by Ryan Schow
Marley slid the flathead screwdriver out of her pants. A wave of nausea drove through her, fast and fierce, but not lasting. Her face, however, was suddenly feeling too hot, her guts squeezed so tight, almost like they were backfilling into her throat. A slight tremor developed in her hand as perspiration mapped her brow.
“Picklesmeyer,” Kennicot snapped.
The very mention of her name was a clear burden on the woman’s soul. She’d said it out loud as if it were a sharp admonition, a verbal punch at Isaiah for having forced her to dredge up this dark, hidden truth.
“Yep, just as ugly in person,” Isaiah said, sitting back away from the fire. He may have paused his verbal assault, but the look on his face said he was nowhere near being done. “It’s the ugly name of an ugly, well-known traitor. How does it feel to be in control of the most powerful country in the world, yet having to get on your knees for dictators round the world you wretched, scandalous bitch?”
Before Kennicot could utter another word in her defense, Marley swung the screwdriver around, burying the shank so deep inside Kennicot’s throat, the tip of the blade actually struck bone.
The woman gagged, her eyes flashing wide, her hands out, as if she were unsure of what to do with them. She slowly turned her eyes at Marley, but Marley loosened the tool and yanked it from the bone. The second she pulled it out, she drove it right back in again.
Adi might have started screaming, but she didn’t hear him at first, not consciously. A freight train of noise was running through Marley’s head and her eyes were starting to water at the weight of so much responsibility.
“What the hell, Marley?” Isaiah said, jumping to his feet.
She looked up at him, her face a show of pain, her eyes shiny, her hands trembling. Next to her, the assaulted woman started to fade. Marley grabbed the screwdriver’s handle, jerked it out once more and watched as a faucet of red pulsed out of her neck. Kennicot fell over sideways, the rest of her pumping out into the dirt before the fire.
Adi tried to run from Marley, but Isaiah grabbed him and held him tight, shushing him in his ear as he squealed and told Isaiah to let go.
“She was a bad woman, Adelard,” Isaiah said. “Not Marley, the President. You need to trust me on this, her being dead is a good thing.”
“She killed the President!” Adi screamed, tears streaming down his face.
The severity of those words sunk in hard, causing Marley to turn and fall to her knees. She tried to puke, but she hadn’t eaten much over the last few days, so all she ended up doing was torturing herself with dry heaves and burning, dripping eyes.
She looked over, taking in the sight of Kennicot, or Picklesmeyer, as it were. Her tears were hard and insistent, the sob caught in her throat finally breaking loose. Sitting up, shaking, she looked into the dark trees, and to the starry sky above. Finally, she wiped her eyes and turned back around. Her mother once said, “Never let anyone see you cry,” but right now people were seeing it.
Pulling herself together, she cleared her throat, but had nothing to say.
“I’m speechless,” Isaiah said to her when the boy finally calmed down. He was sitting on the other side of Isaiah, so close he was sheltered from the view of the dead woman.
Marley wasn’t sure if he was talking to Marley or the boy, but when Isaiah spoke, his words flattened her. “I was getting ready to kill her myself.”
“Really?” Marley asked. He pulled out a large hunting knife. “Where’d you get that?”
“It was stashed in the Humvee, same as that screwdriver I imagine.” Marley gave a slight nod. “I have to say, I’m a bit disappointed that you got to her first. Speaking of that, what the hell was that about? Because good God!”
“I…I…she, her name. That’s…it’s just…that name.”
“You killed her over her name?” he asked.
She shook her head, then looked down and realized she was still holding the screwdriver. She dropped the bloody weapon into the dirt then scooted back, unable to take her eyes off the murder weapon and the woman she’d killed with it.
He said, “If you keep staring at her, you’re going to see something you won’t be that happy about seeing.” To Adi, she said, “Adelard, go and get a black plastic bag out of the back seat.”
“I want to stay here,” he said, holding tight to the man, a first.
