There were some collective gasps in the crowd. He had their attention. Greg leaned against the wall of the building in the shadows. Hearing his name was a shock. It felt strange to be called out in such a manner, but he understood why the man was doing it. He was making it impossible for Greg to walk among the people or blend in. The risks of being caught were now even greater, something he knew the moment he heard his name.
“I’m told,” said beret man, “that this Greg Atkins is a little under six feet tall, skinny, has a beard, brown eyes, and dirty blond hair. Think Unabomber here, people. The woman told me quite a bit about him and the delight they get from murdering innocent people. Apparently, he’s a former assassin who has terrorized plenty of people before and continues to do so today. She spoke of countless murders over the past few months during their ruthless killing spree, taking advantage of the Ebola outbreak to their sick liking.”
The crowd held their faces forward with a steady gaze, captivated. From afar, Greg watched in disbelief. Soon he would have to find a more secure spot or be exposed and torn to pieces by the agitated mob.
“Put him on trial!” one of the men in the crowd shouted out. Applause rippled among the crowd.
The beret man nodded. “Once he’s captured, we certainly will. In the meantime, the woman is currently being monitored for Ebola, and as soon as she is cleared, she will face punishment for assault. And this is the best part...” The man turned, lifted his arm, and gestured to a spot where two men stood guard.
Suddenly, more guards entered the public square from a nearby building, holding small plastic buckets.
“We’re going to have a lottery.” A fearful tremor of intuition seemed to ripple through the crowd. The man called for quiet. “Each of you will draw a number, and whoever has the winning number will be given the opportunity to enforce the sentence the woman receives after her trial. Depending on the outcome of course.” He held up a finger. “And you must be eighteen years or older.”
Several of the guards on the stage laughed at the beret man’s closing comment. The people below each pulled out a tiny piece of paper from the buckets as the guards passed by them. Greg couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The sadistic nature of those running the base exceeded even what he thought possible. Their twisted game was all the conviction he needed. But he was relieved to hear that Veronica was alive…for now.
The beret man pulled out a ticket from his own bucket and held it up in the air. “Let’s see what we have here. Who will be the lucky winner?” He tilted his head to read from the paper then paused, letting the suspense build, like they used to do on those stupid TV game shows. Finally he spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am holding number seventy-four! Number seventy-four.” He lowered his arm and looked around the crowd, waiting for a response. “Do we have number seventy-four out there?” From afar, Greg watched the scene unfold, the crowd alive with nervous anticipation.
“Oh. Oh. Right here!” a scraggly-faced, long-haired man shouted from the middle of one of the lines, holding his ticket up. His eyes were wild with excitement.
“It’s about time,” the beret man said. A guard approached the man to verify his ticket. He then turned to the stage and gave a thumbs up. The beret man nodded. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Larry Osborne,” the man said. He began to jump up and down, pumping his fists in the air. “I won! I can’t believe I won!”
From the stage, beret man smiled. “We’re all happy for you. Let’s give Larry a round of applause.”
The crowd responded with cheers, whistles, and clapping, some of it genuine and some of it forced.
Larry’s faced beamed. “What do I get to do to her?” he asked.
“That depends on the outcome of the trial,” beret man answered.
“Can I do her before I kill her?”
Small gasps flowed like waves through the lines. Mothers covered the ears of the few children in the crowd.
Beret man held his hand up. “Please, sir. We have children around.”
Larry didn’t seem fazed. “I mean, is it on the table? I just need some action. Nothing special. I promise to kill her afterward.”
Beret man shook his head and laughed. “You are entirely too eager, Larry. You’ll have to wait until the trial, and whatever her sentence is, you’ll be authorized to carry it out.”
Greg continued to watch the spectacle while scanning the area for another hiding spot. He found the spectacle shocking and sickening.
Larry’s ramblings seemed to have no end. “I mean, if she’s going to die anyway, what’s the harm, right?”
A young red-haired man standing in front of Larry squinted and looked up toward the sky in frustration. As Larry continued, the man spun around with rage.
“Shut your disgusting mouth, you parasite!” he shouted.
Larry went silent. His face seemed surprised and angry, then he spoke. “Hey, fuck you, buddy.”
The young man pushed Larry with full force, knocking him to the ground. People watched, some frozen with fear. For others, it was exciting. Guards immediately moved toward the knot of people helping Larry up as the young man whipped around to face the stage.
“This is sick! You and your lackeys should be ashamed of what you’ve done to us! What you’ve turned these people into!”
The young agitator was the lone voice in the crowd. Everyone else remained silent as the beret man waved him off.
“There, there. Go ahead and get it off your chest,” he said into the microphone. “We all need to blow off steam every now and then.
Two guards immediately grabbed the young man and yanked him out of line. A woman in the back of the line cried out in a panic. “No! Joel! Please don’t hurt my husband.”
They dragged the man away and out of the public square as the woman fell to her knees, distraught.
The beret man looked confused but attempted to defuse the situation. “That’s OK, ma’am, don’t worry. On your feet now. We’re just going to try to help your husband cool off. We don’t want him making a scene here and scaring good people.”
