Unfortunately for Gerald, with his entire crew dead on the ground behind him, Duane spared and sprinting toward the house, he didn’t have a moment to form any of these thoughts that many others experienced before their pending death. A slug caught him square in the forehead, along with three others, and six more into his chest and stomach.
The last thing Gerald Holmes saw, as he collapsed to the dirt, was Chris Speidel standing in his doorway, cackling wildly with glee.
30
Chapter 30
Martin had experienced plenty more downs than ups over the course of his life. Now there was blood on his hands thanks to his direct authorization of a mission. Chris had taken the liberty of snapping a photo and sending it in a text message to Martin. The caption read: Wish you were here!
The picture showed the seven Road Runners splayed across the ground, dead as prairie dogs on the side of a highway. Blood was splattered across the white van behind the bodies, like a child had thrown a tantrum with a bucket of red paint.
“Gerald,” Martin whispered to himself, unable to form a concrete thought about what his eyes were seeing. He received the text message an hour earlier and had promptly forwarded to an investigation team who was now on their way to the scene, with hopes of learning what had exactly happened via a helicopter above. They’d also attempt to identify the bodies as best they could with a super-zoom camera lens.
Word of the massacre hadn’t yet reached the public, but it was only a matter of time. The lieutenant commander had been killed and there was no way of hiding that fact, especially with Gerald so popular among the organization. Martin now had the unfortunate task of finding a replacement for his number two, a process he simply didn’t have the energy for. He never had a real chance to mourn the loss of those closest to him, especially since joining the Road Runners. He had to deal with the major blows of Sonya’s betrayal and the murder of his mother all on the fly, needing to keep moving forward to avoid a similar fate. Here he was again, his closest friend and confidant dead, Martin with no time to dwell on the fact, needing to rush into a decision for a replacement to ensure the continued safety of the entire Road Runner population.
At least when his mother died he was able to escape to the islands and live in a somewhat solitary manner, but now he’d have to face the organization as their leader, their beacon of hope in another dark time that had fallen upon them.
Martin’s relationship with the members was already off to a whirlwind of a start, but they had seemed to turn a corner for the better in recent days. Would this failed mission lead to more calls for his removal from office? Would there be enough outrage for this to actually proceed to the next level of a review by the Council? What would the Council think of the hastily crafted mission, and the reasoning behind it? Gerald may have planned every detail, but Martin gave the final approval and authorization, making him equally responsible for the seven deaths. On the flip side, the organization might further unite behind Martin in these new, troubling times.
The screens in his office started to flicker. “No!” he whined, jumping out of his chair and running for the TV’s as if he could stop them. He hoped he’d at least have the benefit of time to deliver the news to the Road Runners, not have it be mocked by Chris for the world to watch.
The feed of the Road Runner news network ended and was replaced by Chris Speidel, standing outside his new house, the sky a piercing blue behind his frosty head. He opened with a grin that showed his yellowing teeth. “Good afternoon, my dearest Road Runners. I’m back so soon, I know. My apologies for ruining your day, but I just wanted to make sure that you all know your ‘commander’ is not a man of his word. He and I had specific plans to meet and settle a debt. He refused to come and now there are seven dead Road Runners on my front lawn, your Lieutenant Commander Gerald Holmes being one of them.”
Martin shook his head and buried his face into open palms.
“The transaction still took place, rest assured. Duane is back to safety with me, and Sonya has run free with her new bottle of Juice. But since your little commander wanted to make changes to the plans, I made some minor ones myself.”
Chris spun his camera around to reveal a live shot of the dead bodies on his property. No one had been moved, including the van. The blood splatters had dried, turning to a shade of black. Chris skipped toward Gerald, who was closest to the house, and zoomed in on his dead face, gray eyes staring at the sky, lips still parted from the moment his final breath escaped.
Chris howled as he zoomed out, keeping the camera on Gerald, and started kicking the dead lieutenant commander in the side.
“You see,” Chris said, jerking the camera back to his face. “This is what you get when you don’t follow through on your word. I’m a simple man—I don’t ask for much beyond your honesty and integrity. These dead bodies are your fault, Mr. Briar. And to the rest of you Road Runners, how much more can you take? Can’t you see that your organization is slowly dying—literally—since Martin Briar took over? I can’t say that I’m disappointed—your demise is my ultimate goal. I just wished I was the one to end it instead of yourselves. Before you think about ever destroying one of my properties again, remember this image.”
The camera swung back around to Gerald and jerked through the air like a documentary cameraman running from a pack of lions. The view settled on Gerald’s head, promptly stomped repeatedly by Chris’s foot. His head rolled back and forth, a new pool of blood spreading on the ground beneath. This image played for ten seconds while Chris continued roaring with laughter before the feed died and returned to a stunned Road Runner news anchor.
The news feed cut to black, leaving the collective Road Runner organization in silence. Martin’s cell phone buzzed immediately, a call from the United Kingdom that he quickly answered.
