by John Ringo
Clay sighed. “Don didn’t make it. I waited all day and all night. I didn’t move him, I kept him warm, but he never woke up. When Frances didn’t come back I knew something was wrong. I could smell and saw what looked like a brush fire, so I knew I had to move. I put Don in a fireman’s carry and headed down the mountain, right into the aftermath of Pete’s raid. Apparently Frances ran right into it as it was happening. We didn’t find her body for another two days.” He put his head in his hands. “It’s been bad. We lost too many people. I don’t know whether we’ll make it.”
Len hung his head. Don had been a good friend and neighbor. Len had never quite come to terms with the fact that he still hated Don for Sally even once he understood the necessity. They had worked together these last months, but it was never the same. Still, now that he was gone, Len felt an empty place inside.
He stood and moved toward the door. “Pastor will know what to do. I need to tell him about the transmitter.”
Clay put a hand on Len’s arm to restrain him. “Len, wait.” Clay’s face showed more pain and emotion. “He’s…not well. This has been hard on him, and his age is catching up. He should be happy to see you though, he was very worried when you didn’t return.”
Len entered the parsonage. The back door led into the kitchen. It had gotten completely dark, so he navigated to a drawer by memory, pulled out a candle and matches, lit the candle and placed it in a disk on the counter. He moved over to the radio further down the counter, lifted the box controlling the relay and set the transponder code to match the one he had seen in the small concrete room at the transmitter tower. He switched on the radio, and got the usual static, then turned the tuning dial. More static, but then music and a voice: “This is the voice of Free Texas…”
It worked. I hope it was worth it.
Taking the candle he made his way through the darkened main level to the stairway. He could see the dim flicker of candlelight coming from the pastor’s room. Garber was propped up in the bed, reading. He put down the book, looked up and smiled at Len’s approach. “These are dark days, my son. It is a blessing to see you again. Does it work?”
“Yes, Pastor. At least it receives. I checked it a few minutes ago.” Len sat down in the chair by the bed. It will break his heart to hear the rest of it. “The transmitter still has power, so as long as that lasts, it will work. There is a generator, but someone had stolen the fuel.”
“It lifts this old heart to hear your news, Brother Leonard, but you seem troubled. Surely as long as the power is on, we can send messages…and with your return, we know that it is possible to go up and back. We should be able to take fuel to the generator if needed.”
“No Pastor, I am afraid it is not that simple.” Len had trouble meeting the elderly minister’s gaze, and when he did look up, it was to see a worried look in his eyes. “There are bandits, Pastor Garber. When I found that the generator tank was empty, I went out on the Parkway to see if I could siphon fuel from some of the abandoned cars. I had to hide from armed men several times, they call themselves the Blue Ridge militia. I saw them do…bad things, and I fear that if we draw their attention, especially after what happened…”
Garber’s expression faded, and with it most of the color in his face. It was clear that the confidence and energy he had held in reserve was failing. The Pastor looked old…showing his age and then some. He leaned back into the pillows and whispered. “Brother Leonard, you must! People need to know that God has a plan, they need to know that they can come here and be safe.”
His voice grew faint.
“You are our blessing.” His eyes closed and his breathing stilled.
* * *
People at the church heard the anguished screams and the sound of breakage. Clay had briefly gone inside the parsonage, then come back out to keep the others away.
As Len’s rage was spent, he fell to the kitchen floor and wept “WHY GOD? Why?” How can I fulfill the Pastor’s wishes and still keep the town safe? He starred at the radio with its red power LED and yellow-lit indicators, but all he could see were images from his own dreams.
Cleansing fire.
* * *
“THESE ARE THE END TIMES! IT IS GOD’S JUDGEMENT! THE WRATH OF GOD UPON THE WORLD FOR ITS SINS! THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN TAKEN ARE THE SINNERS OF THE WORLD AND THE RIGHTEOUS HAVE BEEN SPARED…”
200 Miles to Huntsville
Christopher Smith
“Can you please turn that shit off, man?” Taylor could tolerate talk radio for a while, but this fire and brimstone preacher was just too much. “I mean, c’mon guys, ain’t you got satellite in this heap?”
