Bloodcrier: The Complete Two-Book Series

by Richard Denoncourt

  “Talking about what, exactly?”

  Judging by the way Halsidier leaned toward him, Keagan knew this next part wouldn’t be too difficult. He’d caught the general’s interest—hook, line, and sinker.

  “They were talking about Michael. It seems Marshall Towne is acting on his orders. He’s been waiting for the prisoner-reduction plan to take place. On the day of the first execution, he intends to show up and save the prisoners. Dean Hampton has already spent the past several months cultivating loyalty among the population. When that moment comes, Marshall plans to use telepathy to render the officers, and as many guards as possible, useless.”

  Pulling back slightly, Halsidier roved his eyes over Keagan’s face as he appeared to consider the implications of such an attack.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this at once?” Suspicion, like a descending cloud, darkened the general’s face. “What else have you been keeping from me? Are you on their side, Simon?”

  Keagan was prepared for this.

  “I was on my way to your office to tell you an hour ago. The reduction plan could be disastrous. We should phone Harris Kole as soon as possible to inform him of the enemy’s tactics, then have him send his best telepathic soldiers to assist us. We’re no match for what that boy is capable of, but if we do it my way, we can play this right and save face.”

  Reaching into his pocket, Keagan grabbed the keys, uncertain as to what he intended to do next. Finally, he pulled them out and handed them to the general.

  “I’m staying. You’ll need my help with this.”

  Halsidier pocketed them, glancing sideways at Keagan as if not completely sure this was the same man he’d suspected of being weak and stupid.

  Keagan wanted to smile.

  “You’re not the brainless coward I thought you were, Simon.”

  “Thank you, General.”

  Certain he had achieved his goal, Keagan turned toward headquarters—when the general’s next words halted him.

  “But you’re wrong.”

  Facing Halsidier again, part of Keagan wished he’d used the keys after all.

  What made me think he could be reasoned with?

  “Wrong, General?”

  Placing a hand on Keagan’s shoulder, Halsidier shifted them both to face the warehouse in which thousands of semi-automatic rifles and pump-action shotguns had been manufactured over the past few years, most of them stockpiled in a locked, heavily guarded area in the back.

  “I did call the People’s Republic,” Halsidier said. “They sent over a truck, just like I requested, full of ammunition.”

  The dreadful knot returned to Keagan’s stomach.

  “You see,” Halsidier said, “I was certain I could convince you to take my truck. But now that I know we’re on the same side, and you’re not as dumb as you look, I think we could pull this off without a hitch. I’ve already issued the order, and the ammunition is being distributed accordingly.”

  “To what purpose?” Keagan asked.

  “Come on,” Halsidier pleaded. “You were top of your graduating class. Try to follow along. We’ve been slinging pistols around this camp like little boys playing cops and robbers. But with those rifles, no one will stand in our way—and with every guard in this camp digging into a lifetime’s supply of Selarix as we speak, you can forget about those ments, too.” He checked his wristwatch. “You still have those needles I gave you. Right, Warden?”

  Keagan gave a solemn nod.

  “Good. If I were you, I’d use them. In about ten minutes, the guards will be rounding up all the prisoners over by the hotboxes. Don’t be late.”

  13

  I should have taken those keys.

  Keagan’s only thought as he watched his men pour through the camp to round up the prisoners—besides wishing he had taken the general’s truck, as offered—was the hope Andrea would succeed in contacting Arielle and her people.

  They’ll be better off without me, he realized, the truth hitting him like a punch to the gut. I’ll only stand in their way, maybe even get them killed out there.

  But maybe I can still help…

  All decorum tossed to the winds, Keagan ran across the camp to the hotboxes. He passed several of his own men. Armed with assault rifles, they dashed madly about to comply with the general’s orders. Keagan knew not to bother issuing orders to the contrary. A new warden had taken over Camp Brazen. If Keagan had been smarter, he might have seen it coming.

