by Ric Beard
Sitting in a damn case for…I don’t even know how long…and I walk out into a shit show, Jenna thought.
Scruff leveled his rifle on the tarp covering the boxes behind which he crouched. A patch of wild hairs trailing from his thick beard stuck to his cheek and his eyes were bloodshot, like he’d just woken from a nap. Jenna smiled, relating how she’d thought he was dead just an hour earlier. A surge of energy pulsed through her body as her adrenaline took over with the thought she wasn’t about to lose him now, after all that.
Peering at the black tarmac along the edge of the shelter over the barrel of her rifle, Jenna forced air slowly into and out of her lungs…waiting, counting off her heartbeats. She pictured soldiers swarming into view at the edge of the wall and tearing them to shreds with gunfire.
Waiting, counting the heartbeats thumping inside her chest to help her focus.
The boots grew louder, but with them, she heard a lower hum in the distance, like one of the generators at the compound running at full steam. The noise was forgotten as the first sets of legs burst into view and gunfire erupted into the night, drowning it out. The ear-splitting volume of gunfire was always worse than she expected, even after all this time.
A bullet’s ping sparked off the aluminum fabrication near her head, and the pitch of its note continued in her ear as she acquired a target. The rifle kicked and a gap exploded open in the forehead of a charging soldier.
But it was no good. For each soldier who dropped with Jenna’s or Scruff’s discharges, two more appeared—and they were drawing closer. Soon the shelter was an echo chamber of bullet pings and muzzle eruptions. Scruff and Jenna dropped behind the boxes and pressed their backs against the crates, for cover. Since the soldiers had closed in, Jenna tossed the sniper rifle and began pumping the charge lever on her pulse weapon. After a few moments, the gunfire stopped.
“Come out or we’re coming in!” a voice yelled.
Scruff’s eyes found hers, and she shrugged. She didn’t need a throat mic and earbuds when she could read the answer in his gaze. He validated it by raising the gun over his head and firing blindly behind him as his teeth shone in a smile between the mass of whiskers surrounding them.
“All right then!” a voice yelled.
Gunfire erupted. Jenna raised her shoulders and clutched her rifle to her chest. Every few moments, she raised her weapon and fired blindly over her shoulder to keep the attackers at bay.
Maybe they’ll use up their ammo.
A set of footsteps echoes off the walls between bullet salvos and Jenna knew one of the solider had progressed beneath the shelter.
A sudden strobe of purple light reflected off the walls, accompanied by a heavy, repeating warble. Jenna didn’t have to peek to know the explosions that followed were the fuel tanks of the two trucks parked outside that the soldiers were using for cover, but that knowledge introduced little more than confusion. As the gunfire trickled to a stop, the warble ceased, and Jenna peered over at Scruff. He furrowed his eyebrows, jerked up his chin, and peeked over the cover.
Scruff shouldered his weapon and smiled before peering at Jenna. She flinched when he raised his fists into the air and bellowed a victorious roar.
When she pushed herself up, her jaw dropped open. It wasn’t the sight of the decimated soldiers sprawled across the tarmac that garnered her attention, though. Instead, it was the lanky figure, a frame she’d know anywhere after all these years, his features shadowed by the blooming lights behind.
Lucian Gray, leaning on some kind of weapon rig attached to one of the trucks Sampson’s crews used. He slapped the weapon twice.
“Pulse Gatling! Would you fuckin’ believe it?”
Nina sat in the cab of the truck and threw a two-finger salute. Jenna returned it.
“Where did that come from?” Jenna felt a smile stretching across her face as she approached.
“Has to be Triangle City. I’m thinking Horace snatched it from a patrol or something. No JenCorp logo, or anything.” Lucian jumped off the tailgate and threw his arms out. Jenna hugged him, held it for a moment, and patted his back.
Nina slid out of the cab and onto the tarmac. Scruff threw one arm around her and squeezed. Then Lucian greeted the giant. Scruff pulled him into an embrace.
“Aw, god-fucking-dammit, dude, you trying to crack my spine?”
