by David Lucin
Now Yannick appeared, rounding the Humvee, his weapon shouldered and trained on Tobias, who dropped his pistol and fell to his knees.
All at once, the malaise that had gripped Jenn since yesterday melted away. Hope rushed in to fill its place. And gratitude. So much gratitude. For Courtney, Yannick, Quinn—they were all putting themselves in danger to save her.
The Major spun around, taking Jenn with him, and angled himself so nobody could sneak up on him from the rear. Hope bloomed into exhilaration when a second Guardsman she’d never met joined Courtney. And then Dylan. Of course he was here. He probably put this whole operation together.
“Easy now,” Dylan said calmly. “Everyone relax.”
The Militia outnumbered the Major by a factor of five, but he could still kill her in an instant. He must know that if he shot her, Dylan and the others would fill him with bullets, so what was his endgame here?
She half expected him to surrender, to push her away and lay his weapon in the sand, but in a flash of movement, he wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled her close, squeezing her throat. Next to him, she felt tiny; he had a full head of height on her, maybe more.
Dylan and Courtney tensed, feet planted, fingers on triggers.
Cool polymer touched the skin at the base of Jenn’s skull, and she shivered in fear. If the Major shot her, would she even feel pain? Or would she just black out like when he or Tobias had struck her a few minutes ago?
“Let her go,” Dylan ordered. “It’s over. The building’s clear. No one’s coming to help you. You’re on your own.”
The Major forced the gun against her neck, his arm pressing hard enough on her windpipe that she struggled to take in air. Within seconds, her dizziness returned, and she could feel her face turning purple. Was he trying to choke her out? “Like hell it’s over. You’re going to lower those guns and let me get in that Humvee, or else I turn your little friend’s melon inside out.”
Jenn sucked in just enough oxygen to stay conscious. Still, her vision blackened around the edges, and her knees weakened beneath her. The sensation of sleep filled her head, making it light and airy. With all her concentration, she focused on Dylan, wondering if he could deliver a kill shot before the Major pulled the trigger.
To her dismay, he lowered his weapon and signaled for the Guard soldiers to do the same. She tried to say, Just shoot him already, but only managed a soft squeak.
“Hand her over,” Dylan began, “and we let you get in the Humvee and drive out of here. We don’t care about you. All we want is her.”
The Major laughed at that, as smug and arrogant as ever. “And what stops you from taking me out after I turn her over? No, she comes with me. You can pick her up a few miles down the road.”
Dylan sucked his teeth. He wasn’t actually considering letting the Major go, was he? It looked like he was about to answer when his attention shifted to something far on Jenn’s right. Then he touched a finger to his earpiece, nodded, and took a long step to his left. Courtney mirrored his movement in the other direction.
Before Jenn had the chance to wonder what they were doing, the deep report of a rifle filled her ears, and the pressure on her neck loosened. Moisture splashed her cheek and temple. She felt more in her hair. The Major fell forward, the weight of his body taking her down as well. Hands bound, she had no way to brace her fall, so her face struck the sand with a painful thwump.
For a second time today, her vision went black. Was she dead? Had the Major shot her? Was that feeling of moisture her own blood spouting from a wound in her neck?
Her lungs heaved. Gasped, really. Voices broke through the ringing in her ears. It sounded like they were calling her name.
She blinked, and the Major’s face appeared. His eyes, still and unmoving, were open wide. Well, one of his eyes. In place of the other was a gaping, bloody hole.
“Jansen!” Dylan lifted her into a sitting position. “You all right?”
While he worked to loosen her restraints, the world rocked and spun, but with each breath, the darkness at the edges of her vision receded and the ringing in her ears faded. When she’d regained focus, a day’s worth of backed-up emotion poured out, and as soon as the rope around her wrists had come free, she wrapped her arms around Dylan’s neck, nearly hauling him to the ground. “Thank you,” she croaked, throat raw and sore.
“It’s all good,” he said and patted her back. “We got you. You’re safe now.”
