Sweeney,” I said. “Really, shut up.”
Mr. Rickingson climbed up on the truck and looked down at the bodies, shaking his head. “Everybody’s emotional at a time like this. I can understand that. Thanks for helping here, PFC Wright.” He patted my shoulder. Then he frowned and acted like he was surprised to find the crayon-scrawled note. He held it up to show it to all of us. “This accusation is very serious. I’m going to need to search the house for evidence of cooperation with the United States.” Jaclyn had dropped limp in JoBell’s arms, tears and snot running down her face. “Riccon, you done good here, getting them down and all. I’ll take over the investigation. Why don’t you walk on home and rest?”
Cal rose to his feet, standing on the bed of his truck, his shoulders heaving like a rodeo bull. He grasped the hilt of his sword and pulled it out a few inches, but I took his hand and pushed it down.
“Easy, buddy,” I whispered. I moved in front of him so he’d have to see me. “Hey. Hey, look at me.” His panicked eyes finally locked on to me. “It’s done. We gotta help Jackie now.”
Jake Rickingson hadn’t noticed Cal getting all pissed. He climbed down from the truck. “Riccon, after I search the house, I’ll need to borrow your truck to take them back to headquarters and look for clues about who did this.”
“No!” Jaclyn screamed. “You’re not taking them, you bastard!” She launched herself after Rickingson, who had reached the Martinezes’ front door, but me and Coach grabbed her. “Let me go! Let me go! They killed my parents!”
Rickingson put on a sad face. “She’s out of her mind with grief. It’s understandable.”
“We’ll take care of her,” JoBell said.
“Yeah.” I forced myself to be cool. “Thanks for helping, Mr. Rickingson.”
“She shouldn’t be alone,” Mr. Shiratori said.
“You live right down the street?” Rickingson asked him. “I’d like to talk to you about what happened here.”
Mr. Shiratori frowned. “What are you talking —”
“Coach,” I said loudly. “Why don’t we all go to Cal’s house? Your family could come too.” No way was I going to leave Coach and his family alone and unprotected. I had to let the Brotherhood know that they’d have to go through me to get to Mr. Shiratori. Jake Rickingson watched us from the front door of Jaclyn’s house. Time for more of that acting I’d been doing lately. “Mr. Rickingson, you should get some backup. If the killers are still nearby, they may come after you.”
“That’s a good idea.” Rickingson grinned. “You’re a good man, Wright. It’ll be good to have you as one of us.”
I smiled as I gave the Brotherhood salute, and Rickingson returned it. I’m not gonna lie. It took everything in me not to rip his damned arms off.
When Rickingson had gone inside, I let out a breath of
relief, then grabbed Cal by his shirt and whispered, “Get your shit together, buddy. We need your help. Get Jaclyn back to your house. Carry her if you have to.”
“Don’t you get it?” Cal started. “The rope they used. It’s the stuff we brought…. Oh shit, Danny. This is all my —”
“Cal, honey, I know this is tough.” JoBell had left Jaclyn sitting on the pickup’s tailgate, Sweeney’s arms wrapped around her. “But he’s right. Jaclyn barely knows what’s happening right now. We need to get her safely to your house.”
Cal nodded. He started trying to claw off his Brotherhood armband, but I stopped him, watching the house. Rickingson might be looking out the window. “Cal, no. Whatever happens, you have to act like you’re still a proud member of the Brotherhood of the White Eagle. Didn’t you say you’d do anything to help your friends?”
He kind of gasped his words. “I will. I always will.”
“Then act like you’re still cool with the Brotherhood, and get everyone back to your house, to your basement, right away. I’m going to Coach’s house first. Then we’ll meet you there.” Mr. Shiratori looked like he was about to argue, but I cut him off. “Trust me. Everybody, trust me.”
* * *
The war had given me plenty to hate about myself, and after Jaclyn’s parents were murdered, I recognized something else that made me a shitty guy. I was sad, pissed off that Mr. and Mrs. Martinez had been killed, but after we left their bodies back there with Jake Rickingson, I came alive, like someone had thrown a switch. It was hard to explain. Maybe I’d become addicted to the adrenaline. Maybe it was that prepping for risky combat ops, or being in the firefight itself, kept me busy, so I didn’t have time to sit around thinking about all the terrible things I’d done.
At Coach’s house, he stormed into his dining room and dumped a bunch of papers from a cardboard box onto the floor. Then he pulled these old-looking cups out of a glass china cabinet and stuffed them in the box. “Why doesn’t anyone study history?” he whispered. “Why doesn’t anyone listen? It’s all happening again.” He dropped the box on the dining room table and looked up, wide-eyed. “Kelsey? Kelsey!?”