by Bradley West
“Our getaway car. Where are we headed?”
“Arkar and I will hide as close as we can and still have broad fields of fire. We have four shots each before we need to reload. If we don’t miss, that may be enough if we catch them all in the open at the same time. Arkar, get as close to our people as you can. When the shooting starts, protect them. I’ll set up where I can block their exit.”
Fifteen minutes later, Arkar was back on his belly behind rocks and scrub, barely one hundred meters from the camp. Travis and Carla were farther out, one hundred meters to Arkar’s north. Unless someone shouted, the sounds of voices were indistinct.
In the distance, a wolf howled and another replied
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Sunday Bloody Sunday
Sunday, July 19, 2020: Spice Land, Idaho, morning
Pat rebuffed Sal and strode to where Muller held court. “What do you want?” she asked.
“Only you by my side. Carla!” he called out in his loudest voice. “We know you’re out there. I have Pat. You have ten minutes before I start chopping off one finger per minute. Next go the toes. That’s thirty minutes until she has nothing but clubs. Come in and I’ll let her go.”
Pat? Why Pat? Sal had to get them off his wife, and Carla had to stay out of camp at all costs. He’d noticed that the biggest biker was on wobbly legs as he loaded loot into the white truck. Then a miracle happened and Dirty Pete slumped to the ground, head in hands. If the 3M could just hold out, Covid would fell them all. Other than his life, Sal could trade one thing that might save Pat—his hidden revolver. If only he could delay Muller or swap places with Pat, it might be daylight by the time they finished carving him up.
Barb rushed past her father and confronted Muller. “Let my mother go and I’ll give you Covid-20 cures! We have them hidden. Take them and just leave. Stop hurting people!”
Sal did the math and confirmed his daughter’s claim—twenty Dark Cure doses from Gardnerville, four for Vegas bribes, eight left in the State Line semi and eight in reserve, enough to ensure the survival of Muller’s lethal maniacs.
“Speak up, Sugar Tits,” Muller said as he leered at Barb’s breasts.
“My father was right when he said the last of the treatments went to Vegas with Stephanie and her baby. The vaccines were unfinished, which is why we had to send Carla too. But she made a batch of Dark Cure back in Nevada for local townspeople and saved the extras. My father’s been out of it after his heart attack and didn’t remember. We have eight doses, just what you need, right?”
Muller’s exasperation morphed into borderline fury. “If you’d have told us this three hours ago, we’d be gone and you could be praying to Jesus or whatever the fuck it is you people do. Where are the vaccines? Where’s that doctor? Is she dead yet?”
Tina Francisco refused to be cowed. “I’m still alive and I’m right here. It’s true that we have Covid-20 treatments. They’re in the lab RV’s refrigerator.”
“That’s bullshit,” said Katerina. “I went through that with a fine-tooth comb.”
“I’ll show you,” Tina said. Katerina and Kurt disappeared with Tina into the RV and emerged minutes later with a tray of syringes, cotton balls, isopropyl alcohol and vials.
“The clever bitch had it mislabeled as an anti-coagulant,” Katerina said, “which made sense given Sal’s heart attack. Of course, it could be battery acid for all I know.”
“How many doses are there?” Muller asked.
“Eight.”
“Perfect. We poke a kid to see if it’s poison. If the brat doesn’t die or get sick, we’ll inject ourselves and leave.”
“You’re forgetting two things, darling,” Katerina said. “First, there’s at least five million dollars’ worth of half-made Dark Cure in that motorhome. That’s our Tahiti money. Second, there’s no way that a vaccine batched up in Livermore Labs needs Carla to finish it. That means that she’s out there somewhere close. I want her help with this batch and, after that, you can let her go or leave hanging from a lamp post for all I care.”
Sal scanned the hostages until he saw a face full of resolve: Yonten. He edged over and whispered to the sixteen-year-old who nodded vigorously and stepped back into the shadows.
Sal needed a diversion—the game might already be lost, but he had to keep playing. He worked his way back to the front and made his offer: “If you want to be rich, I have something that’s better than Carla—written instructions for how to make the Dark Cure, plus a recording of the process.”