The stringy-haired, plainly-dressed woman rose up with the help of another woman behind her. She cried into the woman’s shoulder. Beret man looked into the crowd with a smile and tried to turn attention away from the disruptive little circle. Larry pushed himself up from the concrete and brushed himself off. Gone was his smile and enthusiasm.
“Let’s move on, shall we?” beret man asked the crowd. "To celebrate our thirty days of being Ebola-free, we’re distributing double rations for lunch today. And every one of you deserve it.”
The guards clapped loudly and the crowd enthusiastically followed. The idea of extra rations made everyone happy.
“Just stay productive on your work details, and you’ll get a nice reward at lunchtime. Thank you all!” The beret man passed the microphone to a nearby guard, saluted the crowd, and walked off the stage as the cheers continued.
Greg’s attention was focused elsewhere. He watched the two guards as they dragged the man away from the lot and into the alley between two distant buildings. Some people in the crowd looked beyond saving, like lost causes. However, the young man had shown signs of humanity noticeably absent from most of the others, and Greg felt obligated to investigate. Veronica wasn’t the only one in need of saving.
Good Samaritan
Greg trailed them to a shaded alleyway where Hodder’s men were taking the agitator who had publicly condemned them. The Ebola checks in the lot were still ongoing, and it was business as usual. Now that the people had been alerted of his presence and warned about him, he had to be extra careful. Joel, the man who had been taken away, was clearly not a part of the corruption rampant on the base. He could have information about the location of the holding cells or something about Veronica’s whereabouts. It was also the perfect opportunity to get two of Hodder’s men alone to interrogate them.
Greg ran behind a Humvee parked next to the building adjacent to the alleyway. He ha
d a nice vantage point and watched as the guards walked the man to the end of the alley, as far away from public view as possible. One of Hodder’s men, a lanky mustached man with shaggy hair, pushed Joel against the wall and ordered him to put his hands up against it. Joel complied as the other man, a heavyweight bald man with tattoos completely covering both arms, rammed the end of his buttstock into the back of Joel’s legs.
“Down you go, big mouth,” the man said, laughing.
Joel grunted and fell to the ground in pain. The lanky guard kicked him in the side, knocking Joel over, while the overweight man kicked Joel in the back. At first, they seemed to just be toying with him, with a few hits here and there, taunting him. Then their attack escalated into a full-fledged beating.
On his knees, Joel held his arms up to deflect the swift blows to his head and face. He was losing ground as fists rained down on him, hitting him on all sides. Joel fell to the ground, begging them to stop. The men paused and took a step back. Trembling, Joel lifted himself up and got on his knees, his face already bruised and bloodied. As soon as he found his balance, the two men went back to beating him, throwing punches left and right. Greg saw his moment and moved quickly down the alleyway, drawing his hunting knife.
The men were too busy beating Joel to take notice of Greg’s approach. They were armed, and Greg had to be careful not to reveal himself. If the men were to turn around, all would be lost. They continued to pummel Joel as he struggled to stay on his knees.
“See what happens when you make a scene!” the lanky man shouted. “You must feel pretty stupid now.” He then looked to his heavyset partner. “Hey, Bones, I don’t think we’re getting through to this genius.”
Bones looked back at the lanky man. “Guess we’re gonna hafta try harder, Jimmy.”
Greg kept his footsteps light and his movements swift. He chose the lanky man, Jimmy, to his left first and rushed toward him, knife poised and ready. As the man took another step back from his beaten victim, Greg came from behind and ran the blade across his neck, slitting his throat. Jimmy stumbled back, hacking and spurting blood. Greg pushed him aside and immediately charged at the heavyset man like a viper.
“What the fuck?” Bones began, when suddenly Greg punched him the face, directly in the nose, and tackled him to the ground.
Bones hit the pavement like a rock. His rifle flew off to the side and rolled across the ground. He brought his tattoo-covered arms up and covered his busted nose with his large, meaty hands. Greg flew on top of him and brought his knee right into the man’s gut. He howled out in pain as Greg brought the knife to his throat.
“Listen here, big boy. You’re feeling a world of pain right now, but that’s just the beginning. You tell me what I want to hear, or it’s not gonna be just a broken nose.”
Bones grunted, still holding his bleeding nose, trying to understand what was happening. Joel lay on the ground near them, slowly losing consciousness.
Greg smacked the side of the man’s face, snapping him back into the moment. “Don’t start getting spaced out on me now. I’ve got a few questions for you.”
Bones started to scream out for help when Greg launched a quick punch to his throat. He chocked and gagged, gasping for air as his wide, watery eyes stayed fixed on his attacker. Greg remained on top of Bones, digging his knee deeper into his gut. “Just slow down and breathe. You try to scream again, I’m done with you, got it?”
Bones nodded as his breathing steadied and color came back to his face.
“Where are the holding cells?” Greg asked.
“Under—underground,” Bones answered, wheezing. His large, sweaty arms lay at his side. Blood ran from his nose down both sides of his face. Greg lifted some of his weight off the man and probed him further.
“Like a bunker? How do I get to it?”
“You can’t,” Bones said.
“Why not?” Greg asked, growing frustrated.
“Off limits. Too secure.”
