by Harley Tate
He stumbled inside and set his gear down, opting to keep a single rifle and his handgun on his body. The pharmacy looked the same as when they left it not that long before. Nothing in the town of Eugene, Oregon made sense. Why were some shops smashed up, but others fine? Where were all the people?
Why the hell did the army try to kill him? What did he ever do to them?
He groaned and kept walking. The tourniquet he’d fashioned out of belts worked well, but he needed to disinfect the wound and sew it shut. He hobbled into the back, using the still-standing shelves as support for his leg as he went. After at least half an hour of fruitless searching, he finally found what he needed: a suture kit.
He eased down onto the floor and exhaled. This part would suck. If he didn’t get the tourniquets off and the wound closed up, he’d be at risk for losing too much blood flow in his leg. Too long without adequate blood supply and his tissue would start to die. If that happened, he was done for. Not exactly a whole lot of surgeons around to cut off his leg or a working prosthetics department to make him a new one.
With a deep breath, Colt loosened the belt cinched across the wound. Hot searing pain flared from his thigh down, whooshing like hot lava through his muscles. He dropped the blood-soaked belt on the floor and eased the bandana and gauze away from the wound. As he pulled the skin apart, blood oozed thick and fresh from the cut.
He grimaced and grabbed the alcohol. The smell hit his nose as he opened it and Colt exhaled. The second the liquid hit the wound, he cried out, but he kept pouring, his hand shaking from the agony.
As the pain subsided, Colt took a look at the gash. It was deep, but straight into his quadriceps. It didn’t appear to puncture a major artery or twist and wreak internal damage. Thank God the soldier could only reach his leg.
If he’d stabbed him in the gut, Colt would be dead.
After disinfecting his hands, he tore open the suture kit and pulled out the needle. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been stitched up without anesthetic, but it would be the first time he’d done it to himself.
With agonizing slowness, Colt stitched the wound closed, jabbing the needle in one side and out the other, pausing only when he teetered on the verge of passing out. It took way too long, but he didn’t have a choice.
He stared at his leg. Expert tailor he was not. If it healed, he’d have a nasty scar. But he’d take the ugliest scar in the world if it meant he still had a serviceable leg.
After confirming the stitches would hold, Colt applied a fresh bandage and released the other belt still clamped around his upper thigh. The fresh injection of blood down his leg didn’t hurt this time and he leaned back against the wall in relief.
He’d been in situations like this before.
On his own. Wounded. Still on a mission.
But never in the United States and never against the supposed good guys.
All he could think about was Dani and where she was and what the army wanted with her. No matter how much she claimed to want to go with them, it didn’t sit right with Colt. After the ambush, he knew there was more to it.
Once he felt good enough to stand, he made his way over to his pack, testing his leg. So far, so good. The stitches seemed to do their job. He changed out of his pants, opting for a new, non-blood-soaked pair, and popped an antibiotic pill from the stash he’d acquired in his earlier visit.
The whole afternoon, he’d been thinking. The town was too quiet. Even with the National Guard on patrol, people would be out milling about. Neighbors would be talking with neighbors. Shopkeepers would be trying to run their businesses. Instead, everyone hid like they were afraid to be seen.
Those men he passed on the street with Dani ran the second they were spotted. People didn’t act like that unless they were terrified. It could have been a reaction to the motorcycle gang; they sure seemed full of bravado. But Colt didn’t think so. It had to be the army.
Colt hoisted his pack onto his back, trying his best to avoid too much pressure on his injured leg. After grabbing the rest of his gear, he eased out of the pharmacy and back onto the road.
Opting for a side street, he hobbled down the sidewalk, passing cute little cottages with white picket fences and trailing flowers running up the mailboxes. Halfway down the street, a curtain in a front window fluttered. Colt stopped in front of the house.
Fresh paint, a well-tended flower garden. A welcome sign on the porch. A place where a neighbor would come out and say hello. Not today.
Colt kept walking. As he neared the end of the street, a little happy dog tore up between a pair of houses and stopped on the sidewalk. Its brown and gray fur looked a bit dull, but the tiny thing made up for it with a huge voice.
“Hey there.” Colt tried to talk to it. He’d never been good with dogs.
A woman rushed up, skirts billowing as she ran. “Lottie, come here! You can’t be out. You know that!”
“I think she likes me.”
The woman looked up from the sidewalk, her black hair falling over her face as she stared. She rose up without saying a word, but Colt held up his hand.
“Please, can I talk to you?”
She glanced around the street, eyes quick and fearful. “You shouldn’t be out here. No one is supposed to be out here.”
“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“Where have you been?” She looked him over, pausing on the two backpacks and his beard. “Out in the wilderness?”
“The college campus.”
The woman’s eyes went wide and she clutched the little dog to her chest as she stood up. “Are you one of them?”
“Who?”
“The militia.”
“You mean the National Guard?”
She shook her head. “That’s what they say, but it can’t be true. Not after what they’ve done.”
Colt glanced around. “I was with a plane that crash-landed north of here. I hiked down to town and got buses for all the passengers. The National Guard put them up at the college.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying the National Guard has done something?”
