by Ren Hamilton
Neither questioned him, they simply followed along a semi-beaten path. The mention of Agent Litner’s name had left them stoically silent.
Walsh stopped alongside a pile of brush and sticks. He kicked at the twigs and leaves on the ground, spreading them out to reveal a metal lever attached to a flattened wooden door. Walsh pulled up on the lever and a beam of dusty daylight shone down, revealing a set of wooden steps leading into the earth. “Wow. What the hell is this?” Patrick asked.
“I think it used to be a bomb shelter,” Walsh said. “I just discovered it was here early this morning. Two of those curly-headed clowns went down here to check it out. They were looking for that girl with the pink hair. She ain’t down there though.”
Robin looked at Walsh. “Do you know where Kelinda is?”
“I saw them last night,” Walsh said, scratching the back of his head as his eyes darted at the trees around them. “They came out of the fields, five of em. They broke a window downstairs and pulled the girl out. They’ve got her hidden somewhere beyond the property line.”
“Do you ever sleep?” Patrick asked.
“Don’t have time to sleep. Come on. Follow me.” Agent Walsh stepped down into the hole in the earth and they followed. Patrick lowered the door down on top of him and it was pitch black. Agent Walsh pulled a flimsy string attached to an overhead bulb and the place flooded with a dull light. They came to the bottom of the dusty wooden steps into a storage area. The floor was earthen.
Walsh turned to faced them, the lines around his eyes softer in the dim light. “I heard from Litner. He’s gotten the results of the crop analysis. We’re pulling you out. It’s going to happen fast. Before the end of the week.”
Patrick let out a sigh of relief, then the apprehension returned. “What did they find in the crop?”
“Let’s just say if that crop reaches its destination, the global population is going to drop dramatically in the very near future.”
“Are you saying it’ll kill people?” Robin asked softly.
“No,” Walsh said. “Prevent them from ever being born.”
Patrick gasped. “Sterilization?”
Walsh nodded. “If we don’t stop its distribution. Litner’s organized a team and a plan is in the works. We’ll confiscate the drums of crop and get you two out at the same time. I’m going to send a signal to you on the night of the siege. Be ready.”
“What kind of signal?” Patrick asked.
“Gun shots. Coming from the direction of that old brown house next door. Shep will think it’s me, his old buddy the veteran come back to cause trouble. With any luck, he’ll go over to check it out. He wants me dead something awful and his anger will win out over his caution. I’m aware of his unusual strength, so don’t think I’m going to try wrestling him. I’ll get him locked in.”
“He’s really strong,” Patrick said.
“I’m aware. But at the very least, a trap will give him a challenge, give us time. That’s when we get you two out. You’ve got to find a way to get Joey Duvaine out to the guest house with you. As soon as you hear the shots, that’s where you head, to the guest house. Litner will be there waiting for you. Do you understand?”
“How are we going to get Joey to come with us?” Robin asked.
“I’m afraid that’s up to you. You all know him better than I do. Can you do it?”
“Well find a way,” Patrick said. “We’ll figure something out.” He’d drag Joey by the hair if he had to. “What happens next?”
“If all goes as planned, our team takes control of the guest house and the trucks, confiscates the crop, and gets the hell out before Shep knows what hit him.”
“What’s going to happen to Shep and the brothers?” Robin asked. “Are you gonna arrest them?”
“Litner doesn’t want to risk it until the crop is safely away. The plan is to take Joey Duvaine only, avoiding a direct confrontation with Shepherd until we get what we want.”
“Did you shoot Joey?” Patrick asked suddenly.
Walsh met his eyes. “Pardon?”
“Joey got shot in the shoulder at a barbecue. Shep said the crazy vet did it. Is it true? Did you take a sniper shot at him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To keep him on the property. They had him going out to the store and the beach and whatnot before that happened. I needed to scare the sons of bitches so they would keep Joey on the land where I could watch him. It worked. He only left the property once after that to go to that nightclub, and I was there, as you recall.”
