Deadlocked 6 (18 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN - HOME SWEET HOME

Celeste

They loaded me into one of the helicopters and I tried to get the large soldier to explain what he meant by saying that I was being taken to see my mother. He stayed quiet, and no longer spoke to me except to give orders. I'd been cuffed, and the soldiers were very careful to secure me as I was hauled into the monstrous black vehicle.

A tornado of dust and smoke whipped into a frenzy around the helicopter and I was forced to close my eyes as we approached. The sound was deafening, and I couldn't help but think of the attack on Vineyard, when Hailey was murdered.

I was pulled into a large door on the side of the helicopter by a soldier inside. He grabbed my shoulders and guided me to a seat where he forced me down. My butt thudded against the metal bench as the man pulled a harness off the wall. Then he put his gloved hand on the back of my head, shoved me down so that I was staring at my knees, and slid the buckled, rubber contraption over my shoulders. Then he pushed my head back up and pulled the harness down hard as he fiddled with the buckles to make it tighter. Once secured, he clipped a metal loop around part of the harness. A black rope led down from the loop to an anchor on the floor.

The soldier tried to say something to me, but the screaming wind outside from the whirling blades was too loud for me to hear anything else. He leaned in closer and yelled in my ear. "How's that feel? Tight enough?"

I didn't answer.

He waited impatiently for me to respond, and then rolled his eyes before checking for himself. He put his fingers beneath the harness and tugged at it to see how much give it had. Then he tightened it more, until I could feel the straps digging into my ribs, and dismissively pat the top of my head.

The large soldier that had pulled me out of the truck got into the helicopter with us. He shared words with the other man, and then turned to the pilot and made a spinning motion with his finger. Moments later, we were lifting off the ground.

We rose above a plume of dust and smoke and I moved to the edge of my seat so that I could look down on the Surface. Orange flames swallowed the hillside where our truck had overturned, and I could see their intensity even through the black smoke. I was keenly aware that as I sat there, staring down at the flames, Hailey's body was being consumed by them. Despite my sorrow, I was happy to know that she was free. These bastards would never have her again. Her corpse would burn, and all they would find would be ash. In this bleakest of moments, that gave me solace.

The sensation of rising through the air, combined with staring down at the ground, caused my stomach to turn. I had to look away, and focused on the front of the helicopter. That's when I saw the older soldier staring at me. He'd taken off his gas mask, and his sweat caused his shaved head to glisten. His skin was weathered, wrinkled with age and baring the distinctive appearance of a Surface dweller: cragged and defined. His square jaw and strong cheekbones framed a forced smile, an emotion that his face seemed unfamiliar with. If allowed to settle, I imagined his face would fall into a frown, as if scowling was the only way he could relax.

He nodded at me as he continued to smirk, baring his teeth like some
predator, toying with its food. I smiled back, fully intending to mock his glee.

I expected our journey to take several hours and end back at the airport that I'd escaped from less than a day earlier. Instead, we flew a short distance north, to a remote cabin atop a hill, far from any other sign of civilization. The helicopter landed on a paved rectangle that looked as if it were designed for some sort of sport that I was unfamiliar with.

The old soldier got up and took my arm. He forced me to stand and then unclipped the hook that bound me to the helicopter before leaning close to my ear to say, "Come on, Mommy's waiting."

Six troops appeared from near the cabin and rushed out to greet us, weapons drawn. One of them made a series of hand gestures, wordlessly commanding the group around him, before saluting the man that held me.

The troops at the cabin looked different from the ones that captured me. They were wearing blue uniforms instead of black armor, and there were red stripes on their shoulders. They formed a line on either side of us, providing a path between them that led toward the log cabin beside the paved court.

"General Scott," said the man that seemed to be commanding the soldiers in blue. "We can take it from here."

General Scott ignored him and proceeded to pull me along, toward the cabin. The other man reluctantly followed.

"Sir, we can handle it from here on out," said the young man in blue.

Still, the general ignored him and continued to head to the cabin.

"General, I must insist that you stop immediately. No one outside of The Electorate is allowed within the Transfer Facility."

"Fuck that," said General Scott. "I'm taking command of this outpost."

"Sir, with all due respect, this is not your jurisdiction," said the man in blue as we continued to walk. He sounded flustered, like he had never been disobeyed until now and wasn't sure how to react. "This facility is under the command of…"

General Scott stopped and interrupted the other man, "Of me." He paused, letting his statement sink in. "From this point forward, this facility, and all the staff in it, are under my command."

"No it's not," said the man in blue, but his defiance was hampered by a stuttered response. "This facility is part of The Electorate's…"

"This facility is in my territory!" General Scott's booming voice overcame even the deafening helicopter. "You're in my backyard now, Blueboy. Don't you forget it."

The man in blue made the mistake of grabbing the general's arm. Within a second, General Scott had twisted the man's arm and had him on the ground. The general had his boot on the man's neck as the other soldiers drew their weapons and started screaming. The soldier still in the helicopter pulled his weapon as well.

The general was holding my cuffs with one hand, and still had the commander's wrist in his other. I knelt down, hoping to avoid being shot when the men around me started firing.

General Scott savored the moment, and I could see the man on the ground struggling to breath
e. The other men were screaming, but it was clear who controlled the situation. The general let go of my cuffs and motioned to the helicopter pilot to shut down. Then he reached back down and grabbed me by the hair. I winced as he tightened his grip, knotting my hair between his fingers. Soon, the whir of the blades calmed as I continued to squirm in pain.