She held him close, collecting herself and taking stock of all that had happened in the past few minutes. Lip Ring remained motionless, blood darkening the sand beneath her. Tobias lay face-down, Yannick’s foot on his neck, while Quinn hurriedly bound his wrists with zip ties. Nearby, Courtney checked the Major’s pulse and gave a thumbs-up.
Jenn exhaled all her tension. Gideon was dead.
“Was that him?” Dylan asked. “Was that the Major?”
“Yeah,” she said and let him go. “That was him. What happened? Did you shoot him?”
“Not me.” Dylan pointed at a house across the street.
She squinted, focusing on an open window. In it was a lone figure, but she couldn’t see the face from this distance. “Dhaliwal?”
“Nope,” Dylan said. “Remember how you told me Freddie Parker was a good shot? Turns out you were right.”
* * *
Sam missed his footing on the bottom step and tumbled forward, onto the cheap laminate flooring. As soon as Courtney raised her thumb, indicating the Major—or who Sam assumed was the Major—was dead, he bolted out of the bedroom and headed down the stairs.
He couldn’t believe Freddie had landed the shot. No, he couldn’t believe Freddie had taken it in the first place. Sam urged him not to, afraid he might miss and hit Jenn. But then Freddie radioed Dylan, asking for permission to fire, which was given with a tacit nod. It was a reckless decision, Sam had thought at the time. He thought it now, too, but no longer cared. Jenn was okay, and he was seconds away from seeing her again. The excitement was so intense he lost fine motor control and struggled to unlatch the lock on the sliding back door.
Finally, he got it open. A chest-high concrete fence enclosed a yard of brown gravel. He hoisted himself up, then over and onto the road beyond. Across the street, Jenn sat with her legs flat on the ground.
“Jenn!” he called out and broke into a run.
She perked up at the sound of her name. When she saw him rushing toward her, she leaped to her feet.
The moment was perfect, the happiest of Sam’s life. They met at the edge of the fire station’s parking lot, their bodies pressing together as though they were one. He could feel her heartbeat, smell the vanilla in her hair. Probably he was only imagining that, but he savored it anyway. For the first time since Quinn told him about the kidnapping, he allowed himself to relax. Jenn was safe, and he swore to never lose her again.
After a while, she peered up at him, eyes red and glistening. There was blood on her face—the Major’s blood, he reminded himself, not hers—and a bruise was forming where he’d held her by the neck. Her lip was split open, and another bruise darkened the skin on her cheek. “What did they do to you?” he asked, suddenly irate. “Did they hurt you?”
“Sam, I’m fine.” Her voice was weak, like a whisper. She kissed him with dry lips. Despite the blood and the bruises, she’d never been more beautiful. “You came for me,” she added, then frowned, made a fist, and struck his chest, but there was no force behind the blow. “You shouldn’t have. You could’ve gotten—”
“Hurt?”
Now she smiled. “I’ll try not to be a Jennifer about this.”
He rested his chin on her head. The feeling of her was euphoric, borderline surreal, like she’d been gone for a year, not just a day. He was tempted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “I was afraid I’d lost you.”
“I’m here,” she said into his shirt. “Don’t worry.”
The Humvee’s door slammed shut. Hawerchuk and Yannick had p
ut the Major’s last surviving man inside. What would be done with him, Sam didn’t know. Presumably, he’d be sent away like the refugees, though if he’d hurt Jenn, exile might be too lenient of a punishment. Nearby, Courtney and Dylan chattered into a radio. Talking to Liam at the meet in Anthem, Sam assumed. Freddie had left the house and climbed over the fence. Quinn ran out and met him in the middle of the road, giving him a high five.
The Major, a bloody hole adorning the back of his skull, drew Sam’s eye. “That’s him, I assume? The Major?”
Jenn lifted her head off his chest. “He’s a monster,” she growled, her nose crinkled in disgust. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
Sam took that as a yes.
“He wasn’t going to hand me over. Regardless of what happened at the meet. Apparently, he thought I would give him intel about Flagstaff. I think he wanted to raid us for food. From what I saw, him and his people were starving.”
