“Bobtail?” Lydia gasped. “How did you get here?”
“Meow.”
The cat ran its head along her ankle and snaked around her feet.
“Hey. Good boy.”
Lydia scooped the cat up and cradled it in her arms. She caught sight of her gender error as it kicked its hind legs apart.
“Oh, sorry. Good girl.”
“Meow.”
Amelia chuckled to herself, “Seems you’ve made a new friend?”
“Yeah. She was at the rest stop earlier.”
“What is that? An American bobtail?”
“I think so,” Lydia whispered. “Look at her. She’s so frail.”
“Ah, screw it. They’re fierce enough. I’m sure Bobbie will be fine.”
“Bobbie?” Lydia thought aloud as the cat extended its Titanium claws and buried them into her shirt, “Oww. Bobbie. Bad pussycat.”
“Meow,” she pleaded as she snuggled into Lydia’s elbow.
Amelia addressed the army of Misfits, “Okay, citizens. Listen up. Today is the day we bring war back home.”
“Hell yeah,” they chanted in unison.
Amelia pointed at the IRI-Two coach as the three drivers climbed the steps and took their seats.
“That’s right, that’s right,” Suttle ordered as he threatened everyone on board with his gun, “Get comfortable. We’re going on a little trip.”
Blanchard and Suttle jumped into the van. The former held his gun at the driver’s face. The latter clapped his hands together and caught everyone’s attention.
“I know you must all be very confused and frightened, so allow me to explain what’s going on,” Suttle said. “Today is the day you get to make it right.”
The six border officials and IRI drivers quivered in their seats.
“Oh, come on,” Suttle chuckled with a healthy amount of venom, “Don’t be scared. Think of this as a unique opportunity to atone for your utter abandonment of humanity.”
“Are you g-going to kill us?” the first border official said. “Please, d-don’t kill—”
“—Shut up.”
TCH-CLUCK.
Suttle cocked his shotgun and pointed it at the man’s face.
“Do you think we’d pack you all into this van if we wanted to kill you? Did you see your colleague back there? Why don’t you ask him how his allegiance to the IRI is working out for him this week?”
Scared, the border official clocked the pool of blood creeping around his colleagues freshly-executed corpse.
“I, uh—”
“—You getting the picture, now? Asshole?”
“Y-Yeah.”
“Make no mistake. If we wanted you dead you’d be dead by now.”
The driver of IRI-Two burst into tears and tried to move his head away from the end of Blanchard’s gun.
“Stop moving, asshole.”
“I d-don’t want to die.”
“If I wanted your opinion, I would have given it to you,” Blanchard yelled in the man’s ear, “Now, shut up and listen, okay? Just listen.”
Suttle threatened the men in the seats with his firearm.
“We Misfits, as you like to call us, have judged you. All of you. Guilty. Breaking families apart and ruining the very fabric of our society. We hold each and every one of you responsible for playing your part in USARIC and the IRI’s decision to dismantle this country against the will of the people. And for that, you can either be punished, or you can repent.”
Suttle left a pause to make damn sure the speech had sunk in.
Roman stepped forward and lowered his gun.
“Make no mistake, my pedigree chums,” he said to the officials. “We know USARIC’s plans. We know about Delta. If they continue about their business successfully they will tear this nation apart. Hold it to ransom. They must be stopped. My friend, here, said you can either be punished, or repent. I’m afraid to say we have made that decision for you.”
The second border official at the back of the coach lost his mind and jumped to his feet.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he yelled.
Without so much as a flinch, Suttle yanked on his trigger.
The official’s chest exploded down his waist and hips as he hit the deck, dead.
“I think that answers his question.”
All eyeballs turned, slowly, back to Suttle to hear him out.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the first border guard said. “We’re listening. Please, stop shooting us. What do you want us to do?”
“Simple,” Roman chuckled. “You’re going to help us take USARIC down and stop them.”
Suttle smiled and bopped Blanchard on the shoulder, forcing him forward unexpectedly.
“Whoa, easy tiger,” Blanchard joked. “This poor driver has a gun pointed at his head. It’d be a damn shame if it accidentally went off and painted the road with his brains, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess it would.”
“Please,” the driver whimpered. “I’ll do anything. Please.”
Blanchard yelled in his tear-strewn face. “Hey. Look at me. Look at me.”
A tear rolled down the driver’s cheek as he lifted his face to his captor’s. Both sets of eyeballs met for the first time. Only one of them meant business.
“What’s your name?”
“Joseph.”
“Who’s your boss, Joseph? Who’s in charge?”
“Randall Keller.”
“Sure. The head of the IRI,” Blanchard said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Why do you work for such a repugnant institution, Joseph?”
“I n-need the money.”
“Okay, that’s enough of this bullshit,” Suttle said. “Blanch, my friend, don’t play with your food. Go out and help Amelia load the others into the vans.”
Blanchard affected a child’s tantrum, “Aww, but I wanna shoot him in the face.”
“Remember what we agreed, Blanchard?” Suttle yelped. “I do the thinking. You don’t. Now, go and help Amelia.”
Blanchard huffed and exited the coach, “Okay, fine.”
