The Malefic Nation (Graham's Resolution Book 4)

by A. R. Shaw

  He knew two things: they were traveling somewhere, given the vibration of the vehicle, and the voices of the two guards sounded more Canadian than anything foreign, so he’d bet they were not the Islamic terrorists. He couldn’t help thinking that he had known something wasn’t right at the roadblock and he’d botched communicating that to Dalton.

  ~ ~ ~

  Everyone looked up at the guards expectantly and each other when the truck slowed with a squeak of the brakes before coming to a final stop. The guards rose and waited at the door. There were two pounds against the outside of the truck, and the guards responded with two more. The door swung open, and they stepped out. There six other men were also dressed in Tyvek and armed to the hilt, pointing their weapons at the inside of the vehicle.

  “You”—the guard pointed to Graham—“step down here and help them off one by one. We’re going this way.” He pointed toward a dark gate, behind which was a doorway with minimal light. “Do anything stupid and all the women and children will be exterminated immediately along with the rest of you. No talking; no communicating. We don’t want any accidents. Any sudden moves, someone will die. Let’s go.”

  Sam glanced at Dalton, who looked back at him with a stone straight face. Nothing to lead him to think they should act. These guys were obviously still susceptible to the virus. They outnumbered—and by the looks of things, outarmed—Graham and the preppers’ group. They had no options, and Sam had no idea how these men had managed to overtake them so easily.

  Rick rose first after Graham, as the guard said, and stood by the back of the truck. Everyone else had their hands wrapped securely behind their backs with the plastic cuffs. Sam’s guess is that they didn’t find Graham that much of a threat with his limp: he wouldn’t get far out of shooting range if he ran.

  Sam got in line behind Reuben, and once the rest were off, Graham was allowed to help McCann up off the bench. It was the first time he’d noticed that McCann not only had his hands tied behind his back but his legs were also tied at the ankles and his knees were even cuffed together.

  Sam had to stifle a snicker as he watched the young man hobble forward, not at McCann’s predicament but at the thought of how he must have given them hell.

  One of the guards held up his rifle and said, “One false move and that’s it, kid. I’m not putting up with your bullshit. You understand?” McCann nodded, and another guard walked over with wire cutters and pinched off the PlastiCuffs holding his legs and feet together.

  Graham helped McCann climb down and guided him as they headed toward the dim gate.

  “Keep walking,” the guard demanded, holding open a brown steel door. As they were ushered into a brick building, Sam caught a glimpse of the outside. There were steel bars over the windows and a heavy industrial lock on the door; an unmistakable feeling of finality jolted him as the door slammed shut behind them and they were left in a dimly lit room.

  Chapter 13 A Greeting

  “I’m Lieutenant Harding. Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Clarisse sat on the metal chair inside a quarantine room as he questioned her through glass.

  It had been a while since they’d seen anyone alive—too long—and before he’d begun any questioning he had observed her. She had been checking out the room with an educated eye; this woman was trained, and that made her dangerous. He couldn’t take any chances.

  Clarisse’s eyes again darted around the room. She noted his sidearm, the laboratory behind him, and the microscopes on the table, though she squinted a great deal as she tried to gain focus.

  Her dark hair had come loose during the struggle, and she kept attempting to get it out of her eyes, but with her hands in restraints behind her Clarisse found the task difficult.

  Harding rather liked the way her hair spilled down over her shoulders; otherwise he might have given her a chance to fix it. Still, the offer would be too risky; this woman had fought with tenacious skill. Whoever these people were, they were here for a reason, and he needed to find out what it was—and fast. Something told him his own people were in danger, and he’d spent a lot of time and effort protecting them; one slip now and they could lose everything. As it was, the pretty woman opposite the glass could kill him with one breath.

  “You’re not going to answer me, are you.”

  Clarisse locked eyes with him, adding a slight smile.

  Damn, she’s dangerous. Christ! He coughed.

  She leaned back and crossed her legs. “Where are the men?” she asked.

  Startled by her sweet-sounding voice, Harding glanced at her in surprise. He’d expected her voice to be more direct, even harsh. “They’re safe. But their remaining so depends on you.” He tapped the eraser end of his pencil on the table.

  “I’ve got something you want.”

  He coughed again, and tapped the eraser faster against the paper pad. You sure do, he thought, but caught himself, instead saying, “I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate, lady.” He swung his pencil in a radius around the room. He smiled a little, but she hadn’t cracked; not a twitch or even an eyelash out of place, just the same steely gaze. Damn, she knows something I don’t.

  “Where did you come from? We tracked you coming in.” She still hadn’t moved. He leaned back, feigning a relaxed posture, and turned at an angle in his chair. She was making him nervous. “Look, give me some information, and then we can talk,” he almost begged. Sheesh, who’s interrogating who here? Moments passed in silence, and she still had that damn smile. But suddenly Clarisse stood up and walked to the door, her metal chair screeching along the concrete flooring.

  “What? We’re done?” Harding rose from his own chair, causing it to screech backward. This woman has some balls. Clarisse stood at the exit door and without looking at him or acknowledging his existence, just waiting.

