by Keith Taylor
“My plan is to try to reason with him,” he said, handing the pistol over the driver’s seat to Cathy. “Take this. I don’t think he’s a monster, and I don’t think he really wants to hurt anybody. I think he’s just dumb and panicked, and if I don’t give him the chance to walk away he’s going to do something stupid that gets us all killed.”
Cathy took the pistol and set it down in the cubby between the seats, and Jack reached beneath the driver’s seat and pulled out the gun he’d taken from Warren. He released the magazine and pulled back the slide to double check that it was empty.
Now the cruiser was clearly visible, moving at a crawl a hundred yards behind the truck. Parsons seemed to be sizing up the situation, trying to figure out why they’d stopped.
Jack pushed open the back door, grabbing Boomer by the collar as she tried to rush out between his legs. “Stay here, girl,” he said. “This stop isn’t for you.”
Now Parsons was speaking to the driver of the pickup beside him, giving instructions, and a moment later the vehicle tore ahead. Jack watched, his every muscle tensed, as the pickup pulled alongside their truck. It parked at an angle just ahead of them, blocking them from a clean getaway.
Through the window Jack recognized the driver. It was the same man who’d knocked on the kitchen door at breakfast. Tall and wiry, with a pitiful attempt at a beard sprouting in patches across his face. Ray? Roy? Jack couldn’t remember, but he narrowed his eyes as the man glared back at him from the front seat of the pickup.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “If he doesn't back down,” he said quietly, “I want you to just get out of here. Don’t do anything dumb. Just… just take care of Boomer, OK? Can you grab his collar, Doug?”
Garside reached out and pulled Boomer towards him, his face glowing red with indignation. “Now hold on a minute, chap. You can’t just ask us to leave you behind! I’m no action hero, but that’s… well, it’s just not cricket!”
“He doesn’t want you, Doug. He wants me, and if he needs a doctor badly enough… look, just don’t make this the hill you die on.” Jack reached out and took Garside’s hand. “Thank you, Douglas. I hope you find your wife.”
Garside looked like he was fighting back tears, clutching Jack’s hand for dear life. He turned to Cathy. “You’re not to drive off, understand? We’re not leaving him behind!”
“It’s OK, Doug,” Jack reassured him. “Don’t worry about me.” He reached forward and squeezed Cathy’s shoulder. “Wish me luck.”
Before Cathy could reply he pushed himself out of his seat, his shoes crunching in the gravel beside the road, and he pushed the door closed on Boomer as she strained against her collar, trying to follow him out.
As Jack stepped away from the car Sheriff Parsons' cruiser pulled to a stop across the street, and the sheriff hauled himself out from the driver's seat with a groan. He hitched up his pants as he stood, the sunlight catching the grip of the gun in his holster, and he gave Jack an almost apologetic smile.
“I was really hoping we could do this the easy way, Jack,” he sighed. “You know we had a brainstorm down at the church this morning, trying to come up with ways to get you to stay? They came up with all sorts of ideas. Y'know, landslides blocking the roads, bad gas pumps... we were even toying with the idea of making a fake radio announcement about fallout to the south.” He shook his head and let out a chuckle. “Could have been nice, y'know, if you thought we weren't keeping you here on purpose. Could have all been nice and friendly.”
Parsons pushed his door closed with a sense of finality, as if to declare that the time for friendliness had come to an end.
“But then your buddy there had to go and eavesdrop on a conversation that wasn't meant for her, didn't she?” He looked over at Cathy through the side window of the truck, nodding with a cold smile and raising his voice. “Sort of forced our hand, young lady. Forced us into something a little more drastic.” He waved over to the pickup truck as the driver climbed out, and pointed to Jack. “Check him, Ray.”
Jack locked eyes with the sheriff as Ray approached behind him, and he held still as the man patted him down before pulling the gun from his waistband. “You don't have to do anything, Bill. We can just drive away from here, no harm, no foul. I don't care about whatever you have going on here. Nobody needs to know about this. We can just go our separate ways.”