“Well, well, well,” Muller said. “The Maggio family is full of surprises. Grandpa Sal, why don’t you show us these wonderful things after my gal injects one of your little people? We have time.”
“I’ll need one of your men to bring me the laptops and drives you looted. It’s on one of them, or if someone wiped it, they copied it onto a thumb drive. I’m hazy with all the meds.”
“Take all the time in the world,” Muller said as he shifted his wristwatch to stopwatch mode and beeped it to life. “Same deal as before—ten minutes until we start on Pat’s fingers.”
There was a commotion inland and a familiar voice rang out: “Stop! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I’m Carla Maggio!”
The guards and hostages alike rose to their feet and strained to pick out Carla among the darting light beams. In the confusion, Yonten slipped away.
* * * * *
Short of shooting Carla in the back, it was too late to stop her by the time Travis realized that she hadn’t gone for a pee. He saw the bright lights reflect off the copper hair and then the silhouette of a biker stepped between them. He’d give his meager life’s savings for the night-vision goggles and a third shooter needed to free his people. Instead, he crouched in misery as a henchman manhandled Carla.
A minute later, the situation worsened: “You don’t have a choice!” Muller yelled. “Leave or die! Get out of here.”
What the fuck? Muller had turned Pat loose to wander in the desert while a biker used one of the 3M’s night-vision devices to look for movement on the surrounding slopes. Anyone who came to Pat’s aid would die. Within a few minutes, Travis heard her stumble over rocks and snuffle. Eventually, she passed close enough that he could speak to her. “Pat! It’s Travis. Don’t stop or say anything. Turn slightly left and work your way toward the sound of my voice. It’s rocky, so be careful. When you’re closer, find a pile of rocks to sit behind, but don’t come all the way to me. Do you understand?”
“Melvin’s dead and they have Carla,” Pat sobbed. “Jaime’s shot and probably dead!”
“I need you to stay calm.”
“How can I be calm? Those people are murderers.”
“Breathe deeply and get a grip or you’re no use to anyone. Stay where you are until first light. We have an ATV that’s up the rise two hundred yards behind us. The keys are in the ignition. Follow the tracks back to the main compound and find Shorty and Andrew. Tell them that Muller took Carla. We need them to sabotage the roads—lay out spike strips or roofing nails, anything that shreds tires.”
“I’d rather return to camp and kill Muller. He’s the devil incarnate,” she said in a steadier voice.
“The best way to do that is to do what I said, then drive the ATV back here and wait. Be ready to drive down to camp on the double to help evacuate our wounded and children. I’m headed to the other side where I can cover the road out. No one drives out of the gate with any of our people on board.”
Pat let all that sink in. “I understand. Don’t worry about me. No matter what they say or who they threaten, you can’t surrender. If you do, Muller will kill everyone once they’ve finished.”
“What’s Muller waiting for?”
“He needs Carla to finish a Dark Cure batch. His scientist got stuck. Barb told them about our surplus Dark Cure doses so all of them will have their shots. Muller will kill everyone and then leave when the next batch’s ready.”
* * * * *
Next to the burned-out campf
ire, Jaime lay on his back, head turned to the left to see as much of the action as possible. “Six,” Yonten said as he nonchalantly dropped Sal’s revolver next to Jaime’s right hand, out of the guards’ sight. Jaime felt for the grip and tucked it under his back. The teenager walked half the distance back to the crowd before Stenner noticed him. Yonten feigned zipping up and gave the biker a sheepish wave before rejoining the herd.
* * * * *
Arkar reached his prior position, this time with a Winchester across his back. He would keep crawling until he saw a sentry, or the dawn broke—the closer he was to the hostages, the more easily he could tell friend from foe.
Travis had left Pat almost an hour ago. He made a wide arc, scaling the razor wire far away and hustling down the unsurveilled perimeter road. Once he spotted the gate, he moved to higher ground. Shorty’s second Winchester possessed major stopping power, but he still couldn’t afford any misses.
