Indivisible (Overlooked by Liberty) (22 page)

      
Chaos received the signal: The Wizard had sent falsified E-mail to the JFK Building and ordered the Feds to transfer Max and the Virginians to another facility in Boston.  The Wizard and some of his friends had rescued the captives without a shot.  The group now planned to neutralize a tank at Arlington Street in forty minutes.  Chaos didn't ask for details.  The Boston natives rigged a gas tanker truck with a flare so it would blow up on impact with the Abrams 111 tank on Arlington.

      
Sensors in the tank picked up the truck advancing.  The crew inside thought nothing of a truck coming down the street until it kept picking up speed.  Then they noticed the burning flare taped to its roof.  They didn't understand the significance, but knew something was up.  They spun the turret around.

      
It was too late.  The truck, with the trailer and all its gallons of fuel, smacked into the tank lunging, both forward on impact.  Though the Boston man driving had jumped out just before the hit, the blast threw him back.  Flames set fire to his clothing.  He remained on the ground rolling over and over to get it out.  Eventually he simply removed his pants and shirt.  Grateful to be alive, the man staggered off the road to lay in the cool grass of Boston's Public Garden.

      
The Abrams 111 took off down Beacon Street trying to escape the inferno.  The tanker had plunged into the turret of the Abrams tank.  The tank's gun speared through the cab and into the tank of fuel behind.  Its tank of fuel had folded like an accordion and clung to the Abrams in a death-grip.  The resulting blast and flames were sucking the oxygen from within the Abrams.  Fire engulfed the entire street and spread west as the damaged tank fled.  Spilled, flaming gas followed the vehicle two blocks before the tank overheated.  Its own fuel joined the illumination.  A neighboring tank emerged from a side street and sat motionless, watching its kind wither in flames.

      
Just after the Wizard's attack on the tank, Chaos' tractor-trailer whirled out of Arlington Street onto Beacon--swiping through the flaming rubble.  They slowed down passing Boston's Public Garden where Max and one of the Boston men stood with their hands extended.  Without stopping, rebels on the back of the truck locked forearms and yanked Max and his friend in.  Abrams cannon fire took off the edge of a building as they turned the corner.  They whipped by the Shaw/54th Regiment Memorial--through Old Boston--on toward the warehouse on Union Wharf.  The Wizard would meet them at the dock later. 

      
In their madcap race, the vehicle swerved side to side, leaning on corners, jolting the buggy around obstacles that littered the streets.

       
Helen had packed and was waiting outside the memorial between the small buildings.  She had kept the picture of Barry in her shirt pocket; it was something to help her remember the good times.  After finding out too late that Butch and Thad had gone with the attack pack, Helen waited for them, but she was anxious to return to Chaos' triad at the wharf.  Being around Tumult made Helen uneasy.  She shook her head, mumbling to herself,
who would think they were brothers
.

      
Attack packs geared up inside the monument; they wanted to leave before the Army decided to encircle Bunker Hill with tanks.  The radio frequency jammers did a masterful job of delaying tanks from moving forward.  Not having rapid communication threw the Feds into a tizzy, bumping their communication technology back two hundred years.  Orders had to go by carrier and rebel snipers were scattered everywhere to assassinate the messengers.

      
"That laser communication shit could give our boys an edge on gettin' around," Tumult remarked as he joined Helen outside for a chat.  They were alone.  "Why do you think my little brother didn't share that technology with me?"  He put his arm against the wall behind her and leaned in closer.

      
Helen didn't like his intrusion, "It was The Wizard's doing.  He designed the thing.  I don't think there's any big scheme or anything.  Your brother just asked The Wizard if such a thing was possible and when we arrived in Boston they got the parts and made them.  Don't be paranoid."

      
Warm spring breezes drifted up from Boston Harbor to create a mist that crawled and clung to lower altitudes below the monument.  Once dense enough, it would creep its way upward to the base of the obelisk.  Within that fog, a vapor ebbed and flowed, picking at human remains for any morsels of life it might have missed.

      
Tumult saw the backdrop as romantic.  He leered over her with a lap-dog gaze expecting some kind of response.  Helen assumed it was his way to intimidate, but she wasn't about to give in to the fear: "I don't know what the point is of all this posturing," she looked at his arm propped against the wall, "I'm already interested in someone else."

      
"There's something my little brother didn't fill you in on: Southern families share things."  It became a stare down.

      
The wet, joyous nose of Tater vaulted up into their faces and broke it up.  Helen blessed the pet's intrusion.  The Virginian, Butch, and Thad followed behind with the attack pack and an African-American Army Regular as prisoner.  "The perimeter is secured, sir."

      
"Take the nigger inside," Tumult ordered.

      
Helen was the last to come in, and found a crowded room of Mountain Boys around the black Army Regular seated on the floor.  "Why'd you bring the monkey in?" Tumult asked him.

      
"We pinned him down and he gave up."  The question seemed odd to the Virginian, then he remembered hearing about the gang member's crucifixion.  A warm rush that started at the top of his neck raced down his spine.  It dawned on the Virginian that this part of the Triad didn't take prisoners.  Chaos had his rebels shoot prisoners in the leg and leave them.

      
"We can get information from him," Butch chimed in.

      
"Niggers don't know nothing to tell us, boy," Tumult declared.  "We shoot white Feds in the knee, but niggers, we just shoot 'em.  Pop! Pop! Pop!"  In one motion, Tumult had whipped a gun out from his shoulder holster and placed three rounds in the man's face.  He turned to the Virginian, "You're new in this group, but we don't take prisoners.  No place to put 'em."