"Gentlemen," said General Scott as if addressing a gathering of friends. "You seem to be under the impression that I'm not in charge here." He chuckled while continuing to crush the man beneath his boot. "Today, I'm going to teach you a valuable lesson. I, General Jerald Scott, am the sole one in charge of the Western District. In this area, I am judge, jury, and exe-fucking-cutioner." He released the commander's wrist, but kept his boot pressed hard against his throat to subdue him. Then he drew his pistol and the men in blue stiffened.

"Put your guns down," said the soldier in the helicopter as he pointed his rifle at the men on the ground.

General Scott held his pistol high in the air as if to show he meant no harm. "In this area, I am your commander, plain and simple. And I don't have time to try and convince you of that. So, to prove my point, we're going to have ourselves a little demonstration." He nodded at his soldier in the helicopter and spoke to him directly, "Church, if they shoot me, kill the girl." Jerald pulled me across the walkway so that I was in his soldier's sights. Then he brought his pistol down, never pointing it at any of the soldiers in blue, and then finally pointed it down at the man on the ground. He aimed at the commander's head as the helpless man struggled beneath his boot.

The helicopter's blade continued to spin, slower and slower with each revolution, until it finally stopped. All of the men in blue pointed their rifles at Jerald, but none of them took the shot that would save their commander. I clenched my eyes shut, waiting for the onslaught of gunfire that would certainly kill most of the men around me.

Jerald stared down the sights of his pistol at the commander, seeming to savor the moment. Finally, after prolonging the tension beyond what should've been a breaking point, Jerald said, "And there you have it, Commander." He winked and then holstered his pistol. "I think I've made my point."

He kept his boot on the commander's neck and addressed the men in blue. "Now put your fucking guns down and maybe I won't have you all killed." I could hear the approaching helicopters in the distance. Jerald pointed into the sky in the direction that we'd flown in from. "I've got my men headed here now with the wounded. I want you to help them anyway you can. If you don't, I'll kill you. Understood?"

The soldiers in blue reluctantly nodded as they lowered their guns.

Jerald looked down at the man still pinned beneath his boot. "Good bunch of guys you've got here, Commander. Real loyal to you. Now get the fuck up and get to work." He lifted his boot.

The commander grasped his throat as he got up. It looked like he was about to say something, but Jerald grabbed his shirt and pulled him close. The general practically hissed his words, "And don't you ever dare challenge me again. Don't you dare, boy."

The commander stuttered, but then capitulated. "Yes, sir."

Jerald's demeanor lightened as soon as the commander relented. His tone became friendly as he pulled me back up and started to head for the cabin again. He looked back, over his shoulder, to see if the commander was following. "Well, come on then," he said when he saw that the commander had paused.

"Yes, sir," said the man in blue as he rushed to catch up.

"Is the old broad here yet?" asked Jerald.

The commander shook his head. "No, not yet. Her plane landed, and they're prepping the helicopter for transport now. If possible, she'd like to communicate with her subject before she flies in because we can't secure a connection while in the air. Otherwise, she's expected to arrive within a few hours."

"Good," said Jerald. "I need a few stiff drinks before I deal with that bitch. Am I right?"

The commander seemed unsure how to respond, but then said, "Yes, sir."

Jerald put his arm around the commander's shoulder and pat the man on the back as if greeting an old friend. He laughed and shook his head as he said, "I feel for you, kid. You've got to work with these old fucks. Can't be easy."

"No, sir."

"How's your neck feeling? I didn't hurt you too bad, did I?" asked the general. I was astounded by the way he shifted personalities, as if only willing to be friendly to subordinates. Anyone that thought of himself as being on equal ground with the gen
eral was seen as a threat.

"No, sir. I'm fine."

"Good, good," said Jerald.

The cabin was nice, but rather plain looking. It was two-story, with a wrap-around porch that had several rocking chairs facing the railing, and it was well kept. The wood was smooth to the touch and shined as if wet, though it was dry when my arm brushed against it. I looked in through the windows as we passed and saw a quaint abode within, comfortable but unassuming. It certainly didn't appear to be a military base of any sort.

We went in through the kitchen, where a large rectangular dining table was laid out with plates, silverware, and napkins. Jerald jerked me along by the crook of my arm and led me to the wall where he finally released me.

"I like it," said Jerald as he scanned the room. "More rustic than I'd imagined it would be."

The commander was unsure how to respond. He was still nursing his throat and he looked frightened, like a puppy that had just been smacked for the first time. "The Electorate use this cabin as a place to relax after a procedure. They built it according to strict guidelines about what sort of atmosphere is most conducive to mental relaxation."

Jerald's expression soured. "Figures. Everything they do is backed up by a fucking study." He breathed in deep and closed his eyes, as if savoring the scent of food. "Smell that mountain air, boy. You can do all the scientific studies you want, and spew bullshit about facts and figures to me all day, but nothing beats nature. That's a fact."

"Why are you doing this?" asked the commander. He spoke tentatively, and I could almost hear his heartbeat in the rhythm of his words. "The Electorate is going to turn on you for this. You know they will."

The general nodded slowly. I could hear every breath he took, as if there
were cavernous lungs inside his chest that needed to be filled. He walked to the sink and flipped it on to test if the plumbing worked. It did, and he seemed amused by that fact. "Hot water right away. You must have a tankless setup here. Spare no expense." He seemed to be speaking to himself, as if we were eavesdropping on his jealous thoughts. Then he looked at the commander and clasped his hands behind his back. "I know part of The Electorate will be angry; hell, they've been angry with me for years. Fact is, this day's been coming for a long time."

"So you're defecting then?" asked the commander.

"Defecting?" The general was amused. "Son, I'm working with The Electorate. Always have been. It just so happens that there's a civil war brewing among the higher ups. Us lowly old grunts just got caught up in between. I could tell you things that would make your head spin. If you knew the truth, you might not be so quick to scowl at me like that."