Travis was now certain that Muller would take the Horizon and Carla for the double advantage of holding onto a hostage and having someone to make the Dark Cure. Travis had little faith in their ability to locate the blue ’Bago if it had a big head start. He’d risk a bloody shootout if it prevented them from taking her.
A pink line showed on the horizon. Pat checked her watch: 5:50 a.m. She stood up and began her hike toward the ATV, turning on her flashlight once she was two hundred yards farther inland. She found it without incident and pointed it into the rising sun and Spice Land’s principal buildings three miles away.
* * * * *
Muller’s stab wound ached like a sonofabitch, but he didn’t trust the doctor enough to submit to general anesthesia, even after he told her that the bikers would kill every hostage if he died on the table. The Asian pit bull didn’t scare easily, that was for certain. He’d tough it out with just stitches the same way he’d dealt with the through-and-through. If he didn’t move, neither wound hurt much. As first light showed, he thought he heard an engine start off in the distance. It faded and could have been his imagination, but he suspected it wasn’t. He wrenched himself to his feet and gritted his teeth as he walked to the RV, where Bailey was taking his turn at sentry duty. “Katerina,” he called. “Come out here for a sec.”
She pulled off her hazmat hood and trudged down the steps. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice dripping with fatigue.
“We’re sitting ducks and soon it will be light enough for snipers. How much longer?”
“Princess Leia is slow-walking the process and mixing things up. What’s the deal with Grandpa Sal and the videos?”
“He’s over with Pete; also stalling, I’d imagine. Get everything in the RV tied down. I’ll make a call in five minutes.”
Muller walked over to a more vibrant Dirty Pete who held a flashlight while Sal Maggio plinked at a PC keyboard. “We need to get the fuck out of Dodge before sunup. If he doesn’t pull up the video in two minutes, slit his throat and saddle up.”
“We’re already on the last laptop,” Sal said without taking his eyes from the screen. “I know we loaded the master recordings onto a computer and we copied all of it onto a USB drive that went to Vegas. Just be patient.”
“I was patient when I set your wife free,” Muller said. “Precious Carla is still alive even though she’s doing jack shit. I’m out of patience, old man. Dirty Pete, get rid of him and bring me the four youngest hostages. We’re moving.”
Pete drew the Sharpfinger that had pierced Muller’s innards earlier.
“I found it!” Sal said with genuine surprise. “Have a look: It’s in an unnamed folder but there are about twenty MP4 video files. Look, here at the written instructions.”
Muller turned back. “Hold on a moment, Pete. Let me see.” Bending over Sal’s shoulder, Muller read the neatly hand-lettered instructions. “Bingo! Take him back to the others. Sal will have one or two other useful tricks to share before we’re finished with him. Bring the children to the RV.”
“Got it. We still taking three rides?”
“Kurt takes Norris and Burns in the XLT. Bailey and you drive the supply truck. Stenner will handle the RV. I’ll be in the back of the RV with hostages plus the scientists and the Cure. Everything else disabled?”
“The SUV’s toast. I’ll pull the electronic ignition system out of the other RV before we roll.”
“Hurry. When you hear a gunshot, that’ll be your signal to move out. I’ll send bullet-catcher Burns out the gate first and you bring up the rear. Did you pour out the extra fuel?”
“Didn’t have time,” Pete said. “With Boner dead we’re shorthanded. Besides, if we light it before we go, it just makes us better targets.” He braced for the ass-chewing he knew was coming.
“You’re right,” Muller admitted. “There’s not much left, anyway. Don’t know how they thought they’d get to Canada with so little.” Muller motioned for Sal to hand him the laptop and get up. The two men turned and walked toward where Stenner and Kurt guarded the hostages.
Muller figured he had just enough time to settle up with his favorite family physician.
* * * * *
In ten minutes, the ATV arrived in the Spice Land complex. Pat hadn’t a clue what to do next.
Two men strode out of a building and aimed pistols at her. She stopped and got out, hands in the air. “Muller and his bikers took my people hostage and may try to drive off with them. Please, we need your help.”