  The guard looked at Harding through the glass for some direction. He shook his head. “Go ahead; take her back.” Turning to Clarisse, he said, “When you’re ready to talk, tell the guard. Otherwise, enjoy your confinement.”

  She was out the door before he finished the sentence. He gathered up the papers strewn over the table when someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” he said gruffly.

  “Hey Harding, Gordon wants to see you,” the guard said.

  “Of course he does.” Harding dropped his pencil on top of the papers he had just assembled into a tidy stack. They’d taken in people before, not long after the lockdown; they’d been tested and cleared, assimilated and trained. But this was different. These folks were immune somehow. Carriers, most likely, and dangerous as hell. It was the agreed-upon policy to exterminate them because they posed an incredible risk to society at large, and Harding knew Gordon would push for immediate disposal. It wasn’t that simple, though; these were people. Was it humane to gas them? That was the plan. He pondered how to bargain for more time; he needed to know what was going on out there. “I’ve got something you want,” she’d said. Harding hoped to hell she broke soon, because he wasn’t sure how long he could hold Gordon off from pressing the button. Christ, they have a pregnant woman with them too. He picked up his pile of papers and headed for the door, looking back through the safety glass at the steel chair where the woman had sat. He looked behind his seat at what she was trying to focus on earlier, and then had an idea. He let the heavy door slam shut as he exited.

  Chapter 14 The Prisoners

  Clarisse walked through the door as the guard halted her from behind. He snipped the PlastiCuffs free from her wrists and then nudged her forward before slamming the door shut again.

  Addy ran to her side. “Clarry!” she said in a broken, scared voice.

  “I’m fine,” she signed, and then pressed the girl to her side in a warm embrace. Tala approached next. “What did they want?”

  “They don’t know what they’re doing,” she whispered. “But remember, this place could be bugged. Have they brought any rations?”

  Tala shook her head.

  “They just
want to know who we are and what we’re doing here. They told me more about them in the past hour than I’ll ever tell them. They’re susceptible. They’re military. And they’re clueless. Which makes them dangerous to themselves and to us,” she confided.

  “Are the guys okay?”

  “I think so, but I don’t know for sure,” she said.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We have water from the bathroom faucet. If they don’t bring rations by tomorrow, I’ll raise hell. How’s Macy doing?”

  Tala looked across the dimly lit room to the cot where they’d placed an unconscious Macy upon arrival. “She hasn’t woken up yet, but her breathing’s fine.”

  Clarisse shook her head. “Thank God. We could have easily lost her and McCann both in that struggle. Soon as I get my hands on that boy I’m going to strangle him—after I hug him, that is.”

  “She saved his life. They almost made it into the woods. Had she not jumped in between him and the guard, he’d be dead for sure.”

  “I was too far forward. I didn’t see what happened. I only heard the gunshot after the struggle,” Clarisse said.

  “Well, McCann had Macy out of the truck and they were headed for the woods when the guards confronted them. McCann, of course, wasn’t going to comply and instead attacked the guards. Then Macy got in between them and then, well, the gunshot went off after Sheriff came to Macy’s aid.”

  “Oh my God. Where’s Sheriff? Was he shot?”

  Tala was crying then. She pulled her hands up to her mouth to keep from sobbing and shook her head. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see that far in the dark.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” Clarisse said, hugging her friend.

  “What am I going to tell Macy when she wakes up?” Tala whispered. “It’ll kill her!”

  Clarisse pulled herself away. “Look. We’re lucky she wasn’t shot. She just has a concussion, as far as I can tell. As for Sheriff, maybe she already knows. She was the only real witness besides McCann.” She paused. “Maybe the guard missed, or it was intended as an attention-getter, a warning. We can’t worry about Sheriff right now.”

  “Where are the other dogs?” Tala asked

  “Lucy said the guard told her to leave them in the cab as she got out, but they ran off after the commotion.”

  “They’re still out there?”

  “I don’t know.” Clarisse shrugged. “I’m sure by now these buffoons are searching through every vehicle we came in. I hope to hell they don’t screw with my equipment. Then again, our release depends on what they find within my research cache.”

  “Hope,” Tala said. “Not exactly what we were hoping for.”

  “Don’t worry. I think I know what’s going on here. I think we’ll be free within a week.”

  Chapter 15 Interrogation

  “I’ll bet you my coffee rations that they come for Graham first,” Rick speculated.

  “What makes you think they’ll pick me?” Graham asked.

  “You’re the most reasonable looking,” Dalton answered.

  “You mean educated,” Graham said with slight smile.

  “You’re the nerd. The unthreatening nerd,” Rick clarified.

  Graham chuckled and leaned back against the cold brick wall.

  “You don’t have any coffee rations,” Dalton said after a minute.

  “You know, when I get some. I bet my future coffee rations that Graham will be the first one questioned,” Rick said.

  “I don’t think they’re going to question any of us. My bet is that they’re questioning Clarisse right about now,” Dalton said. “They’d damn well better not hurt her.”

  Graham laughed out loud,

  “What?” Dalton asked, looking at Graham like he was crazy.

  “Are we talking about the same Clarisse I was with in our attempt to rescue Dutch? Those guys have bought a world of trouble on themselves if they think they’ll get anything out of her. She’ll tear every one of them a new one.”

