“Please, be careful,” Monica said.
“I will, darling. It’s only a forty minute drive, but I might make better time,” he said.
“What about going to the police station. I thought they wanted you to come by this morning and finish your statement and answer any more questions.”
“They have my cell number. If it’s that important, they’ll call,” Bradley said.
He went to Jenny’s room and found her crashed out on the bed. She still wore her Moana PJs and laid on top of her covers. But she had dragged a Disney blanket onto her body and wrapped herself up tight.
He leaned over and kissed her forehead.
“Hi, Daddy. Are you feeling better?” she asked him.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. How’s the cold treating you? If you turn into a zombie, I think we’ll chain you up in the basement so we can keep you around,” he said.
“I’m not a zombie, and you can’t keep me down there. It’s cold,” she smiled. “Want me to freeze to death?”
“A zombie wouldn’t care about the temperature. She’d find a corner and stand there with her hands out,” he stuck his out and bent his wrists. Then he rolled his eyes back and groaned.
“Oh no,” she humored him. “Not a zombie. I know, I’ll get my princess wand to bash you over the head.”
“How about if you don’t bash anyone over the head. Sound like a deal?”
“Okay, Daddy. Deal. I won’t bash you over the head if you’re a zombie. And you won’t put me in the basement if I’m a zombie.”
The shook hands on it, Jenny wore a goofy smile as they shook hands on the deal.
“I’m going to pick up Junior. I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you too, Daddy. Would you get some Cheetos?”
“Cheetos? Sure. I’ll try to pick up a bag on my way home.”
“Yay. I love Cheetos.”
Bradley kissed her forehead again. She was hot, probably running a minor fever, but she was in good spirits, so he didn’t worry too much. If Monica said it was a cold, then it was a cold.
He wished he had time to leave a list of things for Monica to do, like drag in some of the wooden boards from the garage, practice reloading the M&P, bring the food up from downstairs and check the expiration dates. Clean out the bins and fill them with water.
But he should be back in a few hours. Then he would have time to help her with chores to prep the house. It might be overkill at this point, but better safe than sorry.
* * *
His phone buzzed again on the way to the door. He had messaged Junior back a few minutes ago and waited for an answer.
Quiet here now. No shots. Lots of police and reporters.
Did you and Kirk change your location?
Yeah. We walked about a mile away to get out of the flow of fire trucks and ambulances.
Keep moving south. I’m on my way. Text me your current location, but update me when you find a safe place.
Junior sent him the cross streets and then, helpfully, a picture of the signs so he could read the numbers beneath the names. He opened his navigation program and fed it the location. The app said it would take almost an hour to reach Junior, so he texted his son back with a revised time frame.
We’ll find somewhere safe. My cell is almost dead. I’ll turn it off and then back on in thirty minutes with an update.
If you can’t get a hold of me. Come back to this address and I’ll find you.
Okay dad. I’m scared. I should never have left home.
We’ll talk about it when you’re home.
“Please, be careful, Brad.” Monica met him at the door.
“I will, I promise. I love you, now lock the door behind me and secure the windows and the back door. They are a couple of security braces in the basement. If you feel like something is happening in the neighborhood, no matter how small, don’t be afraid to get them out,” Bradley said as he took his wife in his arms.
“I will. As soon as you leave, I’ll put them up just so you have peace of mind, okay?”
“Not just for my peace of mind, it’s also for your safety,” he said. He kissed his wife and hugged her tight. He reached behind and grabbed her bottom just for good measure.
“You come home safe tonight, and I’ll let you do that some more,” she teased.
“Yes, ma’am,” Bradley said.
She ‘tsked’ when she ran her hands over the gun and magazines around his waist but he ignored it. She had to understand that he didn’t know what he was walking into. With the mass shooting having occurred an hour ago, there was a chance he wouldn’t even be able to get into Chicago. He would have a straight shot on 90, but that might also be completely packed. He used an app that was very good about finding unobstructed directions even if he had to go out of the way. He would head for 90 and see what the app found.
Bradley started the Bronco and let the engine warm up for a minute. He dug around in his glovebox and located a cigarette charger that would let him use a USB cable to charge his phone. He plugged it in and waited for the battery indicator to light up.
He turned on the radio and scanned until he found a station with some news. He normally listened to a local rock or country station. Sometimes he tuned in for some conservative talk shows but, for the most part, he preferred music in the truck.
“We now have reports of seven cities that have been targeted by the anarchists. Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, Houston, Philadelphia, Phoenix, and Seattle. We don’t have a death toll yet, but it’s expected to be in the dozens in Chicago. Stay tuned for more right after this…”
The radio cut to a plumbing commercial.
Bradley double checked the address his son was located at, then compared it to his navigation app. It had only been a few minutes, but his commute had increased to nearly ninety minutes.
Bradley backed up, then stopped at the end of the driveway as a pair of choppers, hanging low in the sky, thumped past the house. They were definitely military. As they swept past the house, he realized they were Black Hawks.