Scruff let him go and grunted. Lucian punched his chest.
There was no noticeable effect.
“So, what’s the story here?” Lucian asked.
“Best I can tell, it was once an underground aquarium. I’ve spent…I don’t even know how much time has passed.”
“Two days,” Nina said.
“Shit. Really?” She cocked her head to the side. “Wow. Seems longer. Anyway, I’ve spent the last two days in a fish tank. Scruff got electrocuted, but gave as much as he got and then some, and the rest is a longer story involving my talk with Sampson’s second-in-command. Let’s talk on the road.”
“Sounds good to me. You leave anyone alive?”
“Yeah, asshole who tortured us is in the tank downstairs.”
“Should we take him with us?”
Jenna shook her head and snarled. “Let the fucker rot in hell for all I care.”
Lucian squinted. “Why is your hair wet?”
“On the road, Lucian.” She turned her head. “Nina, what’s the status in Ripley?”
“I left the morning they took you.”
“Good. Mount up.”
Lucian grabbed her arm before she could climb onto the tailgate. “Talk to you a sec?”
Jenna sighed. “Here it comes.”
“No, no, no. Just a sec. No big deal.”
He pulled her with him as Nina took the wheel and Scruff climbed on the truck bed.
“Look, you seem pretty uptight. I’m not used to seeing the dark circles.” He tapped her cheek.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
Jenna set her hand gently on his chest. “Fine. I’m not, but these people were going to kill me. I spent the last two days thinking Scruff was dead. Yeah, I’m stretched a little thin, but they tortured and killed Jonesy and that? That really pisses me off.”
Lucian cupped her hand on his chest with his own and gripped it. “I get it. I know Jones was an asset. Just remember, there are four of us and you’re the leader. Nina has been out in the wilds and, though I’ve avoided saying anything to her, I can see she’s tweaked the fuck out. Don’t tell her about Jones yet.”
“Okay, what am I missing?”
“What?” Lucian said.
Jenna pulled her hand away.
“Something else is going on. What is it?”
“Lucinda Proctor was arrested. Lexi and Sasha are in Blacksburg waiting for Sean and Moss. I think we should regroup.”
“We’re going to Blacksburg?”
“Yes.”
“Whatever. Now mount the hell up.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
DON’T WORRY ABOUT THE LADY
62
Saturday
January 24th, 2139
Two rows of black metal bars joined to form a corner and connected to the walls on opposite ends. The woman inside was a blonde, of average height, and with good legs—though Ruby imagined she was pretty cold in that skirt. Lucinda Proctor sat on the bunk in the back corner of the cell with those legs crossed, one dangling foot bouncing in the air. The short man with tanned skin and black hair leaned against the wall with one foot crossed over the other. His frame was wiry, and, to Ruby, he didn’t look like much of a killer.
Neither of them looked particularly concerned with their current plight.
Sampson, Bradshaw, and Ruby entered the town after midnight. Sampson and Bradshaw were well-known in Blacksburg, so Sampson brought billed caps they wore pulled down so they shaded their faces, even though the town was dark enough without them.
But Sampson’s golden strands would stand out like a sore thumb.
; The town was going to be split as to what the marshal was doing. If the townspeople were to see Sampson in this jail with Lucinda Proctor on the other side of those bars, there might be a riot. It seemed out of character for Sampson, to risk it at all, but removing the symbol of the last holdout against his complete stewardship of the MidEast was probably irresistible. The man was a go-getter and Ruby was sure he was focused on the benefits to the many, even if it meant relocating the one.
Conflicting voices argued in her head.
What if he kills her?
Don’t be silly!
He had a lieutenant killed!
A criminal who wiped out four citizens!
Does he see Proctor as a criminal?
That one stuck, and she flicked her eyes away from the chipped paint on the back wall of the cell on which she’d been focusing.
The oil lamps lit the jail well enough, but Ruby knew for a fact that the overhead, electric lights functioned. They’d been on when she visited the Marshal the day before.
Why not use them?
A quick look over each shoulder, and then at the chair in which the marshal sat, answered the question for her.