“This bother you, scumbag?” Department of Criminal Justice Officer John Leyva turned to look at him from the passenger seat. “Too bad. All we get out here in the sticks.” He dialed up the volume a few notches.
“Brothers and Sisters, the time has come to shun the unworthy, the unclean, the unrepentant. The countless evils of modern man have brought down the Wrath of the Holiest of Holies. ‘Know Me, sayeth the Lord, for I have made Thee!’ Those that use the Lord’s gift of knowledge to make themselves into gods among men, have forsaken the Lord’s loving hand, and brought the rest of mankind into the void of Hell!”
“Jesus,” Taylor said, “You’d think this guy was gonna hole up with a shit ton of food and ammo, and blast anyone that came near.” He shook his head. “God bless Texas.”
“You know, a little churchin’ up might be good for you.” Leyva gave another smirk, one that Taylor desperately wanted to smear all over the windshield.
“Oh, me and God are on good terms,” Taylor turned to look out the window of the van. “He don’t talk my ear off, and I don’t bother him by whining.”
He tried to make himself comfortable—not an easy thing to do after Leyva short coupled his restraints—closing his eyes and ignoring the other man. Maybe faking sleep would keep the asshole from bothering him.
“They’re gonna love you up at Huntsville.” No such luck. “Them boys’ll think you’re real cute. You’re just dark enough for the Bloods, and not too dark for the Aryans. And that pretty shaved head of yours?” He gave a sadistic chuckle. “You’ll get more turns than a doorknob.”
Taylor didn’t move. “What’s the matter, Boss? Pissed you can’t have a go? Didn’t figure you for that type.” He opened one eye. “Not that I give a damn, I just don’t swing that way.” Leyva’s face clouded over, as Taylor continued, “Don’t worry, though, I’m sure there’s plenty of boys back home that would be happy to take you up on it.”
Leyva glared at him through the divider. “You’re lucky I can’t get back there, jailbait.” He turned around.
Taylor couldn’t resist throwing a parting shot. “Yeah, I’m tired, and don’t want to have to keep one eye open to preserve my virginity.”
He found out how difficult it is to smile with your lips smashed into a metal grate.
“Brake check, sorry.” Officer David Pascoe smiled in the rearview before turning back to the road. “Keep the flirting to a minimum. I’ve got enough to worry about.”
“Like what?” Leyva gestured at the countryside. “There ain’t shit out here but the occasional tumbleweed.”
Taylor silently agreed. They’d been on the road for a few hours and the scenery hadn’t changed much. Low scrub, a few trees, farmland, and cows. Lots of cows. Typical south east Texas.
“Been reports of heavy cartel activity lately, expanding their territory up from Corpus.” Pascoe said, “And with our guest here on their short list, I’d rather not take any chances.”
Leyva chuckled. “You’re still stuck in the sandbox, New Boots. Looking for IEDs behind every bush. Lighten up.”
Taylor studied the younger man in the mirror. Early thirties, medium but muscular build, dark red hair growing out from a high and tight. His eyes seemed to be everywhere- scanning the road ahead, flicking to the side mirrors—until they met his again. Taylor recognized what he saw in them—he’d not only se
en shit, he’d been in it pretty deep. At his slight nod, Pascoe blinked in surprise, then looked away quickly. The kid had seen it in him, too.
Pascoe turned to Leyva. “I made it back, with all my parts. I’m comfortable with my paranoia, thank you.” He jerked a thumb towards his partner. “If you’d been just a bit more careful this morning, you wouldn’t have lost a chunk of your hand.”
“And if you hadn’t gotten froggy with the fresh meat, you wouldn’t be here today.” Leyva grunted. “Whatever. No one would’a seen that comin’. Lousy nutjob gang banger.” He fell silent. Taylor wondered how long it would last.
About thirty seconds.
Leyva squirmed in his seat. “Hey,” he said, “How far ’til the next town? I gotta piss like a racehorse.”
“Louise is a few miles up. We can stop there.”
“Step on it, will ya?” he grabbed the radio and keyed the mike. “Unit five-four to base, come in.”
“Base here, five-four. What’s up?”