“You can’t stay here or I’m going to ruin your brain for all eternity and I don’t want to do that.”
Adi looked up, the question in his eyes. The answer, however, was something Marley knew the boy could not handle. She didn’t even know if she wanted the answer.
The child went to the Humvee, fought with the door a bit, then got it open and crawled inside.
“What are you going to do?” Marley asked, looking down at the blade.
“This is why I worked so hard to get my name on the guest list.”
“What guest list are you talking about?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You’ll be long gone before either of us crosses that bridge.”
Adi brought him a plastic bag, then stood there as Isaiah motioned for him to go and get back in the Humvee.
“Sit on the other side of the truck and look out the other window until either Marley or I tell you otherwise, okay?”
He nodded, then turned and walked off, going around the fire so he didn’t have to walk that close to Marley.
When Adi was in the truck, Isaiah said, “Move over.” She did. He dropped to a knee beside Kennicot, rolled up his sleeves, then pulled the woman’s hair away from her neck and tightened his grip on the big blade.
“You can’t do that,” Marley said, understanding right then what he was about to do. Whether that was a plea or a challenge, she didn’t know. Right then she was back in that dark place, in total disconnect from her body.
“Oh, I can’t?” he challenged. “You just watch.” He swallowed hard, like he was trying to hold down his stomach.
“What exactly did she do that would make you want to kill her?” Marley asked.
Looking at her, gripping and re-gripping the knife like he was trying to muster his courage, he said, “She cleared what bureaucratic paths she could to make the EMP possible. She screwed us over, sold us out. You, me, this whole damn country.”
“So she knew about all this?” Marley asked, flabbergasted.
“Of course, she did.”
“But how?”
“Diabolical plans for America are not new. In the world of kings and kingdoms, everything is about power and control. America has been king of that jungle for so long we can’t remember when we weren’t the center of the universe. But there are others now wanting their time.”
“Yeah, but she can’t set an EMP off in her own country!” Marley said.
“It was an intricate attack. That’s what I was doing back there with those men, the ones you didn’t like, the ones who didn’t like or trust you. They were part of an underground resistance that tried to put their thumbs on the pulse of this entire insurgency. Unfortunately, we were not getting the play-by-play as much as we were getting debriefing reports from various moles inside the White House.”
“Did she willingly help them,” Marley asked, “or was she blackmailed?”
“Does it matter anymore?”
“Who are ‘they’?”
“It’s not just one person or country,” Isaiah explained. “You can’t think so simple-mindedly. Think long-term insurgency.”
“Do you understand how hard that is to fathom?” she asked.
“What you need to know is that this was a group effort that included enemies foreign and domestic seeding the country with racial and ideological division. They needed most of us to be poor and dependent on the government for our resources, and then they needed us to hurt and then turn on each other. When we started killing each other, that’s when they moved in. How do you think that happened?”
“COVID,” she said.
“Bingo.”
“So they started COVID?” she asked.
“I’m not suggesting that. COVID is a real thing, but like they say, ‘Never let a good tragedy go to waste.’ They seized their opportunity at that time.”
“If you had to guess, who would you think spearheaded this thing?” she asked.
“China for sure, but they’ve been in America for years. In addition to China, you need outside sources to kick this off, and our intel suggests Iran, North Korea, and Russia.”
“But why? I mean, I know why, but…why?”
“China vowed to destroy us by 2025. They celebrated on state-run TV that they destroyed us early ‘by the grace of both God and COVID.’ Moving off of China for a minute, consider Iran, North Korea, and Russia. One is a tyrannical nightmare who can’t get on the world’s stage because we crippled them with sanctions and cut off US black-funding of their nuclear weapons programs, North Korea is crazy enough and armed enough to have dropped the EMPs on us, and Russia suffered heavily when we became energy independent under the previous administration. They all hated us for their own reasons, which was why I think any one of them were willing to be China’s junkyard dog.”