Parsons sighed, tapping a fist gently on the roof of his cruiser as he glumly shook his head. “I wish it were that simple, Jack, I really do, but you know I can't let you leave. I've got a hundred forty seven people here in Plumas Creek, and I promised I'd take care of them. I gave them my word, Jack. You understand that kind of responsibility, right?” He let out a snort of air through his nose. “Look who I'm asking. Of course you understand. You've got a daughter.”
Jack bristled with anger at the mention of Emily, but he managed to remain silent.
“Now I'm sure you'd be willing to burn the world to the ground to protect your little girl. We got kids here in Plumas Creek, too. Couple dozen of them, and God only knows how long they'll last without a doctor. You understand why I can't put your kid above all of ours, right? That just wouldn't be fair, know what I mean?”
Jack felt his fists clench as he grimaced at the sheriff. He'd love nothing more than to pummel his face until he felt his knuckles hit the back of the man's skull.
“You can't force me to treat your people, sheriff. You know it can't work like that. You can handcuff me to a patient's bed, but I won't lift a finger to help. Not under duress.”
Parsons flashed a cold smile as he used a finger to wipe the sleep from his eye. “Yeah,” he sighed, “I figured you'd say something like that. That's what I told Joan this morning. I said this doc, now he's not a man to be messed with. She's got a good heart, my Joan. She thought we should try the softly, softly approach. Y'know, appeal to your better nature, try to bring you onside, but I told her that wouldn't work with a man like you. See, I know people, and I could see as soon as I looked at you you've got a length of rebar running down your spine.”
As Parsons had been talking Ray had wandered back to his truck, and now the sheriff nodded to him. “Bring out the girl,” he ordered.
“What?” Jack turned to see the man pull open the driver's door of Cathy's truck and take her roughly by the arm. “No! Leave her alone!”
The sheriff reached for his holster as Ray dragged Cathy down to the street, and he took a step forward as he pulled his revolver free. “Like I told Joan, if we wanna get to a man like you we have to show we mean business. No half measures. We have to show him what he has to lose before he'll play ball.”
Cathy fought back against Ray, trying to pull free of his grip. “Get your hands off me, you asshole!”
“Quiet her down, Ray,” Parsons said, and as Jack glared at the sheriff with undisguised hatred he heard a sharp slap behind him, and he turned to see Cathy double over in pain.
“Way I see it, Jack, you've got pretty much nothing left. If your wife and kid are still alive they might as well be on the moon, for all the good it'll do you. You ain't getting all the way down to... where was it, Modesto?” He shook his head. “Not a chance. They're gone, understand?” He flipped out the cylinder of the revolver, checking the chambers before flipping it closed with a click. “The way I see things you got nothing left but these folks here, so they'll be... what's the word? Collateral?”
He pondered it for a moment.
“Yeah, that works. They'll be my collateral. Every time you decide you don't want to be a doctor any more I'll put a bullet in one of your buddies. Nothing too serious, you understand. Just a flesh wound, something you can treat with a little antiseptic and a bandage. No painkillers, though. Those are reserved for my people.”
Jack watched in horror as Ray shoved Cathy to the ground in front of the sheriff. “So what should we try first, Jack? Arm or leg?”
“Stop!” Jack felt the blood run cold in his veins, his hatred chilli
ng him to his core. “Just... stop. I'll do it. Leave her alone. I'll be your doctor.”
Parsons took Cathy by the arm with his free hand, pressing the barrel of the revolver against the fleshiest part of her bicep. “That's nice to hear, Jack. I'm glad you're on board, but you understand I have to show you that I'm not screwing around here. What good's a threat if you're not sure I'll really follow through, know what I mean?”
“Please!” Jack hated himself for giving in. Hated the high pitched squeal of his voice as he pleaded. Hated the pain as he dropped to his knees on the hard asphalt, clasping his hands together. “I believe you! Don't hurt her!”
For what felt like an eternity Parsons held the gun against Cathy's arm, staring at Jack as if sizing him up. As if he was wondering if he'd really broken him, or if Jack was just trying to play him. Parsons squeezed a little on the trigger, and Jack flinched as he watched the hammer draw back.