“Bullshit. You’re going to take me to them, and you’re going to get me in.”
Bones closed his eyes and seemed to start laughing to himself. Greg knew he was running out of time. All someone had to do was walk by the alley and everything would change. He sucker punched the man, causing him to gag and choke.
“Is this funny to you?” Greg asked. He stood up over the man with his knife.
“Now get up. Take me to the bunker.”
Shaking his head, Bones struggled to get up.
“Hurry up,” Greg said.
He finally got up from the ground in agony. He stumbled to the side and leaned against the brick wall, steadying himself with one hand and holding his nose with the other. Greg picked up both men’s rifles and went over to check on Joel. His eyes were half shut and he was moaning.
Greg looked over to Bones as he stood against the wall and felt uneasy. He then approached Bones and told him to get moving.
“One minute, I gotta catch my breath,” he responded.
“Now,” Greg said. He looked back at Joel, knowing that he couldn’t leave him there. Jimmy’s body lay on the ground as well in a puddle of blood. Bones limped over to Greg, holding his chest.
“You really did a number on me, bro,” he said. Greg studied the man. His bloody face had an eager expression, as if he wanted Greg to trust him.
“Come on,” the man said. “Follow me, I’ll take you to the bunkers. You’re that terrorist, right? You’re here to get that woman back?”
“You just need to show me where to go,” Greg said.
“Sure, sure, man. I got you. What’s your name?”
Greg noticed something in Bones’s eyes, as if he was trying too hard. He looked deceitful. He was stalling, and Greg knew that he had no intention of showing him the bunker.
Greg plunged his knife directly into Bones’s throat. One minute he was talking, the next moment, sharp steel was embedded in his windpipe. The man’s wide, shocked eyes said it all. Greg pulled the knife out with one yank, releasing him as blood gushed from the wound. Bones gagged and then fell to the ground on his face.
Greg now had two bodies to contend with. They would have to be hidden. He looked around for any place that could do the trick. He pulled the bodies next to each other and then went over to Joel to help him up.
“Hey. Hey, wake up.”
Joel’s eyes opened and he looked up. Greg crouched, put his arm around him, and helped lift him up. “Come on, easy does it.”
Once he got Joel standing, Greg had him lean against the wall. He was dazed and disoriented, with a busted-up face and a swollen eye.
“Look at me. Your name’s Joel, right? A woman in the crowd shouted out your name as they led you away.”
Joel nodded, trying to look through his less-damaged eye and make sense of what was happening.
“I came to help you, but now I need your help. Do you understand me?”
Joel nodded. “Yes,” he said in a faint voice. He almost fell over, but Greg blocked his fall and pushed him gently against the wall again.
“Listen, my name is Greg, and we have a situation here. I need to get rid of these bodies, and I need somewhere to lay low. The longer we stand here, the greater chance we have of getting caught. Either way, both our asses are on the line now.”
Joel nodded again. “I have a place. A room with my family. You can stay with us.”
“And the bodies?” Greg said. He could tell that Joel was thinking, but not fast enough. “Come on, Joel, think.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ll explain all that later, but we gotta do something quick. We leave them here, they’re gonna come right after you. They come after you, they get to me.”
“There’s a dumpster on the side of the building,” Joel said.
“Perfect,” Greg said. “Let’s move.”
***
Hiding two bodies in a nearby dumpster offered only a temporary solution. Greg assumed they’d be discovered during the next trash run, which, i
n keeping with routine, would be the next morning. But he wondered about the bodies he had seen them dumping two days in a row. Where did they come from? Where had they been stored? Seeing the madmen running the base convinced Greg that the bodies they had been dumping weren’t necessarily all affected by Ebola.
Greg moved quickly and with stealth between buildings as Joel led the way, trying to move as fast as he could. The Ebola checks were still ongoing, and all attention was at the public square. They entered through the front door of a long building with a series of rooms opening onto the dark hall. No one appeared to be inside.
“Follow me,” Joel said, limping along. They could hear classical music still blasting from the speakers outside. Greg followed Joel to the third door on the right as Joel stopped and opened the door. “This is the room,” he said. They went inside as Joel turned on a light switch and closed the door.
The room was small, with two bunk beds and two wall lockers on both sides. A pile of luggage was at the end of the room against a wall with a single window. The beds were unmade and clothes were everywhere.
“Sorry about the mess,” Joel said, sitting on the bottom bunk to the left. “We had to get up and leave in such a hurry this morning. It was crazy.”
“That’s the least of our problems right now,” Greg said, pacing the room. He stopped and turned as Joel began to fall against his pillow, exhausted and in pain.
“You need to clean your face. Do you have any ice or anything anywhere?”
Joel laughed and shook his head. “My wife is going to freak out about this.”
“I wouldn’t blame her,” Greg said. He noticed children’s clothes on the other bed. “You have children?”
“Yes,” Joel said. “Three girls.” He put his hands over his face. “This is so bad. I don’t know what to do.”
Greg came over to Joel’s bed and stood over him. “Joel, look at me.” Joel struggled to sit up while trying to keep his good eye open. Greg continued. “We don’t have a lot of time. Is there any way you and your family can escape?”
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