“But you shot him!” Patrick said. “You could have missed and hit his head, or a vital organ!”
“No, I couldn’t have,” he said.
“You’re telling me that there’s no chance whatsoever that you could have accidentally aimed just an inch to the left and killed him?”
“No chance.”
“You’re that good a shot, are you?”
“Yes sir, I am.”
Patrick was out of comebacks. “Well…don’t do it again. I feel everything that happens to Joey, and that really hurt.” Walsh just nodded. Patrick breathed deeply and coughed. “Okay Walsh, what’s the bottom line? I need to get out of this cellar. I have claustrophobia and the dust is making me sick.”
“The siege will happen some evening this week. I wish I could be more specific but I just can’t. There are still a few details to be worked out, and I have to do some sneaking around tonight to set up for Litner’s plan B.”
“His plan B? You mean if the shit hits the fan while you all try to take the crops?”
“Exactly. Litner is aware that a thousand things could go wrong. The prime directive is to make sure those crops don’t leave the property unless it’s under our control. We hope to take the product with us, but if that’s not possible then the crop must be destroyed, right then and there.”
Robin winced. “Destroyed? You’re going to blow shit up, aren’t you?”
“We are going to destroy the product, yes, but only if there is no other choice.”
“So you might have to blow shit up,” Patrick added.
Agent Walsh shrugged. “Yes. We may end up...blowing shit up.”
Patrick was wary. It didn’t sound solid. Aside from Shep and the brothers, they also had sixty Joey-loving zombies whose sole purpose, aside from worshiping Joey, was to guard those crops. No, this was not going to be easy at all.
Later that night, Patrick tossed and turned in his bed. Part of his sleeplessness was caused by his subconscious waiting for the sound of gunshots, but part of it was a nagging question. How would his own conscience handle deceiving Shep on a larger scale, like this potential raid? Or more viscerally, Shep’s potential capture—even if it was just to delay him, as Walsh suggested.
After everything, Patrick was amazed to feel a twinge of guilt at the prospect. More than a twinge, if he was being honest. He knew what was at stake, knew what the crop could do. And yet, a part of him wanted to stop the raid from happening, to warn Shep and beg him to call everything off.
Beg him to just try to live as a normal person, with no ancient vendettas. To just be Shep, Patrick’s friend again. Pathetic. I’m pathetic. No wonder he chose me. I’m a damn chump, gullible to the core. Or was it the blood? He’d always been loyal to his friends, but that was before he knew they’d done horrible shit. That loyalty should not still be intact, so maybe the bonding had something to do with it. Or maybe he was trying to justify his emotional weakness.
Patrick’s ambivalence was likely not helped by spending time with Shep earlier that evening—a bad idea if ever he’d made one. Shep asked him to play pool in the game room, and Patrick acquiesced, mainly out of boredom. Shep made margaritas, and Joey joined them. Before he knew it, he was laughing, enjoying their company, their crass humor. It was comfortable, familiar, and it made Patrick want to weep. Even as he knew he was being manipulated, he fell too easily into the old banter, the camaraderie, and the feeling of unconditiona
l acceptance the friendship used to evoke.
Passing around a joint in the game room, smelling the familiar coconut scent of Shep’s shampoo as he leaned in to share a joke, it was disturbingly easy to forget Shep was a murderer, an abomination, and that he was going to get what was coming to him. He’d brought this on himself. Patrick had simply helped the process along by agreeing to work with the FBI. He was doing the right thing. So why did he feel like a shit? He wished his affection for Shep and Joey would hurry up and dissipate. It would be nice to have it gone before he betrayed them.
Giving in to the insomnia, he left his bed and made his way down to the kitchen for water. He was about to round the bottom of the darkened staircase when someone grabbed his arm. “Obrien.”
He spun about, stumbling, and looked into Margol’s cold green eyes. “Margol?”