Time seemed to stop. The hammer hovered half way back, perfectly balanced, ready to snap forward if Jack breathed wrong. Jack stared at it, unblinking. He'd swear he could see it twitch each time the sheriff's heart beat.
And then it eased forward as Parsons relaxed his grip on the trigger. He pulled the gun from Cathy's arm, and as he released her she fell to the ground in tears, shaking with terror.
“I really want to believe you, Jack,” sighed Parsons, ignoring the woman at his feet as he ran a thoughtful hand across his double chin. “I'm half way there. I don't want to have to shoot the girl, but...” He wavered for a moment, moving the barrel of the gun back and forth across Cathy's body, his finger still hovering close to the trigger. “I just can't let you think I'm a soft touch, you know? It wouldn't set the right tone for our relationship.”
With a frustrated growl he finally waved the revolver away from Cathy. “OK, I'm gonna let the girl take a rain check for today, as I'm in a good mood. You'd better be thankful Joan fed me a decent breakfast this morning. You should be sure to thank her, otherwise this could have turned out different.”
Jack let out the breath he'd been holding since Parsons had touched his finger to the trigger. He felt his heart fluttering in his chest, and the acrid taste of bile burned the back of his throat. He felt like he didn't have the strength to lift himself from the ground, his legs were trembling so much.
And then his heart stopped beating as Parsons turned to Ray and muttered another order.
“Go fetch the dog.”
Jack watched as Ray returned to the truck. “No,” he muttered, watching the man yank open the back door and grab Boomer by the collar, pulling him away from Garside. He felt as if he had no strength left as Ray walked the dog back towards Parsons. “Please, no. She's just a dog,” he pleaded once again.
He felt his bottom lip quiver as Parsons hefted the revolver once again. “The girl gets a pass, Jack, but I still have to prove I'm not all talk.” Ray sat Boomer down at the sheriff's feet, and she looked back at Jack with wide eyes, her tongue lolling from her mouth as she panted.
“I want you to remember this, Jack. I want it seared into your memory, understand?” He cocked back the hammer of the revolver. The click as it locked in place seemed deafening against the silence of the forest, and Parsons lowered the gun until the barrel was pressed against the back of Boomer's head.
“Please,” Jack wept now, the tears streaming unashamedly down his cheeks. “Please don't do this.”
Parsons closed his eyes and shook his head, taking a deep breath. “I want you to know that I don't want to do this, Jack. It's important you know that. I'm not Satan. I don't enjoy this, but I have a hundred forty seven people to keep alive. I have to be sure you know what happens if you don't play ball, Jack. I have to be certain.”
Jack took a final look at Boomer, his vision blurred by tears of desperation. His mind willed him to throw himself forward, to tackle Parsons to the ground and beat him to death with his own gun, but his legs just wouldn't listen to his commands. He screamed at them in his head, pleading with them to work, but...
He closed his eyes.
He didn't want to watch.
He heard Parsons whisper.
“Good girl,” he said. “Hold still now.”
And the gun fired.
΅
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
WE DID THIS TO OURSELVES
KAREN COULD FEEL her pulse beating behind her left eye, pinched closed by the angry red weal still growing above her brow. Her cheek felt warm, and at her feet she saw drips of blood spatter on the bare steel floor of the truck, but her arms were bound behind her back by plastic ties. She could only guess at the damage the rifle butt had dealt her by judging the pain.
It felt as if her head was about to explode.
“Mommy, my hands hurt,” sniffed Emily, sandwiched between Ramos and a silent soldier sitting on the opposite side of the truck. Her own arms were tied behind her back, but the soldier just stared impassively no matter how angrily Karen yelled that she was just a child. For ten minutes he hadn't so much as blinked as Karen threw every curse word she knew at him, and eventually she'd given up trying.
“It won't be long now, pumpkin, I promise” she whispered hoarsely, attempting a smile that sent her forehead throbbing with renewed force. “As soon as we get where we're going they'll take those things off you.”