  The clearing in which the hotboxes were scattered like outhouses separated to better disperse their vile smells was perfect for Halsidier’s impending massacre. Housed in the northwestern corner of camp, it offered a large, open space blocked by the camp’s fences in two directions. With the prisoners corralled against that corner, the guards could set up a perimeter to block off the other two sides to better reduce any possibility of escape.

  Keagan arrived from the south, aware the garage housing Halsidier’s truck was behind him to the right, less than a hundred yards away and near the main entrance. If there was still a chance of getting to that truck, he might yet have the option to escape this place forever. The garage door had even been left open, tempting him.

  But for that to work, he’d need the general’s keys.

  Halsidier arrived from the eastern end, two guards leading the way with two more flanking him. All carried AR-15s with longer magazines—the thirty-round variety—including the general. They were much nicer than the heavier, less-accurate AK-47s carried by many of the others.

  The general and his guards appeared unnaturally alert, tongues darting across their lips, marching with the quick steps of men propelled by an urgency they couldn’t contain. An excitement fueled by a mixture of anticipation, adrenaline, and chemicals surging through their bloodstreams.

  A lifetime’s supply of Selarix, the general had bragged. You can forget about those ments.

  “You’re all here for one purpose,” Halsidier announced. He had come to a stop behind a line of soldiers who aimed assault rifles and pump-action shotguns. “And that’s to die like the overfed, overindulged rats you are. Would anyone like to volunteer to be first?”

  “I do,” one of the prisoners shouted.

  The other prisoners defiantly faced their executioners, not even glancing around to see who had spoken. Keagan searched the crowd, which immediately began to part to allow one man forward.

  Dean Hampton.

  “No,” Keagan whispered.

  Hampton paused several feet before Halsidier, a solemn expression on his bearded face.

  “My name is Dean Hampton, and I’m the man you’ve been searching for. Shoot me and release the others.”

  Halsidier’s laughter grew from a self-satisfied chuckle to a burst of genuine amusement until he had to lower his AR-15 to contain himself.

  “That’s funny, Hampton. Really. Such a dramatic moment this could turn out to be, in that deluded imagination of yours. I’ll tell you what. I’ll shoot you and only half your men. The others can walk out of this camp alive and unharmed. But under one condition. I want Marshall Towne. I want him to surrender for arrest right here and now. If he does that, you have my word I’ll let half your men take their chances out in the Eastlands. How does that sound?”

  Dean took another step toward Halsidier. The soldiers stiffened, adjusting their aim to better tear him to pieces at a moment’s notice.

  Slowly, cautiously, Keagan approached Halsidier. If there were any chance the general might see reason, any chance at all that Marshall Towne might appear and allow them some breathing room to negotiate…

  Behind him, a woman’s voice shrieked an urgent command.

  “Stop it! All of you!”

  Keagan spun around, terror spiking through him.

  Andrea!

  “What are you doing?” Keagan shouted at his wife. “Oh my God, Andrea. What have you done?”

  Carrying their baby girl on one hip, Andrea gaped in openmouthed shock at the gathered soldiers and prisoners.
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  “You said you’d be back, Simon. You promised.”

  Glancing over his shoulder at the general, Keagan caught Halsidier studying her. The general raised his AR-15, then aimed it at Keagan’s wife and child.

  Positioning himself between them, he raised his arms. “What are you doing? Put the gun down.”

  “I always knew you were weak,” Halsidier scoffed. “But I never thought you were the type to let your personal life interfere with your work.”

  “Please,” Keagan said, approaching the general. “She’ll leave. Just let me get her out of here.”

  Appearing to consider this for a moment, the general lowered the weapon slightly.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Simon. You could have gone far in this career. You should have taken my offer to get out of here while it was still hot.”

  “I will,” Keagan said. “Right now. Give me those keys and I’ll be gone, just like you said.”

  Again, Halsidier seemed to consider Keagan’s request.

  The general wasn’t insane. He wouldn’t just shoot down an officer—the warden of this camp—not in front of all these men…

  Would he?