“Gotta make a pit stop, shouldn’t be long.”
“That super-sized soda finally catch up with you, Leyva? What’s the location?”
Leyva glanced at the GPS. “Looks like there’s a place on the south side of Louise. A ‘Stop and Sip,’ just off Hwy 59 and FM 271.”
“Roger, fifty-four. Over and out.”
Taylor spoke up. “I could use a break too.”
Leyva sneered. “No one gives a shit what you want, scumbag.”
“New policy is you have to let me relieve myself on trips longer than three hours, Boss.” He looked around the back of the van. “I don’t see a honey pot back here.”
“He’s right, and the last thing we need is a complaint. Besides, we’re in the middle of nowhere.” Pascoe said, “We’ll make sure he drains the vein before we get stuck in Houston traffic.”
“Fucking Robocop.” Leyva grumbled. “Guy takes down two border guards and you’re worried about complaints.”
Taylor kept his voice low, “Shouldn’t have called me ‘nigger.’”
“What was that?” Leyva turned as far as the seat belt would let him. “You say something, shit heel?”
“Yeah, said your homeboys at the border should’a kept their mouth shut.” His grin was feral. “Don’t have a choice now. Jaws are all wired up, aren’t they?”
Pascoe eased off the highway and into a parking lot. “We’re here,” he said. Leyva stayed quiet, focused on disengaging himself from the seatbelt. Watching him struggle against his paunch and gun belt, Taylor ignored the pain from his split lip and grinned. Leyva caught it in the rearview.
“Keep it up, scumbag.” The belt released and he bolted for the store.
“Don’t antagonize him.” Pascoe looked pained. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’m trying to do my job here. I’m responsible for your safety during transit. Whether or not I think you’re a dick is meaningless. Leyva has seniority—he beats the shit out of you, and the report says ‘you fell,’ got it?”
“All right,” Taylor said, “Thanks for being straight with me. Just be aware—Dunkin’ Donuts tries shit, I’ll make him regret it.”
“And I won’t regret tasing you.” Pascoe got out and moved to Taylor’s door. “All right, by the numbers. We’ll go in, hit the head, grab some grub, and move out.”
The blast of hot air was a shock after the air conditioned van. Taylor kept his movements slow and careful, holding his legs out for Pascoe to inspect.
“I think you’re taking this a bit too far, Pascoe.” He jerked his chin at the landscape. “I mean, really, where am I going to go? There’s nothing out here but that trailer park, the church, and more nothing. Both of them are far enough away that you’d be able to catch me or shoot me before I got anywhere near ’em.”
“Procedure. Get sloppy and things go to Hell.” He jerked his chin towards the store. “Inside, nice and easy so we don’t freak anyone out.”
Taylor grunted as they made their way, slowly, to the door.
The guy behind the counter turned as they walked in. Taylor smiled and waved, making sure to clank the chains connecting his cuffs.
Pascoe muttered, “Knock that off.”
The store was empty, aside from the cashier. Good thing, since the chest high shelves were so close together, Taylor had to turn sideways to squeeze between them. They made their way toward the reach-in cooler running along the back wall.
“So, Boss, tell me—any of this seem odd to you?”
Pascoe shook his head. “Not really, just another offender going to a new joint.” He scanned the selection of sodas.
“I’m getting the fast-track. What makes me so special?”
“You put two in the morgue, and two in the infirmary. Brass decided to flush you.” He shrugged. “Nothing strange there.”
“If they hadn’t tried to shiv me in the shower, I wouldn’t have had to.” He looked at Pascoe. “It ever cross your mind why that group of assholes decided to come after me?”
“Nope. Not my problem, offender. Yours.”
“You know why I’m in the joint in the first place?”
“I read your travel card.”
“Humor me, and I’ll stay quiet no matter what Leyva says.”
“Hmmph.” Pascoe glanced at him, “All right. You hit a bank, and your buddy got popped. Rolled on you for a better deal.”
“Yeah. Next question, you and Leyva usually on transport?” Uncertainty flicked across Pascoe’s face; Taylor pressed his advantage. “A rookie cop, and a guy that just got off sick leave, escorting a solo prisoner. It’s a setup, and you’re the lamb, boyo.”
