The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set

by Ernest Dempsey

  He polished off the entire contents of the bottle in less than ten seconds. He tossed the empty container aside and grabbed a second. Dak downed half of the second bottle more slowly and stopped when he was halfway done. Then he set the bottle down, picked up four more from the case, and stuffed them in his cargo pockets.

  Satisfied he'd collected enough to keep him hydrated in case something went wrong on the way back to base, he whirled around and noticed something at the door to the tent. He hadn't seen the wooden pole on the way in, but it stared him in the face now.

  He sauntered over to the pole and cocked his head as he gazed upon it. Four nails jutted out of the wood, each holding a set of truck keys. He nodded at the stroke of luck and took the set from the top rung on his way out the door.

  A funny thought occurred to him as he walked back toward the row of trucks and he couldn't help but smile. Four keys had been hanging on the pole. That meant his team hadn't bothered to look and probably had to rig the wires to get the thing to start.

  Good.

  He had a few other savory words he wanted to express, but he pushed them aside. Back at the last truck in the line, he noticed that there were shards of glass scattered in a specific area on the sand. He figured it was where his team had broken the window to gain access to the pickup.

  "Suckers," Dak said, though he realized that he too was a sucker for having let trust and friendship get in the way of seeing people for what they were.

  Over the course of his life, Dak developed a general mistrust of most people. A large part of that stemmed from his youth. His father vanished when Dak was just a boy which placed the burden of raising him squarely on his mother's shoulders.

  She was a drunk and often came home with a different man every weekend. Sometimes she'd hire a babysitter to watch him. Other times, she would just turn on the television, put a plate of macaroni and cheese out, and tell the boy to keep the doors locked until she came home.

  Dak had only been five years old at the time, which made her actions highly dangerous and illegal.

  Fortunately, Dak met some friends along the way and their families helped make sure he had a future when his mother continually dropped the ball on all fronts.

  Dak shook off the thoughts of the past and inserted the key into the truck's door. He turned it and felt relief shower over him as the door pulled free.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled, then climbed into the truck, set his waters in the four cup holders around the cab, and turned the ignition.

  The engine rumbled to life, and he set his sights on the winding dirt road leading down the mountain. His mind raced with plans, things he would say and do when he got back to base.

  He hoped Bo was there. He wanted to see the disbelief on the man's face when he saw the ghost of Dak walk into the garrison and inform the commanding officer that he'd been stabbed in the back by his own team.

  Soon, Dak would set things right.

  Fourteen

  Hamrin

  The Toyota Tacoma slowed to a stop. The tires crunched on the loose rocks on the dirt road. Clouds of dust rolled out from behind the back tires. The wind grabbed the dust and swirled it around carrying it upward toward the mountains before it vanished in the air as each particle separated from the others.

  Dak stared through the dingy windshield. He’d been forced to use the windshield wipers to clear away the layers of dust that built up on the glass. That act had spent what little wiper fluid remained in the reservoir, leaving him to dry wipe the windshield most of the trip back from the mountain.

  He stared at the base in the distance and realized the danger of approaching a military installation in an unknown vehicle, a vehicle that was the transportation of choice by many terrorist groups worldwide.

  No, driving up to the gate would be a bad idea. Even if he tied a white flag to the end of his gun barrel and held it out the window, he’d probably be shot dead by the time he was fifty yards from the gate—maybe a hundred if one of the snipers was on the job.

  He’d have to approach on foot and leave the weapon in the truck.

  Dak was approximately three hundred yards from the eastern gate of the base. Hardly a hike through the Appalachian Trail. He could do it without breaking a sweat.

  He took one of the two remaining bottles of water out of a cupholder and stepped out of the truck. His boots hit the ground with a thud and sent small clouds of dust out behind the heels.

  A gust of wind hit him and he pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose to keep the flying debris from getting in.