As far as he could remember, Margol had never initiated a conversation with him. Hell, the creepy redhead rarely spoke at all. Now he looked at Patrick directly, and Patrick saw that rare yet unmistakable shine in those eyes. It was the same shine he’d seen in Juris’s eyes as he sat tied to a chair in Carbone’s basement—intelligence. A quality they all had, yet masked so well that it was easy to overlook. Patrick’s blood chilled. It was like finding out a pet could talk.
“What is it, Margol?”
Margol pushed him gently and Patrick had to walk backwards. Before he knew it, they were standing in the dining room to the right of the front door, away from prying eyes. “You may have Shepherd fooled, but you can’t fool me.”
“Margol what is this? What are you talking about?”
“Shep doesn’t see it because he doesn’t want to see it. But I see it. And I smell it. You stink, Obrien.”
“I stink?”
Margol’s eyes were fierce and angry, his voice a deep throaty whisper. “You stink of deception.”
Patrick went cold. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can I go back to bed now?”
Margol circled him like a cat. “I see you, Obrien. I see the lie. It radiates from you like a vapor.”
Fear tightened his throat, but he tried to keep his voice steady. “Margol, cut the crap, I’m not in the mood to play.”
“I’m watching you, Obrien. And the girl too. If you think she’s going to leave Shepherd and be with you, you’re fooling yourself.”
Patrick struggled to mask his shock. It wasn’t easy. He forced out a phony, high pitched laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous! Robin and I are friends. Why would I want her to leave Shep?”
Margol grinned like a mad doll. He took a step forward, forcing Patrick further into the darkened dining room. “Poor Patrick Obrien. You just can’t seem to hold on to a woman. Kelinda. Robin. They’d all rather be with your friends. They’d all rather be with somebody better. Somebody smarter. Somebody more interesting than you. You bore the women you love. You bore your friends. You even bore me.”
“Get away from me.” His voice sounded small and breathy with fear. “Step back, Margol, I mean it.”
“I am smaller in size, yet I frighten you. Why is that? Tell me, Obrien. Do you know what we are?”
Patrick stared at him, saying nothing.
“Ah,” Margol hissed venomously. “You do know. Then it is as I thought. What a burden that knowledge must be. How frightened you must feel.” Margol reached out and stroked Patrick’s cheek.
Patrick jumped back as if he’d been stung. “Don’t touch me!”
Margol laughed. “Do not worry. It is not a contagious condition.”
“If you’re so convinced I’m this traitor why wouldn’t you tell Shep?”
“Because I love my brother. For whatever unfathomable reason, he wants you to be part of our family. Shepherd is all that matters to me, and I will do my best to shield him from such unpleasantness as this. I’d rather take care of this problem myself, so that he may concentrate on more important things. So let me warn you.” Margol grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him in close. “If either one of you, you or the girl, do anything to hurt my brother…I’m going to tear you open and pull your intestines out. And I’m going to enjoy it.”
He let go of Patrick, giving him a shove. Patrick spilled backward and landed on his back underneath the shiny oak table. By the time he’d crawled out and gotten to his feet, Margol was gone.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The two guards sat playing cards at a fold-out table in the dank little room. Juris stared at them from his place in the corner. He’d have thought Litner underestimated him, leaving him under the guard of these two clowns, if not for the multiple layers of thick shackles that had been added to his wrists and ankles. Of course, he had other talents they didn’t know about, talents no chains could restrict.
He was still tied to the same chair from Father Carbone’s place. The lawmen had been afraid to risk untying him. He wondered what Litner told them. The two rejects guarding him now clearly had no idea who he even was. They’d been hired to babysit, and they were not taking the job seriously.
He glared at them from his corner of the room, knowing his gaze was unnerving. The little one kept stealing wary glances at him. He had thick black hair with a bushy unkempt mustache beneath a stumpy little nose. His eyes were beady and seemed to suck back into his face. Juris found him repulsive. He could tell by the smell of the man that he ate mostly meat. He wrinkled his nose in disgust when the little man’s beady eyes fell upon him.
“Hey, what are you looking at, freak?”