Changing the subject, she asked, “What’s the guest pass you need?”
“A few of us, infiltrators and insiders in the underground, were made an offer by those who have been conspiring to overtake this country. They said whoever brought them the president’s head on a platter would get the first pick of regions to control.”
“They’ve broken us into regions already?” she asked, horrified. “How long have they been planning this?”
“We’ve been getting pieces of it for years, but our best guess is forty to fifty years with China. As for the other nations, they’re in the loop on what China wants to do and I think they’re basically acting as China’s henchmen, or as I said moments ago, their junkyard dogs.”
She was sickened, scared, and tempering her anger. “So how did you get mixed up in all this?” she asked.
He finally stepped away from Kennicot, sat down, and said, “I’m a patriot. That’s why I want a seat at the table. Getting close will put me within killing distance of those who did this to us.”
“And now we have it,” she said, looking down at Kennicot.
“I have it, not you. You have a ride to Charleston where you can head your own way home. This is not a game for fair-weather patriots and little blonde girls.”
She started to laugh, first at the audacity of it, and then at the realization that he just insulted girls after a girl did what he came to do.
“I beat you to her, you bitch,” she finally said.
“And you cried about it.”
“You want me to take her head?” Marley snapped, shoving her hand out, as if he would so willingly hand over the knife. “Because you looked a little sickly when you were contemplating the task at hand.”
“My stomach is a steel drum,” he said, getting up and grabbing Kennicot’s head again.
Without another word, Isaiah cut off Althea Kennicot’s, a.k.a. Jerica Picklesmeyer’s head using the big, tactical hunting knife. Marley turned away, but as she listened to the sawing, squelching, puckering sounds of him completing the task, she realized he did have an iron drum for a stomach and she was just a girl.
Turning her attention inward, she thought of Savannah Swann and the names she’d given Marley. She’d only killed two of the four people on that list, but she’d saved Adi. Would that be enough? She felt like the answer to that question would be a big fat no.
There were still two names left: Rhett Jensen and Killian O’Brien. The window to take out Killian had passed, but what about Rhett?
Isaiah changed position, the task becoming difficult. Marley pushed the nasty sounds out of her head and wondered if not ending Killian O’Brien meant all of this was for nothing. And who was Rhett Jensen? What did he have to do with all of this?
“Who else will be going to the meeting?” she asked.
“Maybe a dozen traitors, maybe more,” he said, still working. “I already told you that they’re dividing America into regions. Do you remember that movie The Hunger Games?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I watched all four movies.”
“It’ll be like that, but really, really bad,” he said, finally pulling the head away from the body.
She turned away, couldn’t look. “Then I’m coming with you. Not just to Charleston, but to this meeting. This is too big for me not to come.”
“Not gonna happen,” he said, trying to wipe the blood off his hands and face with the shirt Kennicot had been wearing before she lost her head. “You’re going with me to Charleston, like I said, but I’ll drop you off, and that will be that.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I earned my seat.”
He grabbed Kennicot’s head by the hair, sat up, then said, “Get me that bag, will you? This crap’s dripping all over me.”
She got the bag, opened it up, then said, “For heaven’s sake, Isaiah, at least close her eyes before you stuff her head in there.”
Chapter Fifteen
Rowan McDaniel
When Rowan finally saw daylight again, it was with a gun in his face. He was about to object with force and vulgarity when the man holding it, former VP Aldrich, spun it around and said, “I assume you know how to shoot?”
“You know I do.” From where he lay in the trunk, he sat up, took the gun, and said, “Why don’t you just say what’s really on your mind.”
“I assume you won’t shoot any of us in the process,” he said.
“It would be awesome if you could tell us what’s going on now, maybe with a little detail,” he said, getting out of the trunk, his sore muscles and weary bones hurting along the way. He got out, offered Hwa-Young a hand—which she took—and helped her out as well.