  Dak saw a glint of sunlight off of something glass on one of the watchtowers and knew that someone was looking his way. He didn’t care that they spotted him. He was on their side.

  He started toward the garrison on foot, trudging through the dirt and sand, shoulders stiff and head held high. He didn’t expect a hero’s welcome. There wouldn’t be hundreds of his fellow soldiers gathered around outside the barracks, slow clapping as he entered through the eastern gate.

  Dak didn’t care. He wanted a shower, a soft bed and pillow, and a good meal. The water he discovered in the camp had taken care of his thirst and put his hydration levels back to optimal, but his stomach grumbled from hunger. Looking at his watch, he realized it had nearly been eighteen hours since his last meal before the assault on the terrorist camp.

  Halfway to the gate, he saw movement.

  The gates swung open and two Humvees rumbled out, speeding his way. The tires kicked up huge swells of dust that rolled chaotically into the sky.

  Dak frowned. “Why are they driving so fast?”

  He figured it was because they realized it was him, one of the missing men from the mission. But why were there gunners manning the .50-cals on top of the trucks?

  The answer came to him in a way he never expected. The huge barrel ignited with flames. In an instant, the surrounding desert floor exploded in rapid bursts as it consumed the massive rounds being fired from the weapon.

  Dak flinched, then covered his ears and head as hot metal rained down all around him. He dropped to his knees and curled into a ball. That didn’t stop shards of exploding rock from splashing against his skin and cutting his neck and hands in several places.

  Then, as quickly as the onslaught began, it ended. Silence poured over him once more. Dak winced against the dust flying all around him until it blew away in the breeze. When it did, he found himself staring into the barrel of the .50-cal; the gunner glaring back at him through wrap-around Oakleys.

  The trucks sat motionless for a long moment. Dak dared to try standing, but the gunner shouted an order at him to stay on the ground. “Don’t move until we tell you to.”

  “What are you guys doing?” Dak shouted back over the rumble of the Humvees’ engines. “I’m on your side. I’m an American. You guys know me.” He recognized the gunner as Private First Class Jonathan Haskins. “Johnny. You know who I am. What is this all about?”

  One of the doors in the second Humvee slammed shut and a gray-haired man with a desert camouflage cap and matching fatigues stepped around the lead truck. Two armed soldiers escorted him, one on either side.

  “Sir?” Dak said, still tempted to rise, but not stupid enough to do so. “What is going on?”

  He looked into the colonel’s gray eyes, pleading for answers.

  “First Seargent Dak Harper, I am placing you under arrest.”

  “What?” The world spun around Dak in an instant. The mountains in the distance dipped at an angle and the earth at his feet followed. He felt bile rising in his gut. What was going on? Under arrest? Why?

  “Sir, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, I think you understand plenty. We were told what happened during the operation, how you sided with the terrorists, turned your back on your team, and nearly got them all killed. To be honest, when I heard the story, I was glad you’d perished in the cave collapse, but now that I see you’re alive, real justice can be given.” />
  “Justice? Sir, I didn’t betray anyone.”

  “That’s enough, First Seargent. We’ll be taking you into custody. You’ll remain here until we find transport to the nearest military installation with proper holding facilities where you’ll await your trial.”

  Trial? Holding facilities? Dak knew he wouldn’t see such a place. Soldiers didn’t take kindly to those who turned their back on their own.

  “Sir, what are you talking about?” Dak ventured. He had nothing to lose. “Why are you doing this? We went to the camp as ordered. We took out the cell. But Bo and the others left me there. They wanted something out of the cave.” He kept the secret of the treasure horde from the colonel, figuring that information was on a need-to-know basis.

  “Don’t lie to me, soldier. Five men have corroborated what happened. Their stories match up perfectly. You will go to trial. That is if you make it that long.”

  Dak knew what the man was talking about. From time to time, accidents happened. Soldiers who stepped out of line—went against the grain—ended up severely injured and sometimes worse. Such methods weren’t mainstream. But out here in a backwater outpost, no one would know the difference if a traitor happened to trip in front of a Humvee.