He let out a long low whistle and checked his rearview mirror. With the street clear, he backed out and headed toward the onramp for I-90.
Chapter Twelve
James tried to call his friend Skip Koslowski over and over again. He messaged him and finally got a response.
I’m on my way. Sorry, phone was off.
Shit, man. They’ve been trying to contact you.
I know. See you there.
He made good time on his way to the armory. He pulled up and the guard post and got behind a long line of cars. They checked IDs and, when he finally had his turn, he was ushered onto the base.
Most of his unit wasn’t there yet, but that was to be expected. Some of the guys and gals lived three or four hours away. It would take most of the morning for them to arrive.
But James couldn’t believe how many men and women reported. It was like the entire division had been called up. What in the hell was going on? He had listened in on the news, but all they talked about was the protest at the UIC pavilion. They were planning to march in support of immigration reform. Had it turned into a mob? While listening to the radio report about the attacks in other cities, he thought for sure it was terrorists.
Skip Koslowski was half-black and had mocha-colored skin. His mother was from Chicago, but his father’s family had immigrated from Poland forty years ago.
He arrived about ten minutes after James. He had his just in case bag slung over his shoulder, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a few days. His hair was a mess and his BDU’s looked like it had been pulled out of a clothes hamper.
“The fuck is this all about?” Skip asked James.
“I thought you might know. I just got here,” James said.
“I can’t believe they’re calling us up. Do you think we’re being sent to the protest in Chicago?”
“Does the Pope shit in the woods? Where else would we be heading?”
; “I don’t know. The call up came before the attacks started. Just weird timing is all.
“Yeah, you got a point there.”
They double-timed it to their designated meet up area where they found the part of their squad. The next hour passed in a daze as more and more of the Guard arrived. James just started to think he was going to die of boredom when the company commander arrived. He returned salutes as he walked the field but didn’t address the company. James and Skip hung out and tried not to look bored. It was almost 1000 hours when they were finally informed of their mission.
The company commander, a hard-faced man with graying hair, took to the podium. He tapped the microphone a couple of times. James had never personally talked to Commander Pritchett. He’d been inspected by him and made eye contact, but it was better to stay off a company commander’s radar as much as possible.
“Ladies and gentlemen. We have a troubling situation in Chicago. I know a lot of you were looking forward to a weekend, but that may not happen any time soon. We have been attacked. People have been hurt, others have been killed. While we don’t yet know the extent of the damage, we are going to be deployed to the area to assist with security. We will render as much assistance as we can. I’m not going to beat around the bush here, there may still be attackers in the city,” he said as he stood on a podium. James looked left and right and almost let out a low whistle. There were so many here.
Voices rose as the company commander delivered the rest of the news.
“More importantly, we are to set up check points with the help of the local police and federal authorities. People are going to be scared. They are going to be looking to us for answers. I wish I had them, but I don’t have any at this time. Until we are on the scene, information is going to be sparse.
“You all have trained for this. You know what to do. I’m expecting each man and woman to do their duty no matter how they feel about it. If given an order, you will follow it. Is that understood?”
“Hooah,” some of the Guard called back, mixed with a few, “Aye’s.”
“There goes my weekend,” Skip bitched.
“I’m supposed to work tomorrow morning, this is some bullshit,” James muttered.
One of the others in his squad, a tall woman named Carter, turned around.
“You guys aren’t watching the news? Check your phones as soon as we’re done here,” she said. “It’s pretty grim.”
“So, it was a terrorist attack?” James asked her.
“What else can it be? I’m seeing reports that a lot of people have been killed, like hundreds,” then she shot them a tight-lipped grimace and wandered off.
“Why did I ever sign up for this? I had a date tonight with a little Korean lady. Met her on Tinder,” Skip said.
“You met her on Tinder, and you didn’t catch something?”
“Nah, man. I play it safe. Besides, she hasn’t ever used the app before. We hit it off over messenger,” Skip said.
James rolled his eyes. “Sounds like love at first text.”
“She’s cool, man. Or she was. She may find a backup now that I’m being deployed. Shit sucks.” Skip sighed.
“Let’s find out where the hell we’re going,” James said.
They left together to locate Sergeant Wells so they could get their transport orders.
While they walked, James took out his iPhone and pushed the power button. A message from Shannon was waiting for him. He clicked it and found a picture of her, wrapped in the sheet from this morning, but barely enough to cover herself. You won’t believe what happens next.
James gulped and quickly closed the picture before Skip could see it and start making comments.
He brought up a local news page on his internet browser, and then stopped walking.
“Terrorist have made attacks in seven major cities,” he said.
Skip snatched the phone out of his hand and read the screen. “Holy shit. So, it’s not just us?”
“Use your own phone,” James grabbed his back.
“Can’t. I dropped it this morning, again. I’m going to have to live vicariously through your device,” Skip said.
James barely heard Skip. He couldn’t believe what he read. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and said a silent prayer.