Her lips thinned. “They aren’t the National Guard. They came through here last week, dragged all of us out of our homes. Confiscated all weapons, inventoried our food.” She glanced down at the little dog. “Took everyone’s pets.”
Colt’s eyes went wide. “They took animals?”
She nodded. “And they didn’t bring them back.”
Colt reeled. “Did they tell you all to stay inside?”
She nodded. “No one can be seen on the streets. If we’re caught talking, we’ll be taken away.” She stepped closer. “No one who’s ever taken away comes back.”
He needed to let her go. “Thank you for taking the chance to talk to me.” He held out his hand. “Colt Potter.”
She shook it. “Melody Harper.”
“If you ever need anything, Melody. I can help.”
Melody’s face pinched. “What can one man do?”
Colt smiled. A hell of a lot. “Take care.” He turned to go, more confident in his ability to make it to the apartment.
The National Guard unit had gone rogue. Now everything made sense. The patrols, the curfew, the refusal to let anyone leave the college campus. They were in the process of completing a military takeover of the entire town. In a few weeks, the entire town of Eugene would be working for Colonel Jarvis whether they liked it or not.
Colt needed to get to Dani’s apartment and regroup. If he could rest up and elevate his leg, he could come up with a plan.
The trek was slow going. He didn’t approach her street until the daylight dimmed and dusk set in. Maybe that’s why the light in the apartment caught his eye from so far away.
Colt pressed his body against the wall of the nearest building, hoping to shield himself from view. He squinted into the gloom. That’s Dani’s apartment.
Did they let her go already? He doubted it. But why else would someone be inside?
If it was D
ani, why would she have a light on? Not only would it waste batteries, but she knew announcing her presence was dangerous. It was an open invitation to every potential thief and rapist across the city. Not that Colt has seen many of them out and about, but still.
He unzipped the day pack and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Bringing them into focus while he stared at the apartment, Colt spotted an X in the window. He pulled the binoculars down.
The first thing he thought of was The X-Files and how Mulder taped an X in the window when he needed help. Dani loved the show almost as much as he did. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Did she need help?
Colt brought the binoculars back up as a shadow passed in front of the glass. A man wearing army green. Shit. He walked back and forth like an officer on the parade deck, waiting to catch a boot enlisted man out of line. From the stance and weight and the way his arms were held behind his back, it could only be one man: Colonel Jarvis.
What was he doing inside Dani’s apartment? Colt kept watching, waiting for some sign of her. As he was about to give up, he spotted a little head in the window. A kid’s head.
Dani.
Shoving the binoculars back in his bag, Colt made a decision. He would find out exactly what the army was up to, why they wanted him dead, and just what the hell was going on up there in Dani’s apartment.
If she was in trouble, he would rescue her. It didn’t matter that she’d told him goodbye. He wouldn’t break his promise.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
COLT
55 Houghton Street, Apartment 409
Eugene, Oregon
9:00 p.m.
It took Colt over two hours to find a suitable lookout, clear it, and set up his gear. But now he sat in the darkness, staring across the street at Dani’s apartment. The place glowed.
From his position about ten feet back from the window, Colt could see everything inside with his binoculars. Dani stayed curled up in the papasan chair in the corner underneath a blanket. He couldn’t tell if she was sleeping or not, but at least the soldiers left her alone.
Two young enlisted guys sat at the table, constantly pointing at pieces of paper spread across it and intermittently using handheld radios. Another soldier stood guard by the door.
The colonel paced. His presence surprised Colt. The man was in charge of the entire unit. Why he would take it upon himself to accompany Dani to the apartment, Colt didn’t have a clue. But he might be able to find out.
He picked up the handheld radio he’d stolen from the driver of the truck and turned it on. As long as he didn’t say anything, they wouldn’t know he was listening. He turned up the volume and waited.
“Echo 6 Romeo to Echo 7, radio check, over.”
Colt sat a bit straighter in the chair.
“Echo 7, copy. Ready and waiting instructions.”
“Proceed with house-by-house clearing in sector eight, nine, and ten. Transport all confiscated weapons and supplies to the loading bay. Over.”
“Request for clarification, Echo 6. If we encounter hostiles what is the protocol?”
The radio crackled.
“All hostiles are to be eliminated on sight. No prisoners are authorized. Over.”
Colt blinked. It was true. They were going house to house like the woman from the street had said. Was there some rival gang? Were they trying to protect the town from criminals?
If they were fighting an opposing force, Colt could help. He didn’t need to be shot at. He wasn’t a bad guy. Maybe the sporting goods store had been one colossal misunderstanding. If that were true…
The radio crackled again. “Echo 7 to Echo 6 Romeo, request permission to speak with Echo 6. Over.”
Colt watched through his binoculars as one of the soldiers from the table stood up and walked over to Colonel Jarvis. He handed him the radio and the colonel brought it to his lips. “Echo 6.”