  Relief flooded Keagan as Halsidier began to dig through his pocket. The man pulled out and raised the keys to his truck.

  “Here you go,” he said, tossing them over. “You take that truck, then head straight back to the Republic. I hear you’ve taken any sort of detour, Simon, and I’ll have half of Harris Kole’s military out here in the blink of an eye to hang you and your wife while your precious daughter watches.”

  “Thank you, General,” Keagan said.

  Turning his back on the men, Keagan made his way toward his wife and daughter.

  He couldn’t shake a sense of growing unease. It couldn’t be this easy. Giving Keagan a way out like this, in front of his men, when it was well-known that many—if not most—of the soldiers stationed here wanted nothing more than to return to the Republic where life was comfortable and made more sense…

  The trackers.

  Every truck here had been outfitted with tracking devices expertly interwoven with the rest of the machinery, so that no prisoner—unless he had a background as an engineer—could remove them in hopes of disappearing into the Eastlands.

  If Andrea’s attitude earlier had been any indication, there was no way she’d agree to go back to the People’s Republic. The truck would lead Kole’s army straight to Michael Cairne’s hideout.

  “Simon…” Andrea said, apparently terrified. “Let’s go. Let’s get out of here.”

  “We’ll head back home,” Keagan said.

  She violently shook her head. Sarah frowned at the sudden motion. Reaching for her father, she looked ready to cry. Her bald head must have been baking in the midday sun.

  “Not there,” Andrea whispered. “I’ll never go back there. I spoke with Arielle. It wasn’t a dream this time. I’m supposed to meet her, but I was going to wait for you first.”

  From behind him, Halsidier shouted, “What’s the holdup, Simon? Do I need to say it again?”

  Frantically now, Keagan grabbed his wife’s shoulders.

  “Take the truck.” He tucked the keys into the pocket of her jeans. “It’s light gray with bigger wheels than the others, parked behind the open garage door. Take it and drive ten minutes west of here, like you’re going back to the Republic. I’ll meet you up the road when I’m finished here.”

  “But how will you know…”

  “They have tracking devices. I’ll find you. Then we’ll head somewhere safe. We’ll find a way to get free of this. I promise.”

  “What about you?”

  Andrea appeared heartbroken. Keagan brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen down one side of her face, giving her a hopeful smile.

  “I’ll take care of it. Just go. Do exactly as I said.”

  Nodding once, Andrea lifted on tiptoes and kissed him. Keagan gave his daughter a kiss on her forehead, then watched as his wife hurried toward the garage.

  “I was right,” Halsidier said. “You’re not very smart, are you?”

  Keagan waited until Andrea and the baby disappeared into the garage.

  He turned and approached the general, his right hand trembling as he got it ready.

  “I know how you can speak with Marshall Towne personally…” Keagan began.

  “Oh?”

  The general seemed suddenly interested. If he felt alarmed by Keagan’s sudden approach, he didn’t show it. Or his curiosity was simply the stronger emotion.

  “Through me,” Keagan said, now only an arm’s length away from the general.

  With his left hand, he grabbed the barrel of Halsidier’s rifle and yanked it upward to point at the sky, his right hand already moving toward his sidearm. In the blink of an eye, he had the pistol out and jammed against the general’s sweat-soaked hair, his right leg kicking out the general’s knee to collapse him into a kneeling position.

  The blast of the AR-15 going off almost blew out his ears. With a grunt, Keagan whipped the butt of his pistol against the side of Halsidier’s head, then relieved the stunned general of his weapon.

  Holstering the pistol, he aimed the semi-automatic at Halsidier and relieved the general of his sidearm, which he tossed behind him.

  By now, a dozen of the closest soldiers aimed their AK-47s and shotguns at Keagan, the rest unsteadily aiming at the prisoners.

  “You spiteful ingrate,” Halsidier seethed. “You should have taken the truck. This is the biggest mistake of your life.”

  “Shut up,” Keagan said.

  Halsidier roared. “Shoot him, you idiots!”