“Good.”
The captives on the coach experienced a kind of fear they’d seldom felt in their lives. Two armed men put on a theatrical show in a deliberate attempt to antagonize them all.
The armed men appeared to be enjoying their efforts to torment them.
“As I was saying,” Suttle continued. “Today is the day war comes home. As the late, great, Pascal D’Souza once said. People are often reticent to punish themselves to send a message. I can’t say a disagree with that. So, if those responsible for the bad in the world won’t punish themselves, then I guess we’ll have it to do it on their behalf.”
The border guards quaked in their boots as they observed Suttle jumping out of the coach.
He aimed his shot gun at the driver and slipped a black glove on his left land. A white button flashed on the leather covering his wrist.
“If I see anyone in this coach move out of their seat I’m going to press this button.”
“Wh-what is it?” the driver asked.
“A button. Are you blind?”
“No. I mean what does it do?”
“A bad, bad thing will happen if I press it,” Suttle snapped and shoved the glove’s wrist strap up to the man’s face, “Wanna see?”
The driver waved his hand in terror, “God, no.”
“Good. Then shut up and do as I say.”
The driver nodded, much to the consternation of those in the back of the coach. One of the guards lifted his butt from the seat in order to get a better view, but sat back down when Suttle caught him moving.
“Ah, da-da-da,” Suttle tutted with clenched teeth. “Tch. Naught, naughty. You don’t want me to press the button, do you?”
“Please,” the driver begged. “Please, don’t press it.”
Suttle grinned and lowered his left hand.
“When I give you the signal, you move through the border. Follow directions for Cape Claud
ius and await further instructions. Okay?”
“Yes, yes, Okay.”
“Good. You have enough fuel to get you to the border, right? You fueled at the rest stop?”
“Yes,” Joseph said.
Suttle lifted his glove once again and teased the button on his glove.
“Tether your Viddy Media to the dashboard. Keep contact established at all times. We’ll be following behind you. Go.”
Joseph fired up the engine and placed his foot on the accelerator pedal.
IRI-Two moved through the checkpoint carrying the six frightened border officials and three van drivers in the back. Each of the nine men looked through the window and saw Suttle march behind them.
His attention diverted to the tires.
Biddip-beep-beep.
Suttle squinted at a black slab attached to the rim of the van and showed the occupants the button his glove.
“That’s right. Get driving.”
IRI-Two rolled past Blanchard, who removed the fatigues from the murdered border official.
“All set?”
“Yeah,” Blanchard said as he pushed his arms through the sleeves of the jacket, “What do you want me to do with the vehicles?”
“Execute the driver. Have one of the nationals turn the van around and take the Misfits back home.”
“Okay.”
Blanchard slipped on the border guard’s visor and opened out his arms to a rapturous round of applause from the Misfits.
“How do I look?”
Suttle whistled at the Misfits, “Hey, we have a war to fight. Try not to get too excited.”
Amelia snorted, taking in the sight of her tall colleague dressed as one of the bad guys.
“You like hot in that get-up. The suit kinda suits you,” she giggled.
Blanchard inspected the his forearms and sniggered, “You think they’ll fall for it?”
“Hell, yeah, they will. Each and every one of them.”
Suttle hooked the strap of his shot gun over his left shoulder and moved in front of the three empty IRI vans.
“Citizens,” he said to the crowd, “ Border control points across the nation are going to put a stop to Project Exodus. They’re going to return everyone back to their rightful home. Now is our time to strike back.”
Lydia watched the Misfits take everything Suttle said to heart.
Bobbie meowed gently in her arms.
“Hey, girl,” she whispered. “Shh.”
“Miew.”
Suttle continued his speech.
“USARIC and the IRI have brought hell to this nation. In a little under twenty-four hours we will cross through Manning and into the fair State of Texas where we will convene with our brothers and sisters.”
“Yes. Solidarity,” the Misfits chanted along with Amelia, who held her rifle into the air in solidarity.
“Are you ready to fight?” Suttle screamed.
“Hell yeah,” they responded.
“Good. Let’s go.”
Amelia waved the Misfits onto the second, gray van and followed after them, “Follow me.”
Suttle hopped into the empty blue IRI van and started the engine. He rolled up his left sleeve and placed his forearm to the glass panel on the dashboard.
Beep-beep.
“Roman? This is Suttle. Broadcasting to you on Viddy Media frequency oh-six-four. Do you read my transmission?”
Shhhhhhhh.
Static rumbled up his skin as the black Individmedia ink formed a solid, thick line.
Lydia climbed into the second van with Bobbie in her arms. She watched Suttle try to establish communication with her father.
“Are you calling my Daddy?”
“Yes, Lydia. He’s not responding, though. Roman? This is Suttle. Come in?”
VROOOOOM.
Amelia drove the gray IRI van with the Misfits past Blanchard as he manned the first checkpoint barrier.
“Good luck, my friend,” she said through the opened window and tipped her spectacles at him.
“Thanks, you too,” he said as he waved them past.
Suttle drove the blue van behind Amelia’s and looked over his shoulder at Lydia.
“You might want to take a seat and put your safety belt on, Lydia.”