  Dalton smiled. “Yeah, this is true. She knows what she’s doing.” He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “Whoever they come and get for questioning, be very careful. Remember, you’re putting the women in danger. If anything happens to them, you’ll be dealing with me—if you survive.” He opened his eyes, and the other guys looked lost in thought. It didn’t need saying. Dalton was just scared, and they all knew that.

  “At least we know they loaded the kids with the ladies into the other truck together. That’s a good sign,” Rick said, trying to change the subject.

  “Yeah. Bang’s probably scheming an escape route as we speak. They have no idea who they’re dealing with,” Graham said.

  “Someone’s coming,” Mark said from his position by the door.

  The men looked to one another for direction. Each had his area of expertise, yet no exact initiative had ever been taken regarding who would handle imprisonments.

  “Everyone stay calm,” Dalton said. “And McCann—no heroics.”

  McCann nodded from his pallet on the floor, but looked at Sam, who nodded back in understanding.

  The lock threw back loudly, and the heavy door swung open. Bright light streamed in, causing the men to cover their eyes momentarily. A dark figure stepped inside, flanked by two other suited individuals. “Who’s in charge here?”

  When no one answered, one of the guards kicked Mark’s leg. “You. Who gives the orders in this group?”

  Mark instinctively looked to Dalton and Graham, making no difference between the two.

  “All right, it’s one of those two,” the guard said. “You two, get up.”

  Neither Graham nor Dalton moved.

  “I said, get up!” the guard ordered, chambering a round, and this caused McCann to rise from his pallet, the veins bulging in his neck. Graham couldn’t take it anymore; he knew the boy would react if challenged, so he pushed himself up from the floor. Dalton followed.

  “Where are we going?” Dalton asked.

  “To see Lieutenant Harding. He’s requested a meeting with you,” the guard said. He waved his hand around the room. “Take a look around you. Try anything, and they die, one by one. You understand? You shouldn’t even be here. If it were my choice, I’d have done away with you by now.”

  As they left the room, Graham shot McCann a look that pleaded for calm.

  ~ ~ ~

  Their hands were cuffed behind their backs again, and the bright light of the afternoon blinded them as they were led to another brick building. Graham tried to make out where they were, but the unmarked buildings gave him no clues. They could be at an abandoned school or an old military installation—or perhaps even a cheese factory for all he knew. He did, however, spot one of their trucks parked nearby.

  “Hey, keep up,” the guard behind him yelled as he nearly stepped on the back of Graham’s boot.

  “If you guys are susceptible to the virus, you should keep your distance, be more careful,” Graham shot back.

  “Are you threatening me?” the guard yelled.

  Everyone stopped.

  Graham turned around to look at the guard, and his face turned serious but unthreatening. “No. I’m not. But I mean it; please keep your distance. I really don’t want you to get the virus.”

  “He’s being honest, man,” Dalton interjected. “You shouldn’t be so close that you’re running into us. Those suits can only protect you so far.” He took a step toward the guard. “You guys have been isolated here the whole time, haven’t you?”

  Graham and Dalton made eye contact, and the guards took two large steps backward.

  The lead guard said, “That’s enough. Just keep walking.”

  These guys have no idea what they’re dealing with, Graham thought. Soon they entered another building, and when the guards held the door open they both kept a greater distance.

  Two chairs faced a glass window; behind it, a man in military uniform sat in what reminded Graham of Clarisse’s lab back in Cascade.r />
  “Have a seat, gentlemen,” the man said, gesturing through the glass toward the seating arrangement. Graham had no idea how to handle a situation like this, but Dalton had told him earlier that if they were questioned to give up no information. None whatsoever.

  The man behind the glass made no eye contact as he began scribbling notes with a pencil on a few papers strewn across a lab counter, acting as if Dalton and Graham’s presence was a hindrance to his already overburdened schedule after the apocalypse. Graham wasn’t sure what to think, but he guessed the man’s behavior was probably some kind of ploy, and from Dalton’s half smile he knew his friend was already in the lead.

  The man finally sat up, tearing his attention away from his notes but acting surprised they were still sitting there. Dalton relaxed his posture, practically melting into the chair, and Graham followed suit.

  “I’m Lieutenant Harding. And you are—?” The man poised his pencil to write their answer, but neither of them said a thing.

  He looked back up at them. “Really? Games?” He let out a frustrated huff. “Look, I just had one of your ladies in here and she spilled it. You might as well come clean. We’ve searched your convoy. We know you’re American refugees. We know you’re contagious. Tell me why we should keep you alive. Give me some reason not to exterminate all thirty of you.”

  After nearly a full minute of silence, Graham wanted Dalton to speak. They were reasonable questions, but he trusted Dalton’s experience; there had to be a reason he wasn’t offering any information.

  The guy looked from Graham to Dalton and then began tapping the pencil’s eraser against the desk. Dalton never flinched.

  “You have a pregnant woman with you,” he said, shaking his head. “She looks to be about eight months along. You came to Hope for a reason. Are you trying to escape from something? Is the United States exterminating the carriers?”