The windows. If it was bright in here, the marshal and his crew would make easy targets, sitting in these chairs in a straight line-of-sight from the street.
Sampson removed his cap and yellow, shoulder-length hair spilled out. The man leaning on the wall pushed off and took a step toward Lucinda. Sampson waved a hand.
“Don’t worry about the lady, there. It’s not her I’m here for, it’s you.”
Ruby smiled.
The brooding man with the downturned, thick black eyebrows didn’t answer. He crossed his arms in front of him and held his place near Proctor. He didn’t look like much to Ruby, but then a smile crept across his face, revealing rows of neat, off-white teeth.
Bradshaw stepped away from Sampson and grabbed one of the bars.
“Something funny?”
The response came without hesitation. “Why don’t you step in here and find out.”
The smile was gone now, his eyebrows relaxed into an even plane. Ruby squinted to better see the prisoner in the dim lighting. All she found in the sienna irises was stillness. Uncrossing his arms, the smaller man crossed the cell, moving toward Bradshaw. When he stopped, his chest was inches from Bradshaw’s fist, gripping the bar. When he spoke again, his voice uttered the low timbre of a dog’s growl.
“Go ahead big man. Why don’t you bring that look you’re giving me to fruition?”
Bradshaw’s hand relaxed its grip and his back straightened.
“Bradshaw, come away from the bars.”
Bradshaw’s back stood stiff for two long breaths, then he backed away one step…and only one.
Ruby analyzed the contrast in the two men’s statures and shook her head.
Bradshaw would crush that man.
“First, I’d like you to tell me something,” Sampson said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
The man smiled again. “I didn’t throw it, governor.”
The marshal, whose last name Ruby couldn’t remember for the life of her, somehow pushed words through his ridiculous, thick mustache.
“It’s Jacob.”
The man in the cell didn’t spare the marshal so much as a glance; his eyes were locked on Sampson as if he’d died standing.
“Jacob, good.” It was Sampson’s turn to fold his arms across his chest. “I know you walk around here like Lucinda-there’s glorified bodyguards, protecting her from the big bad governor.” He fingered the center of his own chest. “Though I don’t know where you all get off, putting your nose in the business of a state you aren’t even from, it’s not what bothers me most.”
The dead stare from the center of the cell expressed no interest.
Sampson chuckled. “You see, all a leader has is his men.” He cocked his head backward. “And his women. Sorry Rubes. If the people under my command can’t trust me to keep them safe, they start to get restless, maybe question if I’m the person to lead the MidEast out of the epic shit pit it’s been for decades. Of course, with old Bradshaw and Ruby, here, I can get them pointed in the right direction, as long as their brothers-in-arms’ deaths aren’t allowed to become commonplace.”
Lucinda’s head fell backward, and she rolled her eyes as she spoke toward the ceiling.
“My, how you drone on, and on, and on…”
The twang in her accent might have been endearing if not for the message.
“I’ll come to my point, then. Far be it for me to keep a lady waiting.” Sampson unfolded his arms and raised his hands out to his sides, showing the man his palm. “I can forgive a lot of things, but when you start killing my people, I can’t turn a blind eye, especially when this little rebellion in Blacksburg has stretched on for so long.”
Jacob still didn’t answer.
“Why make trouble?” Sampson asked. “Can you answer that? Why murder my men on the farm?”
Ruby could see Jacob’s jaw working.
“Why kill the men in Ingle’s Ferry?”
Jacob still hadn’t budged.
“Why kill my lawkeepers?”
“You are about as full of shit as they come,” Jacob said.
“It speaks!” Bradshaw said.
“Bradshaw,” Sampson said.
“Yeah?”
“Check the street for Proctor family members.” Bradshaw turned and shot the boss a death glare. When he set a hand on the door knob, Sampson added, “And put on your fucking hat.”
Bradshaw paused for just a moment before yanking the door open, slamming it shut behind him, and only then pulling the hat over his head and yanking the bill down.