“Sir…” Muffled sounds of an argument filtered through the radio. “Sir, this is Sergeant Gunther and I know we aren’t supposed to question our orders, but these are residential sectors, sir.”
The colonel resumed his pacing. “Your point, Gunther?”
“These people deserve our protection, sir. If we drag them out of their houses in the middle of the night, how are we earning their trust?”
Colt pressed the binoculars so hard against his face the plastic dug into his eye sockets. They couldn’t be doing what it sounded like. Rounding up innocent civilians? The orders to kill couldn’t have been about civilian protesters, could they? It didn’t make sense.
The colonel spoke up. “How old are you, Sergeant Gunther?”
“Twenty-two, sir.”
“Do you want to live to be twenty-three?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you will kill every person who so much as looks at you funny out on that patrol. This isn’t about giving anyone protection or earning their trust. It’s about control. We own this town now and everything in it. If they want to stay alive, then they’ll do it under our good graces. Nothing more. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
The colonel handed the radio back to the other soldier and the man clicked it on. “Echo 6 Romeo to Echo 7, are your orders clear?”
“Yes. House-by-house clearing in sections eight, nine, and ten. Shoot hostiles on sight. Confiscate all weapons and critical supplies. Over.”
The radio fell silent and Colt rocked back. He might as well have been clocked upside the head with a baseball bat. The National Guard unit stationed at the University of Oregon wasn’t part of the United States Army anymore. It had gone completely off protocol. They weren’t here in Eugene, Oregon to protect the town or set up communications. They were here to turn the little town into their own private fiefdom.
At least that was Colonel Jarvis’s plan.
The thought made Colt sick. How could the man do such a thing? He had to have close to twenty years in the service. Now he wanted to use that experience against the very people he swore to protect?
Women and children lived in this town. Men who never picked up a gun and who didn’t know the first thing about defending themselves. How could Jarvis just declare the whole place part of his kingdom?
Colt brought the binoculars back up and stared into the apartment. The radio had gone silent, but Jarvis still paced back and forth. Could Dani have heard what they were planning? Was she pretending to sleep, but listening in?
If so, she knew the danger she was in. Even if her grandmother were receiving the best care at the university hospital, she had to know it wouldn’t last. Men like this didn’t do anything out of kindness. They took Dani and Dorris because they wanted something.
Colt frowned. They wanted him.
For whatever reason, Jarvis saw him as a threat. Maybe it was the fact he was a former SEAL or his causal questions about their unit that rubbed Jarvis the wrong way. If he was disarming ordinary civilians, it made sense to disarm Colt, too.
Now that he’d killed four of Jarvis’s men…
He set the binoculars down. As long as Colt roamed the streets, Dani wouldn’t be safe. They would use her to get to him. He had to get her out of that apartment before they moved her somewhere he couldn’t penetrate.
Colt forced himself to stand and walked over to the dark kitchen. He pulled the first aid kit out of his pack and opened the bottle of pain pills. Four went down his throat along with a half a bottle of Gatorade. Screw staying off medicine. Colt needed to block the pain to do what had to be done.
Digging out the duct tape and another bandage, he stripped to his underwear and tore strips of the tape long enough to wrap around his leg. With the bandage on top of his stitches, Colt wrapped the duct tape around his thigh, securing the bandage and covering the entire wound.
It wouldn’t be good for breathability, but if he blew a stitch, he wouldn’t bleed out. After it was all over, he could treat the wound again. He popped another antibiotic and washed it down with the rest of the Gat
orade before pulling out a few energy bars.
Colt ate them in systematic fashion, fueling his body for the grueling night ahead. After he finished, he turned his attention to the apartment he stood inside. It appeared to be another college student’s place, full of things like used textbooks and dirty laundry. A college boy’s apartment.
Thankfully for Colt, a guy’s place would have everything he needed. After a few minutes of searching, he compiled his supplies. Colt spread it all out on the floor of the walk-in closet, stuffed a pair of towels beneath the door, and turned on a portable lantern.
It wouldn’t take much to put the necessary equipment together, but Colt needed the light. He started with the matches, pulling the paper backs off the packs, each one from the same bar in Eugene. A dive, probably. He taped the lot of them to the bottom of three aerosol deodorant cans, duct taped them all together, and set the bundle aside.
Thanks to an apartment dweller who liked to play his fair share of college drinking games, Colt had a whole pile of ping pong balls. He cut the majority of them up into little pieces and shoved the bits into five he’d punctured with a knife. Wrapping aluminum foil around each one, he shoved a rolled-up wad of paper towels and a match into the hole left behind and smiled.
College kids always had the best supplies.
After collecting all the magazines from each of the M-4s he’d stolen from the army attackers and stuffing his cargo pants full of them, Colt assembled everything he made. He was still outnumbered. Four army men inside a locked apartment versus a former SEAL with a wounded leg.
It wasn’t much of a contest. The only problem would be keeping Dani safe. He didn’t know if he could take all of them out before she became a hostage, but he would have to try his best. Colt slung the daypack loaded with gear over his shoulder and stepped into the hall.
Time to play action hero.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DANI