“Okay.”
Bobbie didn’t much like the rocking of the vehicle. She attempted to claw Lydia’s jacket and jump free from her clutches.
She released her to the floor, “Okay, okay. You want down? Fine.”
“Miew.”
Bobbie snaked around the metal legs of her chair and took cover.
“I think she’s unhappy,” Lydia said to Suttle as he drove the van through the border wall.
“Never mind that, now. She’ll be just fine.”
The headlights at the front of the blue van dipped, illuminating the back of Amelia’s gray vehicle.
“Amelia, do you read me? Please, someone, tell me they’re alive,” Suttle said.
“Yes, I read you, Suttle. This is Amelia.”
Suttle focused on the back of the gray van.
“IRI-Two is two miles ahead of you. Make sure you tail them. Do not lose them. I’m still trying to establish a connection with Roman.”
“Understood.”
Amelia’s gray van sped faster along the freeway and exited the tunnel completely.
WVHOOOM.
Daylight spread across the windshield.
Lydia squinted as the daylight burst onto her face. Suttle reconnected his Individimedia with the dashboard.
“Roman Voycheck, this is Suttle attempting to reconnect. Do you read me? Transmission change. I repeat, transmission change. Oh-one-seven.”
No response.
He lost his patience waiting for a response and thumped the dashboard counter with his fist.
“Damn it.”
Lydia rocked from side to side as the van picked up the pace. She looked left and out of the window. Nothing but a featureless waste ground.
Vestiges of a healthy industry that once stood at the eastern border of the state they used to call Arizona. Now, under the privatization of one company, even the scenery looked battered and uncared for.
“Where is my Daddy?” she asked Suttle.
“Last we heard he was in Laguna Vista, Texas,” he said. “He met with the rebels, there. That’s the last we heard.”
IRI-TWO
(Two miles ahead of the Misfit convoy)
Joseph didn’t know where to turn and simply did what he felt best - stick to Interstate Ten and not diverge from its path, at least until further notice.
Shane, the first border guard, felt around his body armor and began to freak out.
“This is lessense, for heaven’s sake,” he fumed. “They think they can threaten us. Kill one of our team and hold us to ransom?”
The second guard grabbed Shane’s arm and pulled him down to his seat, “Damn it. Calm down. Whoever they are, they’re just threatening us. It’s only a threat.”
“Where are they taking us?”
“How should I know?”
Shane rose out of his seat and marched toward Joseph, the driver, “Hey, you.”
“What?”
“Where did that guy tell you take us?”
“What are you doing?” Joseph yelped. “Sit back down, for Christ’s sake—”
“—No. I want to know where that guy told you to take us.”
Joseph kept an eye on the road as a sign for the Texas border whizzed past, “He said to keep driving and await instructions.”
Shane clocked the sign and raised his eyebrows, “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“Texas? They’re taking us to USARIC.”
“Please, go back to your seat and sit down. He’ll press the button if he sees you. Please.”
“What button?”
“I dunno. He just threatened to press a button if we disobey his instructions. Now, go and sit down, or you’ll get us all killed.”
Shane thumped the
driver’s seat and returned to his own. He pinched his mouthpiece and pressed his finger to his ear.
“This is Shane White. California and Manning IRI Border Patrol Twelve. Does anyone copy me?”
The line was dead. No sign of anything other than static ringing in his ears. He removed his ear piece, chucked it to the floor and scanned the other guards.
“Does anyone else have a connection?”
They all shook their heads.
“Bastards.”
CHAPTER FIVE
R.A.G.E. Arena
Laguna Vista
(South Texas)
Rana climbed into the front of the mack truck and pulled the door shut. She slipped her binocle down over her right eye and observed the scan function light up the contours of the gates at the arena grounds.
“Calculating route to USARIC Research & Development Institute. Cape Claudius. Noyin?”
His voice came through her headgear, “Yes, Rana?”
“Can you calibrate all functions on my unit, please?”
“Understood,” his voice came through her headset, “All artillery is fully stocked. PAWZ-1 through 5 removed and stored at base. You’re at three tons, which is as light as you’re going to get, given the crates you’re carrying.”
“Good.”
Rana scanned her driver’s area and felt under the dashboard.
“Okay, the detonator’s here.”
“Good. Try not to push the trigger and blow your thighs off your legs, eh?”
“Very funny, Noyin. Just concentrate on your own job, please.”
Noyin sat at the control panel inside the Arena. He ran his fingertip over a map of the eastern peninsula.
“A little under an hour’s drive. Avoid all MagStrips if possible. You know what USARIC are like. Their cycles will swarm all over you like flies on a turd if they get so much as whiff of you.”
Rana’s voice crept through his headgear. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I’m struggling to think of something you don’t know already.”
“Correct answer,” she said.
Noyin spun around in his chair and clapped his hands at Sierra, Siyam, Jamie, Leesa, and Remy.
“Rana’s set. The truck’s locked and loaded. You’re ready to go.”
Sierra walked over to the three youngsters and crouched in front of them.
Star Cat Forever: A Science Fiction & Fantasy Adventure (The Star Cat Series - Book 6) Page 5