Ramos leaned down to Emily, nuzzling the side of his head against hers, since there was no more comforting move he could make with bound hands. “It'll be OK, honey, don't worry.” He turned to the soldier on the other side of the little girl, and his lip curled.
“You know we're US citizens? You have no right to hold us. We were on a public highway. You guys are going to jail for a long time for what you did to the boys in that car.”
The soldier didn't even turn his head, and Ramos only fell silent when Valerie nudged him with her knee and sternly shook her head. Don't antagonize him, she said with her eyes.
For another ten minutes they rode on in tense silence, struggling to stay upright on the wooden bench seats that lined either side of the back of the truck as it bounced over rough terrain. Through the flap in the canvas covering at the back Karen could only see endless sun bleached wheat fields, broken by occasional high barbed wire fences as they seemed to slow through checkpoints.
Eventually the truck pulled to a stop, and as the hydraulic brakes hissed the soldier sitting beside Emily came alive as if he were powered by clockwork. He stood, holding his rifle at the ready as he brushed past their legs, and when he pushed aside the canvas and hopped down to the ground Ramos couldn't seem to resist raising his voice.
“You'd better just shoot us now, amigo, because when I get out of here I'm going to sue your ass to kingdom come!”
At that Valerie lost her patience. She raised her shoe and stamped hard on Ramos' foot, her face contorted with rage.
“What in all that's holy do you think you're doing, Cesar? You keep up like that and you're gonna get us all killed!” She pressed down on his foot again, harder this time. “Keep. Your mouth. Shut.”
Ramos tugged his foot out from beneath Valerie's, shaking the blood back into it with a wince. “What do you mean, killed? It's the damned Air Force, and we're American citizens. OK, they shot those guys in the car, but I'm guessing they refused to stop when they were ordered. We've just been arrested. We're not armed, and they know we're not a threat. The worst that'll happen to us is a slap on the wrist for wandering into the wrong field, right?”
Valerie lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Well sure, we'll get a slap on the wrist if they're the good guys, but what the hell makes you so sure who they are? It's not like you can identify them on sight.”
Karen leaned forward, precariously balancing on the edge of her seat. “What do you mean, the good guys? They're the Air Force. What else would they be?”
Valerie blinked with surprise. For a long moment she just stared at Karen, her mouth hanging open, before she finally managed to speak.
“Oh my God
,” she muttered, her eyes wide. “You really don't know, do you?”
Karen shot a glance out through the gap in the canvas before leaning in and lowering her voice to a whisper. “Know what?”
Valerie shook her head in disbelief. “You don't know what's really going on here.”
Karen's voice strained with frustration. “Val, we told you we haven't seen a TV since yesterday. We don't have a damned clue what's going on!”
Valerie opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak the canvas was swept aside once more. Two soldiers climbed up to the back of the truck, and on the ground behind them a third pointed to Ramos.
“Him first,” he said. The two men each took an arm and lifted Ramos to his feet, shoving him to the back of the truck and forcing him down to ground level, his hands still tightly bound behind his back. When his feet hit the ground he stumbled and fell face first, vanishing from Karen's view.
“Where are you taking him?” Karen demanded, trying to stand as the soldiers hopped down to the ground, She fell forward painfully onto the steel floor of the truck as they whipped down the canvas flap and pinned it in place, sealing them in darkness.
“Mommy!” Emily squealed as Karen hit the ground. “Are you OK?”
Karen winced at the sharp pain cutting into her wrists, and she rolled to her side and managed to take a breath. “I'm alright, pumpkin, it's OK.” There was no way she could lift herself back into her seat, so she stayed where she was, her cheek pressed against the hot floor, breathing the layer of dust that covered the steel.
“Before they take me,” she gasped, turning to face Valerie, “tell me what's going on.”
Valerie leaned forward on the balls of her feet, lowering her voice to a whisper so it wouldn't carry beyond the truck.
“It was us,” she said, her eyes wide with fear. “It wasn't terrorists who sent the missiles.”