“A dead man,” Juris answered.
The two guards laughed and continued their card game. The second was a tall, thick blond of about thirty-five. He laughed at all the little one’s nasty jokes, but his eyes were kind and soft, unlike his cohort, who looked like he wanted to punish someone just for the fun of it. Juris could not believe the lawmen had left these two incompetents to guard him. But they relied on the power of their iron chains and steel wire to keep him subdued.
Everything was physical to humans. It was all about the body. Little did they know that their bodies were the weakest part of them, an afterthought to house their true essence, an essence they ignored. They’d rather chomp on dismembered cows and pull on their own sexual organs than explore the power of their mind and spirit.
Juris’s strength was slowly increasing as time passed. He could feel it, but he hadn’t been able to test it. He wasn’t sure that he could break through the thick linked chains before the idiot guards could get to him. It would be another couple of days before he could be confident that he had enough physical strength.
But he didn’t have a couple of days. He’d heard the whispers of the lawmen who’d come to reinforce his restraints. They were planning a siege on Forest Bluffs. He needed to get out of there now so he could warn Shepherd. And he would get out. Tonight. All he needed was to get close enough to incapacitate one of them. The other he could deal with alone.
Since he was himself incapacitated, he would need one of the guards to come to him. All he had to do was get one of them to stand up and walk across the room, within ten feet. He chose the little one. He was obviously a loose cannon with an inferiority complex. Juris was sure he could taunt him to the point of fury. He stared hard at the side of the man’s head, sending out tiny electric pulses, just enough to make him uneasy and feel Juris’s stare. It worked. The guard turned to look at Juris again. “Hey, Blondie! I asked you stop staring at me!”
“Why don’t you come and make me,” Juris answered calmly.
The smaller guard looked at his partner, pointing a thumb in Juris’s direction. “Get a load of this guy. Hey, you talk pretty tough for a guy in shackles.”
“And you talk pretty tough for a short, impotent cocksucker,” Juris responded.
He had heard that particular insult on a television program that Shep made him watch during his training. Shep wanted them to get used to the language and phraseology of the Americans. If it had the desired effect, the little man should be significantly insulted
.
It seemed to have worked. The short man with the mustache stood from the card table and started toward Juris. “Let it go, Stanley. It ain’t worth it,” the big blond one said. The little man stopped, then returned to his seat grumbling. Juris was disappointed.
As he sat down, the guard pointed at Juris. “You’d better keep your mouth shut, Goldilocks! I don’t know why the feds think you’re so dangerous, but I’ll tell you what. I’m not scared of you, so watch your mouth!”
Stanley the guard went back to his card game, thinking he’d gotten the better of Juris. Juris racked his brain for an insult potent enough to force the guard to approach him. He was not as practiced at this sort of thing as his brother. Shepherd was proficient at colorful insults. Juris tried to recall things he’d heard Shep say that had set off people’s anger. It needed to be something offensive enough to warrant a beating. Finally, he thought he had it.
“Hey Stanley, what is that thing on your face?” Juris asked.
The guard sneered at him, then looked at his big blond partner. “Hey Chuck, the freak sounds like a foreigner, don’t he? Where you from, freak?”
Juris repeated the question. “What is that thing on your face, under your nose?”
The little man threw his cards angrily down on the table. “It’s a mustache, you idiot! Haven’t you ever seen a mustache before?”
“Yes,” Juris said. “I saw one of those on your mother the other night, but she was putting pants over it.”
The big blond guard spit his coffee out as he broke into peals of laughter. Stanley looked at his friend furiously. “Yeah, real funny Chuck. Real funny. Encourage the freak why don’t you.”
Chuck continued to laugh. “I’m sorry Stanley. It was funny!”
Stanley stood again and pointed a stubby finger at Juris. “You’d better shut your mouth!”
“Sit down Stanley,” Chuck said, still laughing. “The guy’s just baiting you.”
“Yes, Stanley,” Juris said. “Listen to your boyfriend over there. I’m just baiting you.”