Fifteen minutes later, they were boarded onto a transport and headed into the city.
Chapter Thirteen
Chris walked along the strip mall and used the cigarette as cover along with his drawn hoodie. He didn’t smoke so he faked it, sucking acrid smoke into his mouth and puffing it back out without inhaling. He walked slowly, like he was one of the many unemployed in the city. Just an ordinary citizen out and about.
A large black SUV slowed. Was Lawson in it? Chris would like to have a chat with him, preferably one that ended with the barrel of his 9mm in Lawson’s mouth before pulling the trigger.
Chris didn’t stop moving, he meandered along the sidewalk and forced himself not to look back. He didn’t have any facial hair that could help identify him and, at the distance, unless they had 3D workups of his face, they wouldn’t be able to identify him from seventy-five feet away. He puffed the cigarette. It was nearly to the filter so he tossed it on the street where it rolled under an Orange Toyota RAV4, then kept on walking.
The SUV sped up and was gone in seconds.
Chris crossed a major intersection, still putting distance between himself and the safe house that had been shot to shit. He wasn’t surprised that sirens weren’t whining nearby. With so many dead, dying, and injured in Chicago, the police would be strained to setup check points and assist with casualties. There was probably a manhunt already underway, and Chris was under no delusions that enough witnesses, when interviewed, would help put the pieces together, and they would find the safe house. For now, he felt relatively safe from the local authorities.
All they would recover from the home were bodies. Every piece of equipment used in the assault had been tossed aside. They’d left the nitrate gloves in various public trash cans, but they would soon join a mountain of evidence. All of the pieces would come together, but Chris had a feeling it wouldn’t matter by tomorrow.
A pair of dark vehicles sped by, but one of them slowed. He ducked between a bank and a drug store and walked along it. They didn’t follow, but he was a sitting duck out in the open. He had left the two dark cars at cross roads but there was a good chance they would finally catch him in the open and near enough to identify him.
He found his answer a minute later.
Chris had to cross the street, but he decided to risk it and jay walk. Sirens howled in the distance and a pair of Black Hawk choppers raced toward the city.
He looked around but the black cars must have turned at the intersection. He entered The Pink Panda strip club and stopped to show his ID. It was fake, but it passed the bouncers cursory glance. The big black guy looked like he was hung over as hell. His eyes were yellow, and he smelled like a brewery.
“You got a VIP room?” Chris asked.
“In the back, but it doesn’t open for another hour,” the bouncer said.
“Any way I can get you to open it early? I’d like to chill. Too many margaritas if you know what I mean,” Chris pled his case. Then he took out his wad of cash and showed the bouncer a hundred.
“Yeah, man. We can accommodate you,” the bouncer said and slid the hundred into his jean pockets.
“Cool. Cool. I’ll get a drink at the bar while you open up the back, and thanks, man.”
“Whatever. My head’s killing me, too. So don’t be an asshole with the girls and I won’t have to ruin my amazing morning.”
“You got it,” Chris said.
He headed for the bathroom and washed his hands. Then he splashed warm soapy water on his face and rinsed. Paper towels revealed he had black on his face from all of the expended gunpowder. Once he was convinced he would pass a cursory examination, he went to the bar, took a seat, then ordered a beer. He turned in the swivel chai
r and kept an eye on the entryway. Chris looked for a clock but couldn’t find one.
Some shitty 80s metal song played over the speakers. Two men sat close together near the stage and nursed drinks. Neither one of them paid Chris the least bit of attention. A woman came out and danced for them, then offered her hip one of the men to place a few singles in the waist band of her panties.
“You got the time?” he asked the bartender.
“Quarter to twelve,” he said.
Chris paid for his drink but kept his eyes on the doorway.
The song changed but it was another 80s hair metal band, and two women replaced the brunette on the stage. The blonde was dressed in turquoise sequins, and the woman with black hair and tattoos on her arms and neck wore a piece of pink lingerie and matching stockings. They danced seductively, but he barely glanced their way.
After he’d guessed five minutes had gone by, the bouncer entered the room and whistled in Chris’s direction. Chris turned to look and the bouncer pointed at the back room.
Chris took his beer and palmed another hundred dollar bill. He picked the blonde and showed her the money and motioned. She followed him into the VIP room.
He would spend an hour with her, and then hit the street again.
“What’s your name, handsome?” She asked.
“You guessed it. Handsome,” he said.
“You’re joking. That’s not your name.”
“It’s my name. What’s yours?”
“Becca, but if you want to use a different name I’m okay with that. You know the rules, right?”
“No touching. Sure,” he said.
“Pretty much. Hey, what’s going on in town? We heard a bunch of sirens out there,” Becca said.
She led him into the room. He let his eyes follow her ass that had a tiny g-string stuck between her cheeks. For a hundred bucks, he might as well enjoy the view.
DRUMS OF WAR: A Dystopian Thriller Series (Broken Patriot Book 1) Page 8