Pascoe shook his head. “No way. Shut the fuck up.”
“All this open area, out in the middle of nowhere,” he swept his cuffed hands in a small circle. “Be real easy to say I got the jump on you—took you hostage, whatever—while the Dirty Boss calls some friends. You end up on the side of the road, I end up in Piedras Negras minus a few extremities.”
“And what, you want me to help you escape? Is that it?”
“Nah. Nowhere to run. Just keep your eyes open.”
Pascoe grinned. “What if I’m in on it, too?”
“You ain’t.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” Taylor said, nodding, “You saw some shit in the sandbox, and it’s stayin’ with you, like you gotta do something to prove to yourself you can make the world better.” He gave him a sad smile. “Trust me, I seen that thousand yard stare on a bunch of vets. Some, give up on the world and themselves. Others—like you—get harder, but try to get the world right again.”
“Hmmph.”
“Yeah, ‘hmmph.’ I see how you watch that pink fluffy motherfucker. He’s got the pull to make you live hell again, or at least he thinks he can. He ain’t seen but what? A few small brawls in the joint, maybe some street time twenty years ago?” Taylor jerked his chin towards the restroom. “He hates you for trying to do something right. Wants to bring you down or make you like him.”
“You talk a lot.”
“Yeah, well, ain’t like there’s nothin’ else right now, is there. Just think on what I said.” Taylor pointed toward the hand written sign in the back of the store. “Gotta use the head, Boss.”
Pascoe nodded, grabbed a soda, and walked towards the wooden door. “Leyva,” he said, knocking. “We’re coming in.”
The reply was muffled. “Yeah, give me just a sec.” Clothing rustled, followed by a faint zipper sound. “Clear.”
“Hey Boss,” Taylor raised his hands as far as the short-coupled chain would let him. “A little help? I’ll be good, I promise.”
“The cuffs stay on,” Pascoe said, disconnecting the belly chain. Taylor rolled his shoulders and sighed in relief as they walked through the door.
Taylor was surprised, the bathroom was larger than he expected for such a small store. Two stalls and a urinal were opposite the sinks and mirror. Clean, too, he noticed, the air carrying a strong odor of pine disinfectant. Th
e porcelain tiles on the wall were slightly yellowed with age, but lacked the usual phone numbers, obscenity, or crude attempts at art.
“Alright,” Pascoe said, “Get done and let’s get out of here.”
“I got this, rook,” Leyva said, his jaw set.
For a split second, Pascoe looked like he might protest. Leyva narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you get me some chips?” His tone made it an order, not a suggestion. Pascoe nodded, shoulders slumping slightly as he walked out.
Leyva turned to Taylor. “Use the pisser, so I don’t have to worry about you trying anything.” He moved to the sink. “You know, punk,” he said, turning on the faucet, “You don’t have a lot of friends, inside or out. You should watch that smart mouth.”
Ignoring Taylor’s grunt, Leyva continued, “Now, me? I have lots of friends. Some who would love to find out exactly where you are right now.” He scrubbed harder, muttering to himself. “Damn meth head convict. Hand’s infected or something. Itches like crazy.” To Taylor, he said, “Now, a smart man would think about being my friend, too. Maybe giving him some information, like exactly where something is hidden.”
“Someone like me could maybe,” Taylor heard the water pressure increase as Leyva continued, “I don’t know, tell his other friends a little white lie about where you are, maybe help you get somewhere else besides Huntsville.”
“Uh, hunh. All I have to do is tell you where everything is, and you’ll help me get away. Pull the other one.”
“All I’m sayin’ is that you have very few options.” His voice became edgier as he dug his nails into his hand. “What the fuck did that bastard do?”
Taylor finished and turned to the TDC officer. Leyva looked like he was trying to take his skin off.
“Let me put it this way, scumbag. You can take your chances with me, you can hope that my friends will let you live if you come clean, or you can take your chances in the pokey.” He gave Taylor a toothy smile. “Option C is unlikely. The guys I texted an hour ago are waiting for us.” He scratched harder.