Now Sam noticed the Major’s loose-fitting clothes. From this angle, only half of his face was visible, but the skin was stretched tight over a sharp jawline and protruding cheekbone, like plastic wrap over leftovers. That explained why he took so many risks to capture five Militia troops and then hold onto Jenn after four of them escaped. Yet Sam felt no pity for the man. If anything, he deserved to suffer more, not die instantly via a bullet to the brain.
“Are you okay?” Freddie asked as he came up to Jenn and Sam, Quinn in tow. He glanced at the body in the dirt. “That’s the Major, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s him.” Jenn wiped some of the blood off her cheek with a sleeve. “And I’m fine. I might be washing skull fragments out of my hair for the next month, but it’s better than the alternative.” She held out her hand, and Freddie shook it. “You saved my life. Thank you.”
“You might’ve already saved mine when you busted us out of the horse-trainer, so now we’re even.”
“Deal.” She nodded at Freddie’s weapon. “That was a pretty sweet shot, by the way. I told Dylan you were a sniper, and he didn’t believe me.”
“It wasn’t that sweet. Just sixty yards. Hardly a snipe.”
Quinn interjected with, “You were also aiming at a target the size of a watermelon. Don’t sell yourself short. Jansen would’ve missed by twenty feet.”
Jenn made a noise that was mostly a laugh. “I won’t deny that.”
“If anyone’s wondering,” Sam said, “I think I had a minor heart attack when he pulled the trigger. But nobody act too concerned. I’m okay.”
“You’re such a worrywart, Samuel.” Quinn slugged him in the shoulder, then asked Jenn, “Is he always like this?”
She wrapped her arm around his waist. “Believe it or not, he used to be worse.”
A sharp whistle pierced the air, and Dylan called out, “Stay alert, people. We’re not out of the weeds yet. The commander’s about to inform the Major’s representative in Anthem that his boss is dead and he’s lost all his leverage.”
22
“Commander,” Baker said through Liam’s earpiece, “we have Jansen, and the Major is dead. I repeat: we have Jansen, and the Major is dead.”
A wave of relief uncoiled nearly every muscle in Liam’s body, like he’d slipped into a hot tub after a twelve-mile ruck march. Baker had come through, and Jenn was alive. News of the Major’s death came as somewhat of a surprise, but a welcome one, nonetheless. Now those riflemen in the school were Brown Beard’s only leverage.
Liam, that red dot still on his vest, kept his arms out to his side. His four troopers hadn’t moved a muscle. Horvat wore a radio, but he was tuned into the platoon channel; Baker had contacted Liam through the command channel. Townsend, though, would be listening to both.
On cue, she said, “Awaiting your orders, Commander.”
He wanted her to unleash fury on Brown Beard and his men, but he had to be careful. If he moved his hands and reached for his radio, the shooters in the school might end up pulling their triggers. If he tried telling Brown Beard that his boss was dead, would the man believe him and surrender? Maybe. There was also nothing stopping him from gunning down Liam and his Guard troops and then making a run for it in his trucks. With Townsend in pursuit, he wouldn’t get far, but would he rationally consider these possibilities before coming to a decision? Liam wasn’t holding his breath.
All but a few of the boxes had been loaded into the trucks and trailers. Brown Beard hadn’t lifted a finger while his men worked, only stood with his hands on his weapon, watching Liam intently.
“Commander?” Townsend repeated. “Commander, are you there?”
Baker joined in: “Commander, if you’re listening but unable to respond, I’m sending our drone to the school. ETA five minutes. Townsend, I’ll keep you updated on what I see.”
“Copy that.”
The hallmark of a good leader was the ability to improvise and carry out a mission in the absence of orders from a superior officer. Baker and Townsend were doing exactly that. Now, if worse came to worse, Baker would have eyes on these trucks, and he could coordinate with Townsend to take them out. Knowing they had the situation well in hand gave Liam considerable peace of mind, but he still might be able to talk his way out of this.