“Martin, what the hell is going on over there?” Commander Blair spewed through the phone. “Is this some kind of joke?!”
“None of this is a joke,” Martin replied calmly, despite his heart drumming like a rabid monkey trying to break out of a cage. “We’ve reached the tipping point in this war.”
“Bullshit! The tipping point was when that hotel collapsed like a fucking Jenga tower. We’ve all seen what the future in your country looks like—why are you not doing anything to stop it?!”
“I have been. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you—we need help!”
The cell phone trembled in Martin’s shaky grip, adrenaline, rage, and sorrow all swirling in an emotional cocktail, blasting through his body. He wanted to cry as much as he wanted to reach into the phone and shake Blair by his throat to get the point across. And now, with his top strategist another casualty in this horrendous war, Martin felt alone on an island with no idea how to get off. This was the price the Road Runners would pay for forcing him to run in the election. Whether or not they had a bigger plan at play now seemed irrelevant. Enough lives had been lost in the few weeks since Martin took control that he now questioned if it was all his fault. Running off to a hidden island to hide like cowards no longer seemed like such a wild idea. Surely the supporters of Yohan Templeton were somewhere shaking their heads, cursing Martin’s name.
“Help is not coming, Commander,” Blair said, his voice calming down to a normal, but morbid, tone. “We’ve all had conversations about sending help your way, but it’s just too dangerous. High risk, low reward from our viewpoint.”
“Saving the lives of the millions of Road Runners on this continent is low reward?!”
“It’s not about saving lives. All Road Runners are valuable. But without Commander Quang on board, none of us want to risk our smaller pool of soldiers. Especially since we still don’t have an actual plan to take down Chris. Understand that we look at all the numbers: how quickly he recruits new Revolters, how often. He has only tapped into one percent of the entire population on the continent. Even if we managed to wipe out half of his force, they’d be replenished in no time. There’s nothing we can do to stop him right
now, so there’s no reason for us to get involved in a fight that has no foreseeable end.”
The one thing Martin had learned he could always count on from his fellow commanders was their dedication to morality. Even knowing that killing Sonya could be the move to slingshot them to an end of this madness, they respected the fact that she was still technically a Road Runner and therefore should not be sacrificed. No matter how ugly the situation became.
“So that’s it?” Martin asked, tossing his free hand in the air while he paced around his office. “The rest of our so-called Road Runners will just watch our demise on TV like it’s a fucking action movie. What was the point of this call if you’re not offering anything?”
“The point is to let you know to stay calm. It’s a bad time, yes, but it’s only seven deaths. In the big picture, that’s minimal and you can still recover and make a move.”
Martin shook his head. Only seven deaths. “Fuck you,” he seethed before hanging up the call and throwing his cell phone at the wall, sending an explosion of plastic shards in every direction. “Only seven deaths?!” Martin screamed to the ceiling, his entire body now trembling to match his hands. “Fuck!”
Tears rolled down his face as the urge to kill Chris had never been stronger. But he knew this is exactly what Chris wanted, an emotional knee-jerk reaction that would land Martin in a vulnerable spot where Chris would wipe him off the face of the Earth, just as he had done to his mother. As much as the desire throbbed for him to hop on the jet and fly to Idaho right now, it would have to wait.
“I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch! For Sonya, for my mom, for Gerald. And for bribing me into this bullshit life.”
Martin returned to his desk and pulled open his bottom drawer, bringing out a bottle of whiskey and drinking directly from it. The time to make a final plan for the removal of Chris Speidel now loomed on the horizon, but first he wanted to numb the pain and mourn the loss of his closest friend.
31
Chapter 31
Three days later, while Martin traveled to Chicago in the year 2064 for Gerald’s funeral, the Council convened after taking the last couple of days off to mourn the lieutenant commander’s life. Gerald may have been the number two in charge, but he had touched the lives of everyone within the organization, even more so since running in the campaign with Martin.
All of the new Council members had direct ties to Gerald, working with him in some capacity at another point in time, earning them personal recommendations for their new jobs. If anything, Chief Councilman Uribe was the least familiar with Gerald on a personal basis, but still understood the grueling loss this was for the organization. Gerald was likely a lock to succeed Martin in the commandership, as was often the case, but this now marked consecutive administrations of death falling upon the number two position. Losing Bill was a tough blow, especially once all of the details came out about Julian’s corruption, but he lacked the ‘it’ factor that Gerald had. When Gerald Holmes walked into a room, he demanded attention and respect, yet was friendly with everyone he spoke with. He was versatile as a man, as a Road Runner, and would never be replaced.
With all of this heavy in their hearts, the Council met for the first time since his death and it was naturally their topic of discussion for the first hour. Once they settled down and Uribe called for an official start to the day, a sense of business-as-usual returned to their chambers. The chatter died down and Uribe addressed his Council, still lacking one member as they waited for Yohan Templeton to decide if he wanted to join as the replacement to Councilwoman Murray.