An unarmed and bleary-eyed Shorty walked down the steps behind his two ranch hands. “Carla was here a few hours back with the same story. We gave her all the guns and ammunition we could spare. What happened?”
“Carla traded herself for me,” said an agitated Pat. “They’ll either kill her or hold her to make the Dark Cure. If you want to protect the people here from Covid, you’ll need the treatments that Carla’s mixing. Travis wants you to lay spike strips or nails over the roads leading away from our campsite—anything that punctures tires. Can you do that?”
“I think we might,” Shorty said.
“No, we can’t,” Marsh said. “This isn’t our fight.”
“If you think those men will leave you alone, you’re delusional,” Pat said. “I have to get back; we’ll need everyone to help in the coming battle against evil. May God forgive you.” She hopped in the ATV and roared off.
Marsh looked at the disappearing dust cloud and rubbed his face. “This feels like a lose-lose. If Carla’s group wins, they’ll want their supplies. If the bikers win, they’ll be back here looking for women. Either way, no one gets anything from us without a fight—and that’s coming from Andrew as well as me. Our first obligation is to our own. Get those AR-15s out and load ’em up.”
* * * * *
Stenner did Muller’s bidding and collected the four youngest: Juanito and Lupita Gomez, and the Burmese orphans Kyaw and Schway. Muller addressed the frightened children: “We’re taking a ride in the big motorhome. I don’t want any crying or misbehaving. When we’re far away, we’ll let you go and your parents can come get you. If you don’t obey me, I will hurt you bad. ¿Comprenden?”
Cries of “Take me!” and “They’re only children!” caused an irritated Muller to brandish his Walther. He pointed at Rosa and then Zarni to back them away from their little ones. “Tell those brats what I just said.”
Derek Strub used all his strength to bear hug Yonten into immobility. “Just wait,” he counseled the teen. “Jaime will help us. Your dad’s out there with Travis too.”
Rosa did as she was told. She didn’t know if any of the captors within earshot knew Spanish. Besides, what could she tell her ten-year-old son and his seven-year-old sister other than to do whatever the wicked man said?
Zarni didn’t know if anyone spoke Burmese and didn’t much care. She and Arkar were ethnic Nagas from the remote north of Burma, as were the late Maung and Chesa. She spoke in her native tongue to her adopted kids, confident knowing that fewer than two thousand people worldwide could eavesdrop: “Do what he
says, but when the shooting starts protect the younger children. Obey Carla. Uncle Arkar is close and he will kill them all.”
Muller waved back the brown woman with the intense eyes. Time to settle scores. “Kurt, if that fucker by the campfire who shot Boner is still alive, stick him a few times so he bleeds out slow.”
Kurt’s features brightened up and then collapsed into his default scowl. “Once we roll out, that cunt doctor will plug his holes. Maybe I just slit his throat instead.”
“Suit yourself, but no need to worry about the doctor.” Muller’s eyes found his target in the improving light. “Bitch, your lying is why we’re still here, Melvin’s dead and the big Mexican will be soon. Then there’s the crap job you did sewing me up. Time to pay the piper.”
Tina stared him down. “I used unsterile instruments and didn’t suture the hole in your appendix. You’ll be dead in three days and it will be agony.”
“That’s three days longer than you have,” he said, then slashed her carotid artery with Dirty Pete’s Sharpfinger. Wide-eyed, Tina clutched her throat and fell down, blood coursing through her fingers.
A shocked Erinn leaped to Tina’s side and desperately applied pressure to the wound. People shouted and lunged for the guards. Stenner and Kurt leveled their M-4s, and the hostages pulled up short, eyes defiant and fists clenched.
Muller bent in for a closer look and drew satisfaction that Tina’s wound was fatal. He still had the knack, even with wounded guts that made twisting his torso an agony. Muller wiped the blade on his jeans. “Kurt, take care of your spic, then lead us out of here in the XLT. Burns, go nurse Norris in the back of the pickup.”
With a spring in his step, Kurt bounced off toward Jaime.