  He’d never seen it himself, but Dak had heard the stories and it sickened him that his commanding officer insinuated such. Not only that, these were his brothers and sisters soldiers he’d served with, sacrificed with, protected. Now they were treating him like a common street thug. Worse, actually.

  Two more soldiers stepped around the colonel, moved behind Dak, and shoved him to the ground.

  Dak didn’t panic. That instinct had been bred out of him a long time ago. Now, though, he found himself fighting a wave of anxiety, confusion, and shock. How was he being arrested?

  One resounding truth pounded at his brain as the soldiers behind him twisted his arms and prepared to zip tie his wrists.

  Dak couldn’t let them arrest him.

  Fifteen

  Hamrin

  The soldiers pressed Dak's head painfully into the dusty earth. The hard surface grated against his skin and a rock stabbed at his cheek, narrowly missing his eye. He struggled for a moment, but one of the soldiers pinning him down pushed harder and issued a warning, telling him it would be better for him if he didn't put up a fight.

  Dak knew that wasn't true. If he let them arrest him, his life was over. He'd spend the rest of his good days in a maximum security prison with all the lowlifes of the military world.

  That was something he couldn't abide. There was no chance he'd let them put him away for life.

  The arresting soldiers had made a mistake when shoving him to the ground. They hadn't bothered to check him for weapons. It was standard procedure, yet they'd mistakenly forgotten.

  He felt the knife against his skin, tucked under his belt and hidden from view by his shirt.

  The soldier straddling him grabbed his left wrist and tried to bring it back to the other where he could bind the two together. He drove his knee into the small of Dak's back, using his weight to keep the prisoner down.

  If he didn't make his move now, he'd never get another chance.

  He subtly twisted his body to position the soldier's knee off center to the right. Knowing the grips, the pressure point moves, and the protocols the soldier would use came in handy as the guy tried to tweak Dak's wrist to a compromising angle. In a flash, Dak twisted his body one way, then the other, forcing the man's balance off kilter. The knee that was so solidly planted a second ago, slipped to the right, shifting the soldier's weight.

  The abrupt move caused the men with guns to raise their weapons, but they couldn't fire for risk of hitting their own men.

  As the arresting soldier slid to the right, Dak whipped both legs up, driving the heels of his boots into the man's middle back. He grunted in pain and his grip on Dak's wrists loosened.

  Dak rolled hard, jerking his hands away and shoving one into his shirt where the belt lay in wait. In the blink of an eye, he unsheathed the weapon, while using the dazed soldier's torso for leverage to vault over and behind the man. Within two seconds, Dak went from nearly being arrested to holding the soldier hostage with a forearm gripped tightly around the man's neck.

  Dak's feet shuffled backward as he held the soldier tight against his body as a human shield.

  The other soldiers trained their weapons on the target, but he gave barely an inch of space as he poked his head around the hostage's right ear.

  "Weapons down!" Dak shouted.

  The men didn't move. Neither didn't the colonel, who simply stood there with his hands folded behind his back, watching the event play out.

  "Did you not hear me? I said put your weapons down."

  "You know what to do, men," the colonel said with a grim expression on his face.

  The soldier in Dak's grasp now displayed sheer terror in his eyes, like a child jumping into a pool for the first time. He said nothing, though part of that was due to his windpipe being crushed under Dak's sinewy forearm.

  "He won't kill anyone," the colonel continued. "Isn't that right, Dak? I mean, if you truly are innocent, you won't hurt one of your own. Right?"

  The words seeped into Dak's soul, and deep down he knew them to be true. He wasn't going to hurt another American soldier, not these anyway. Bo and the others, that was a different story.

  He pushed the sharp blade's edge into the man's neck and a trickle of blood dribbled onto the metal. The hostage swallowed and the blade sunk a little deeper.