  “Hold fire,” Keagan shouted. “I’m not your enemy! This man is. You didn’t come here to massacre a group of unarmed prisoners. They’re soldiers just like you. Unarmed soldiers.”

  Ripples of doubt flickered across their faces. A few licked their lips. It reminded Keagan of their current mental state and the Selarix coursing through their veins, causing their fingers to twitch against the triggers.

  Dean Hampton only watched. Behind him, the prisoners seemed unafraid, although slightly surprised.

  “You shoot this man right now,” Halsidier screamed, “or I’ll have every one of you cowards written up for mutiny!”

  “Hold fire,” Keagan shouted once more, “if you know what’s good for you! This man is your enemy. Once these prisoners are dead, what do you think he’ll do with you? His plan isn’t to send you home to the Republic. He armed you with these weapons for a reason, to take all of you farther east to hunt a group of telepaths—of ment soldiers—like the ones who have infiltrated this camp. You haven’t been trained to hunt an enemy like that. An enemy whose weapons aren’t made of metal or gunpowder. You shouldn’t have to die at the hands of an enemy who can get into your minds and twist your thoughts.”

  Finally, Dean Hampton spoke. “He’s right. Listen to the warden. He’ll save all of your lives. This is your chance to return home. To train properly and prepare with the rest of your army. No man has to die today, not even the general.”

  He flashed Keagan a meaningful look.

  Suddenly aware he hadn’t heard the growl of an engine starting, Keagan was about to glance over his shoulder at the garage—fully expecting to find Andrea there, holding Sarah and watching—when an explosion rocked him.

  The soldiers instinctively ducked, swinging their rifles and shotguns to face the source of the noise. Keagan spun in time to see a hellish nightmare of fire and smoke engulf half the garage, splinters of wood and charred bent pieces of metal still flying through the air.

  “No,” he gasped.

  Andrea. Sarah.

  The C-4…

  “No,” Keagan screamed. “Andrea!”

  A commotion erupted behind him, much like an explosion of its own. A storm of gunfire and shouting. Whirling to aim his rifle at Halsidier, Keagan was stunned by what he saw.

  The crowd of prisoners had dispersed, the men rushing the stunne
d soldiers, tackling them to the ground and beating them as rifles sputtered and shotguns boomed wildly in all directions.

  The nearest soldier frantically searched for his AR-15, of which he had been relieved by…

  Halsidier.

  The general was gone.

  14

  Keagan’s training kicked into overdrive, his fear, rage, and sadness replaced by the coldest instinct he’d ever known. There would be time to grieve for his wife and daughter, but it wasn’t now.

  Aware there were exactly eight hotboxes scattered throughout this corner of the camp, he ran toward the south-easternmost one to use it for cover.

  From here, he could see Halsidier if the man tried to run the distance toward headquarters. But Halsidier was too smart to reveal himself. Probably thinking Keagan was the dumb one, Halsidier would wait for him to come into the open.

  It was a mistake Keagan had no intention of making.

  Aiming the AR-15, he leaned out and scanned the area past the hotbox. No sign of the general. Keagan had already ensured the man had not run south or east of the commotion, which meant the general was cornered.

  Ducking, Keagan ran the short distance to the easternmost hotbox where he could still maintain a vantage point over the rest. Two shots were fired, closer than the ones being released by the soldiers and prisoners.

  Halsidier had missed, and Keagan used the opportunity to focus on the source.

  The hotboxes were shoddy constructions made from wooden planks with aluminum sheets forming crude, horizontal rooftops. Taking aim at the one he suspected, Keagan released four rounds, keeping count of each shot. Fully loaded, their magazines should have held thirty rounds each.

  The slugs peppered the hotbox. Would they be powerful enough to go all the way through?

  “You’re a dead man, Simon!”

  Halsidier’s shout was followed by a spray of bullets—three, to be exact. But from a different direction than Keagan had expected. Dropping into a prone position, he felt the walls rattle, realizing he had shot the wrong one.