“Can I speak with the Major?” he asked Brown Beard. “If you can’t show me my troops, I’d like some assurance from your boss. No offense, but I showed him respect by coming here in person. The least he could do is talk to me man to man.” He sniffed and pointed his palms to the sky. “Frankly, I’m starting to wonder if he really exists.”
“Oh, he exists, but he’s a busy man and won’t want to talk to you.”
Brown Beard flicked a wrist toward his men, and they leveled weapons at Liam and his troops. Liam’s heart stopped. His first thought was that he was about to be shot firing-squad style, but his heart came back to life when the dot on his vest disappeared and four gunmen exited the school through the front door.
“At least ask him if he’ll speak with me,” Liam tried. “I assume you have radio contact with him, or you’re in contact with someone who does, so just run the idea by him. We’ve done everything you’ve asked and haven’t given you any trouble. Besides, we have something in common. I was a major in the U.S. Army. Was he Army, too, or Air Force?”
“Neither,” Brown Beard said, and a great weight lifted off Liam’s chest. The possibility that he and his adversary had taken the same oath had been bothering him since yesterday morning.
“Townsend,” Baker said through the radio as the gunmen from the school began packing into the trucks. “I have a visual. The commander’s being held at gunpoint. Do not engage until I give you the signal.”
From down here, the drone wouldn’t be visible, but Liam had to focus on keeping his eyes on Brown Beard, not letting them flit toward the sky.
“Copy that,” Townsend replied. “I’m redeploying to block the interstate exits into Anthem so those trucks can’t escape.”
Good idea, Liam thought, then said to Brown Beard, “Well, even if he’s not ex-military, I’d still like to talk to him.”
“Not today, Mr. Commander.” He spat a yellowish glob onto the asphalt. “Now, here’s how this’ll play out. You and your friends will remain where you are while we load into the trucks. Then we’re gonna drive off. We get any whiff that you’re following us on the ground or with one of your drones, we put bullets in your people’s heads. Got it?”
Liam’s retort left his mouth before he fully processed what he was going to say. “I don’t think you will.”
“No? And what makes you say that?”
Slowly, Liam let his hands fall a few inches. “Because I know something you don’t, and if you’d listen to me and try calling your boss, you’d find out for yourself.”
He reveled at the sight of Brown Beard’s permanent half smirk transforming into a deep frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Just do it,” Liam said. “Trust me.”
Brown Beard turned away and spoke quietly into his ra
dio. Soon, Baker said in Liam’s earpiece, “This is Dylan Baker, Flagstaff Militia. Who’s this?”
It took a moment for Liam to realize what was happening: Baker was in contact with one of the Major’s people through a second radio but was playing the conversation on the command channel so Liam and Townsend could hear.
“Flagstaff Militia?” a quiet, staticky female voice barked in reply. She must be a link in the radio chain between this school and the fire station where Jenn was being held. “Where’s the Major?”
“Dead,” Baker said plainly. “And so is everyone else here. We have our captives back, so I recommend that you tell your friends in Anthem to stand down.”
A few seconds later, Brown Beard blinked six or eight times in rapid succession, and his frown deepened.
“I take it you’ve heard,” Liam said. “Your boss is dead, you have no leverage, and there’s nowhere for you to go.” He rested his hands on his hips, confident Brown Beard wouldn’t order him shot. “Let me lay out your options for you. As I see it, you have two. First, you can shoot me and my troops and try to make a run for it with the food, but I should warn you, we’ve got a drone airborne, and a platoon armed with two heavy legged combat drones is blocking the exits out of this community.”
Brown Beard’s bluster had evaporated, and now he hung on Liam’s every word. “What’s the second?”
“You lay down your arms and walk out of here alive with all your people. Where you go, I don’t care, as long as it’s not Flagstaff. If I ever see you again, I won’t be so lenient.” Liam doubted this group would make it very far. Brown Beard and his crew appeared to be starving already. Stripped of their weapons and vehicles, they were no more dangerous than the thousands of refugees the Militia had turned away over the past two weeks. “So it’s your choice. You can die today, or you can accept my very generous offer and take your chances out there. I know what I’d choose.”