  "I wouldn't do that," Dak whispered into the man's ear. "Swallowing like that? You might cut yourself."

  The man hissed an expletive through his teeth, directed at Dak.

  "That's not very nice." Then Dak spoke to the gunmen. "I know you can live with killing me. Apparently, you've heard some bad information, so I'm going to tell you right now I did not betray anyone. If I turned my back on my team and joined with the terrorists, why would I come here?"

  The men with the weapons aimed at Dak didn't answer, but the colonel did.

  "Obviously, you were sent here to infiltrate the base or perhaps initiate an attack."

  Dak snorted. "With a knife? Come on, colonel. Don't be stupid." He would have never spoken to a commanding officer that way, but at this point Dak figured he was no longer a member of the United States military. So, what difference did it make? "You men with the guns. If you kill me, you'll probably sleep fine thinking you killed a traitor. I'm no traitor. But can you sleep with the fact that you also killed one of you own?" He didn't know the soldier's name in his grasp, but he shook the man so they'd understand.

  If the gunmen didn't put down their weapons, the hostage was going to die.

  "Put your guns down or he dies. It's that simple. Then you'll kill me. Fine. Based on what the colonel said, I may as well be dead already. But this guy," he shook the hostage again, "he's one of your own. You know he didn't do anything wrong other than being here, today. So, what's it gonna be, boys? A lifetime of sleepless nights because you let one of your own die? Or are you going to do the right thing and put those guns down?"

  The colonel didn't say anything this time. He had no answer for Dak's clever positioning.

  Dak could see one of the gunmen was pondering the dilemma. The other still kept probing for a clean shot, but the risk was simply too great.

  "I can stand here all day, Colonel," Dak chirped. "What about you?"

  The truth was, Dak's legs felt like jello. He needed food and cursed himself for not grabbing something from the kitchen at the terrorist camp, though he wasn't sure he trusted any of their food. He was weak and needed to eat, but his will kept him on his feet and focused on the problem.

  "Lower your weapons," the colonel ordered. The command came smothered in derision, but there was nothing he could do. He wished he'd ordered snipers to take out the traitor from the towers, but he'd mistakenly assumed the group he'd brought out onto the desert plains would be enough.
<
br />   The men let the guns fall to their hips.

  "On the ground," Dak said.

  The men hesitated.

  The colonel made no effort to hide his irritation. "Do as he says," the colonel sneered.

  Each of the armed men put their weapons on the ground and stepped back, waiting to hear the next order.

  "All of them," Dak said. "Sidearms too. And Johnny, you and the other gunner get out of the truck. Take more than five seconds to get out here with the rest of us, I kill this guy."

  Johnny and the gunner from the other truck did as they were told and climbed down out of the Humvees. They placed their weapons with the others and joined their unarmed comrades in a group.

  "Good man, Johnny. Thank you. Now, all of you step back."

  The men did as told, except the colonel, who stood defiantly where he'd been since arriving.

  He also still had a gun on his hip.

  Dak inched his captive forward toward the gun cache. "Colonel, your sidearm, sir."

  The commanding officer's eyes burned with fury. "You're going to die for this," he seethed. "I'll make sure of it, Harper. There isn't anywhere you can go I won't find you. You'll have nowhere to hide, no one to trust. You understand me?"

  Dak caught a glimpse of Johnny's eyes dart toward the colonel, questioning his comment with an unspoken stare.

  The colonel unholstered his weapon and set it with the others.

  "That's my problem, sir. Now, if you don't mind, join the others over there." Once the man was with the others, Dak inched his way closer to the pile of guns. When he was standing next to them, he shoved the hostage toward the group and in one fluid motion, bent down and picked up two of the pistols. He aimed one at the colonel and the other toward the first man in line. Now, do me a favor." The colonel arched one eyebrow. "Grab as many of those zip ties as you can."

  Sixteen