“See that place there?” Aldrich asked, pointing to a house behind them. Rowan nodded. “We’re going to raid it, then we’re going to lay a fire, have a meal, and get some shut-eye.”
“Why this house?” Hwa-Young asked.
She was downwind from Rowan and Aldrich. Rowan watched Aldrich curl his nose at the smell of them.
“This is a safe house for Hayseed Rebellion,” he said with a grin. “Perhaps they’ll have a new change of clothes for both of you.” He looked at Hwa-Young. “Especially you.”
“What then?” Rowan asked.
A few of the other guys walked around to the trunk, guys with their masks off for a change. One of the seven or eight of them said, “We’ve basically treated you like a hostage, but the truth is, you’re kind of a celebrity here.”
“I don’t get it,” Rowan said.
“From your little underground publication,” another one of them said. “We kind of feel like we know you, which is why we brought you both a gift and an opportunity.”
“What is the gift?” Rowan asked.
“When we’re done with the house,” Aldrich said. “You want to come in with us or hang out here? There are only a few of them inside, I’m told, so the takedown will probably be a few shots, there’ll be some crying for mommy, and then we’ll finish it off with another couple of shots.”
As if on cue, a tight, three-round burst of gunfire broke through the neighborhood silence, and then one of the guys called out through the front door.
“All clear! It’s chow time.”
Aldrich then snapped his fingers, pointed to one of the trucks, then said, “Get Mr. McDaniel his gift, please.”
One of the guys opened the back of his truck, then dragged someone out of the vehicle. It was a man by the look of him, but there was a lot of grunting underneath the pillowcase pulled over his head. Was he gagged? Rowan wondered. The prisoner’s hands were bound with zip-ties and his clothes were in disarray.
“Who is that?” Hwa-Young asked.
“Just a specific, unsavory someone,” Aldrich said with a grin.
Inside the house, they pulled the pillowcase off the m
an’s head and indeed he was gagged. But that wasn’t the worst thing about him. Rowan recognized him immediately.
“You,” Rowan hissed. Turning to Aldrich, he said, “This is my gift? A crooked politician?”
Aldrich’s guy smiled and nodded his head slowly, so as to really draw out the value of such a gift. “Crooked politicians are a dime a dozen, Rowan. This is the worst of them all.” When Rowan didn’t respond but to stare at the hostage, dumfounded, Aldrich said, “All the times you complained about him…”
Rowan finally laughed to himself, then shook his head like he couldn’t believe all of this was happening.
“You guys are crazy,” Rowan said with a loose chortle.
A few of them laughed, like they thought he liked his gift. Well, they were right. He did.
“There’s just one round in that pistol you’re holding,” Aldrich said, nodding to the gun. “If you try to use it on us, you will—”
Rowan didn’t let the former VP finish. He just walked up to the politician, put the gun to his head, and said, “You don’t know me, but by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to kill you.”
Instead of shooting him, Rowan spun the gun around and struck the politician’s nose, turning it into a gusher. The minute Rowan started hitting the man, he couldn’t stop. It was that McDaniel blood in him. But it was also all that rage built up inside of him. He hated bullies and liars, and he loathed all of those little rat weasels who hid behind their power and their made-up rules, the ones they re-wrote halfway through the game so they could always maintain an unfair advantage. Turds like this were what was wrong with the world, they were also the reason the US had been hit with an EMP, and the reason hundreds of millions of souls were going to die. That’s why he kept clubbing the man over and over and over again.
The pulping sounds were meaty and wet, blood splatter hitting his hands and arms, hit chin and cheeks. When he finally managed to get a hold of himself, he’d destroyed the man’s features, gashed open his forehead, and broke half a dozen teeth.
By then, the guy was laid out on the ground. Instead of standing up and letting him be, or ending it all with a mercy killing, Rowan drove a knee into his body. “My name is Rowan McDaniel, you son of a bitch.”