      
It even stunned the Mountain Boys watching, most of Tumult's group were from the North Country.  Butch and Thad just stared wide-eyed as the soldier quivered, squirting blood.  Helen walked through the group and latched onto the boys; she took them to the little room where Chaos' wounded rebel lay and closed the door behind her.  She leaned against the door and looked at the floor stupefied.

      
Butch, still dazed from the incident, "That ain't fair, shootin' 'im like that." 

      
Helen put her arms around the Rousell brothers.  She was nearly in tears.  "Now listen to me, Tumult is an evil man.  It doesn't matter who it is, you don't murder people because of their beliefs or color.  We'll get out of this, but don't think for a minute that that man was justified murdering someone like that."  She jolted as the door opened.

      
The Virginian and Tater came in.  "Are you all right?"

      
Helen nodded and swallowed, "I guess I shouldn't have been surprised.  That man is the Devil."  Helen looked at the wounded man she had worked so hard to save.  "What's going to happen to him?  Does Tumult take his own wounded?"

      
"I have to stay with him," the other Virginian uttered.  "Tumult said he wouldn't let me return to Chaos' unit."

      
"But why?" Helen asked.

      
"Either Tumult likes me because I routed out that sniper," he said, "or it's just another way to annoy his brother.  He won't let us go back with you; Tumult's keeping my wounded friend with his group so I don't bolt.  That man is diabolical, all right.  Don't worry though, when he's better, we're going back to Chaos' group.  I can't put up with this."

      
"God, I can see now why Chaos didn't tell me Tumult was his brother."

      
"Tater and the boys can go back with you.  Do you have a gun?" Helen nodded yes with a look of concern--the 22 she had gotten from Butch earlier.  The Virginian pulled out his Glock Autopistol from his belt to demonstrate.  "Make sure your safety is always off so when you go to use it, it will work," he continued. "Always pull off three rounds at a time if you want to be sure of hitting something."  He took the ammo clip out of the handle and held the gun with both hands, "Bam, bam, bam.  Always pull off three rounds at a time."  He put the clip back in the gun and placed it back in his belt.  The rebel's demonstration had Butch and Thad's full attention.

      
"You're scaring me," Helen confessed.

      
"Tumult's taking you back to Chaos' triad, isn't he?"

      
Helen thought about his statement as she looked at him.  Neither one blinked.  She knew what he meant by the question: From all appearances, Tumult hated his brother, and anyone associated with him.

      
Helen went out the door to the main room.  The Virginian gave a thumbs-up sign to the boys, the jagged scar on his thumb visible.

      
Two attack packs followed, Tumult armed with a motor-gun.

      
They headed down the west slope of Bunker Hill into the tight, narrow streets that bordered it.  The whole area around the Hill was nothing but townhouses, packed together so tightly that concrete choked off greenery of any significance.  Fire would have ravaged the area.  And the historic colonial homes, as run down as they were, would have been gone with only their brick shells and foundations remaining.  It occurred to Helen that the people of Boston were lucky to have young men of character like the Virginians.  Even the gruff, burly Wolfenstein had a kinder side she had come to realize.

      
While hiking through the suburban maze of crowded homes, one attack pack gained a lead of two hundred meters.  This was deliberate: If Feds or gangs hit the lead pack, they would whistle back enemy numbers and location so the following team could flank them.  The Mountain Boys had it down to a science.  Using the laser sights on their weapons, attack packs had scrimmaged constantly in their off-hours in the North Country, a sport very similar to paintball but with better range and without the sting of a high-speed ball.

      
After leaving the residential section they traveled below an elevated highway that hid them from possible spotters; cloud cover remained, making for an unusually dark night.  Helen found it difficult to follow the rebel in front of her.  No one spoke; only random, dull footsteps were heard down the desolate highway.

      
Visual and sound deprivation heightened other senses.  Varied, damp smells rose from the Charles River, some odors natural, some oil residue.  But Helen knew something was going on among them.  Tater's ears twitched and perked, trying to recognize whistled commands.  They spoke a language of their own, an invisible dialect of another species, in a world they knew all too well.  The regimented movements of Mountain Boys peeking around corners with readied autopistols and sprinting from cover to cover gave Helen a sense of security, knowing these assassins were there to protect her.  Despite that, the sense that something was about to happen nagged at her.  Though the Rousell children were not her own, she had an urge to hold them, particularly Thad.  The boy had gone through so much, yet still continued to try and right the wrong put upon them at Dixville.  Though mortified by events around him, Thad continued; courage is nothing less.

      
Tumult told the lead pack to scout ahead and wait for them at the warehouse.  Brandishing a motor-gun, he stayed behind at Quincy Market to meet the second group.  Members of the pack forced open a door in one of the buildings and took a break from the hike.  Helen waited inside the structure with Tater.

      
Quincy Market was a complex of small shops and restaurants, an open mall of sorts with long continuous buildings on each side of a closed-off street.  Years ago specialty shops dominated the mall--some of the best dining in Boston could be found there.  Small vending carts with blue canopies dotted the square in those times; people of many colors crowded the square to browse.

       
Helen roamed through the halls of the abandoned complex and found herself in a glass atrium watching Tumult talking to members of the pack under a shredded canopy in the square below.  She could see the shadowy Mountain Boys take the Rousell brothers toward the elevated interstate and counted to herself: one, two . . . eleven.  She jolted. 
Oh shit!
  Tumult was the only one remaining.  Even in the shadows she could see him look her way.

      
She raced down the hall checking for open doors.  Tater pranced behind, not understanding the urgency.  Finally, on the third level Helen found an open door, closed it, and hid behind a counter inside.

      
With her weapon drawn, she waited quietly for what seemed like hours.  She could feel her own heart pounding, her breathing seemed rapid and loud.