“Ladies and gentlemen, these are difficult times. Considering what we know about the future, it’s safe to say that we have reached the crossroads. We can either continue the path we’re on and arrive promptly to our doomed destination, or we can take swift action today to swerve out of our current lane and head for safety. We’ve had plenty of teams study our future and how we arrive there, and honestly, it’s impossible to pinpoint an exact event that leads us down the dark path. I’m taking the liberty to claim that this is it. And based on my email inbox from the last three days, you might agree with me. I’ve received over 1,000 emails since the attacks in Idaho, and each one is calling for Martin’s head—some even for our heads.
“The important thing to remember in a time like this is that we are all in this together: us and Commander Briar. Perhaps even more so than in the past. For this Council, we’re in a tough position, there’s no denying it. We need to make the decision to kill Sonya Griffiths, and please know it will be met with a ton of rage from our commander. We will take some heat, but it’s the tough decision that’s been on hold for far too long. We have the power to make it happen and utilize all of our resources to do so. Our main objective will be trying to get Commander Briar on our side. We must move forward as a unified team.”
Uribe stopped and took a sip of water, gesturing with his arm for anyone to speak up regarding the matter.
“Does this mean we’re voting on something right now?” Councilwoman Dawson asked. “I’m confused as to what exactly you’re asking of the Council.”
“I don’t want to vote until we’ve completely discussed Sonya,” Uribe said. “Does anyone here oppose a motion to assassinate Sonya Griffiths?”
They all looked around at each other, a heavy silence filling the room that might as well have spoken on their behalf. Sonya was still a Road Runner, but they no longer had an issue sacrificing her life in exchange for the greater good.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Uribe said after thirty seconds of awkward glances around the chambers. “Now, once we put this to a formal vote on the record, the order will be live to complete the assassination. But that’s where we may run into issues. While we can authorize an attack, we have no oversight in administering the attack—that needs to be completed by either a commander or their lieutenant.”
“So we’re at an impasse?” Councilman Bolt asked.
“Not necessarily. Like I said, this is where it gets tricky. Is there some sort of deal we can put together for Commander Briar that might sway him to move this all forward? We know he’s opposed to the thought of any harm falling upon Sonya, but he has to realize we’re eventually headed to that decision. Whether it’s with him as commander, or after he’s gone, someone is going to advance this and see it through.”
“Are you talking about threatening him? Political blackmail?” Councilman Bolt asked.
“Of course not, we’re not the American government. We don’t need to use force to push this through. I have an idea, but want to hear yours first. Let’s see what we can come up with.”
“I don’t see why we need to apply any pressure in this matter,” Councilwoman Barns said. “Does he not see the inevitable future? If we do nothing, the membership is going to eventually secure the numbers for a recall vote. Then how do we look if we decide to keep him in power?”
“That’s exactly what we’re trying to avoid,” Uribe said. “That will most certainly be the end result if we stand pat. The last thing I want this young Council to have to worry about is being forced into such a polarizing decision. It’s no fun, but that’s why I want a proactive approach. Let’s find some middle ground with the commander and avoid that whole mess.”
“Then we should just tell him the facts,” Barns replied. “No point in beating around the bush.”
“The facts will be laid out for him to consider, but this is a matter of the heart, not politics. Remember, our commanders don’t run for re-election.”
“Let’s just enforce the law,” Councilman Bolt said from the opposite end of the table.
“In what sense?” Uribe asked.
“Section seven, article thirteen of the Bylaws. ‘The Council reserves the right to hold in contempt any Road Runner who does not act within any approved rulings by the Council. This statute has no limitations, and any disciplinary actions toward executive members must pass with a unanimous vote before enacted.’ If we vote to as
sassinate Sonya, and Commander Briar refuses to move forward with a thoroughly planned attack, we can exercise this power and threaten the commander with removal from office, or even imprisonment—that would be up to us.”
“That sounds like a strong-arm move,” Councilwoman Penny said. “I don’t think that’s what we’re going for here.”
Uribe slunk back in his seat and propped a fist under his chin. Of course he knew about the particular rule in the Bylaws, but he didn’t expect a new Councilor with virtually no experience to remember those two sentences out of the entire document. It was buried within a massive text, but Councilman Bolt had clearly done some homework with his couple of days off.
“It may seem like a brutal move,” Bolt said, leaning forward and planting his elbows on the table. “But it’s a rule, and I believe it was written for a reason. I trust that our founders did extensive research on different governmental systems all throughout the past and future, and crafted the Bylaws around their findings. Our current setup only allows us so much power, and rightfully balances it with the commander. But should the entire organization be put at risk because of an emotional whim from Commander Briar? Call me crazy, but I think this rule was meant for exactly this situation.”
“I think we need to try a more civil approach first,” Penny said. “Maybe we bring him into the chambers and let him know what exactly is going on. I can’t imagine he’s not seeing this for himself, or that it will be some surprise when we bring it up. Last time I spoke with Gerald he told me that this has been a topic of discussion nearly every day.”
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