“You’ll forgive my Justice, he’s a bit ornery about the dead men he found down in Ingle’s Ferry with their throats cut.”
“Maybe your men shouldn’t deal that poison to people,” Jacob said. “Maybe your men shouldn’t raid farms and murder innocent people.”
“That raid cost my lieutenant his life at Bradshaw’s own hand. I bestow the title Justice upon Bradshaw and Ruby because I believe in the concept.”
“That’s a real nice cover for the man who gave the orders to kill that family in the first place.”
Ruby’s head jerked up.
What did he just say?
“Now you just hold on right there!” Sampson barked.
Jacob smiled that wide, wicked smile again. Though she stood behind Sampson, Ruby could see his shoulders drop as he released a cleansing breath and calmed himself before he spoke again.
“It shouldn’t surprise me you would spout lies if you’d murder innocent people. How about my lawkeepers? Which one of you dirty ingrates killed my man in a back alley? Which one of you put an arrow through one’s neck? Ruby? Ain’t that right?”
Ruby answered in a mutter as she stared at the dingy floor. “That’s right, boss. Shot it clean through his neck.”
“You can believe what you like, Jacob, but I don’t order my men to kill innocents.”
“Then why did you send a second round to the Ellison farm after the first had been repelled?”
Ruby’s eyebrow ticked up. Since it was in Bradshaw’s territory, she didn’t know much about the raid Sampson had organized because he’d decided she didn’t need to. Maybe now she’d find out.
“People have to pay their taxes. No one likes it, but it’s what makes us work.”
“Then give them coins,” Jacob said in that low, dog growl of a tone. “Don’t take the food they labor to grow with their own hands.”
“Oh! Don’t you just sound so sympathetic!” Sampson threw his arms up in a short V. “Oh! The poor farmers who pay their taxes with the food over which they toil so! And who patrols their farms to keep them safe? Who is going to pay for that? You?” he pointed a crooked finger. “You, Lucinda Proctor?”
“Protection in return for food don’t sound right to me,” Lucinda said.
“You’re bias
ed, woman. You’d have me adopt your silly little Blacksburg marks. What good would they be? You can’t make every vendor in the MidEast accept them.”
“Same old arguments, Sampson,” Lucinda said. “There is such a thing as a middle ground.”
“No!” He snapped his fingers. Ruby stepped backward involuntarily. “There might have been a middle ground, had you negotiated to start with!” He lowered his decibels. “There might have been a middle ground had your friends not started killing my enforcers. There might have been if my lawkeepers were still breathing. But that isn’t where we are, is it Lucinda?”
The accent Sampson labored so hard to conceal was slipping out in his vowels as the skin on the back of his neck flushed in pink.
Sampson looked over his shoulder and Ruby almost stepped back again. “Get Bradshaw.”
Ruby complied. The towering man stepped into the room and pulled the door closed.
“I want Lucinda on the truck in five minutes,” Sampson said. “If that little man there gets in your way, feel free to kill him with your bare hands. How’s that sound to you, tough guy?”
The smile again.
“But I thought you were here for him,” Ruby said.
“I’ve changed my mind. The marshal here will keep him for now. He has friends outside who aren’t contained. When we’ve dealt with them and put Miss Proctor, here somewhere safe, we’ll come back for Jacob.” He turned toward the marshal and his head ticked in the directions of his deputies. “You men think you can keep this one contained? Keep the others out?”
“We’ll handle our end,” the marshal said. “Don’t you worry.”
Sampson sent a look to the marshal and jerked his head toward the cell. The marshal fumbled his keys and stood. As he lifted the key toward the lock, the glass behind Ruby exploded inward and a purple tracer crossed the room, plowing into the marshal’s back. Slamming into the bars, the marshal’s body went limp, and he slid to the floor. Sampson jumped behind the marshal’s desk. Ruby jumped into the corner next to the window, feeling the cut of the sharp nicks on the back of her neck from shattered glass. The ignition and subsequent, growling purr of what she recognized as a troop carrier’s engine, erupted outside. There was a lower, humming sound she didn’t recognize.