JACK KILBORN ~ AFRAID (36 page)

“Woof! Put that down!”

“It’s okay, Fran,” Streng said. “Woof just isn’t ready to say good-bye yet.”

Duncan joined Josh behind Streng’s chair, helping him push. They moved slowly, no hurry, no speaking, everyone holding candles. It reminded Streng of a funeral vigil.

They gave a wide berth to the dead bodies of Santiago and Taylor and rolled Streng into the dark hallway, maintaining silence. Streng remembered how angry he’d been with Wiley when he shipped all of his black-market stolen goods to their parents’ house after the war, telling their father to hide it all, implicating them in his crimes. Then he remembered a time many years earlier, when he’d twisted an ankle playing in the woods, and Wiley carried him home on his back.

Wiley had known there was a chip in his pacemaker. He told Duncan to press the EMP anyway, to save their lives. That was the Wiley that Streng swore he would remember.

Their procession moved into the kitchen, quiet and solemn. Streng almost felt it sacrilegious to speak.

“Josh, there should be rope in the storage room. Fran will go up first, then Duncan, then you, and the three of you can pull me up.”

“What about Woof?” Duncan asked.

Streng turned to Josh. “Is it too steep for Woof?”

“It’s a plastic pipe. His paws will slip.”

“Then he can go up before me.”

“What if you get stuck?” Fran said. “One of us should go up behind you, if we have to push.”

Streng sighed. “Okay, I’ll go up third, then Josh.”

“Josh can’t use his hand,” Fran said. “He can’t push. I’ll go up last.”

“Fran—” Streng and Josh said it at the same time.

“It will be okay. Let’s find some rope.”

Josh went off to the storage room. Streng stared at Fran and Duncan, and the realization hit him. Wiley hadn’t been the last of his family. Fran was his niece, and Duncan his great-nephew. The thought warmed him.

“I found rope,” Josh said. “And some Demoral, Fran, for your toes.”

“How about your fingers?” she said.

“Are you kidding? I’m so numb I could play tennis.”

Josh attended to Fran, giving her a shot in the foot. Then Fran tied one end of the rope under Streng’s armpits and the other to Josh’s belt.

“Be careful,” she said to Josh.

“I will.”

They looked deep into each other’s eyes for so long that Streng finally said, “You going to kiss, or stare at each other all day?”

Josh kissed her. Duncan giggled. Then Josh went into the closet and up the hole.

They waited, listening to Josh’s progress, every grunt and wheeze getting farther. After two minutes he yelled down, “I made it!”

“Can you do this, Duncan?” Streng asked.

“No problem. I bet I’m faster than Josh.”

“I bet you are, too.”

And then something chirped. Streng looked around, wondering where the sound came from. Another chirp, and Streng determined the sound was coming from Woof.

The dog gingerly set Mathison onto the floor.

The monkey chirped again.

“Mathison!” Duncan exclaimed. He scooped the primate up and rubbed his belly. “Josh! Mathison’s alive!”

Streng’s smile died on his face.

“Fran, you and Duncan up the pipe, now.”

“Sheriff—”

“If Mathison didn’t die, the others might still be alive, too.”

Fran nodded, hurrying Duncan to the hole. He began to climb, Mathison perched on his shoulder. Fran got in after him.

“We’ll pull you up as soon as we get to the top.”

Streng nodded and said, “Go!” Then he undid the knot on his chest and tied the rope around Woof’s chest.

“Take care of them, boy,” he said.

Woof licked his face and then yelped as he got jerked off his feet and up the pipe.

Streng took the Taurus out of his pants and looked in the cylinder. No bullets. He checked his man purse and found two left.

One for Santiago. One for Taylor.

He’d be
damned
if he let those creatures touch his family.

Streng set the gun in his lap and waited.

Santiago came in first.

“Hello, Sheriff. You’re not looking very well.”

Santiago held a large-caliber semiauto in one hand and a knife in the other.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am that the EMP didn’t kill you,” Streng said.

“Kill me?” Santiago smiled. “It liberated me. I’m a free man now, Sheriff. I don’t have to follow orders anymore.”

“Good. Then you can leave us alone.”

Santiago laughed.

“This isn’t about finishing the mission. This is about revenge. Your brother hurt me, Sheriff. The body armor stopped the bullets, but I’m all broken inside. And you broke my cheekbone.”

“I hope it’s painful,” Streng said.

“It’s very painful. And the only thing that helps when I’m feeling this way is to take out my pain on someone else. Like you and your friends. Your suffering will go on for days. I’ll make you scream so much your throat will go raw. You’ll beg me for—”

In one smooth motion Streng picked up the Taurus and shot Santiago above the nose. The Magnum round blew the entire back of his head off, shutting the son of a bitch up for good.

The killer crumpled, and Streng used his remaining foot to push himself over to the body, anxious to reach the dropped gun.

“Sheriff!” Fran called down from the pipe.

Streng ignored her, concentrating on the semiautomatic. If he got it in time, he might be able to end this once and for—

The first bullet hit Streng in the stomach. The next two punched into his chest.

Streng fell off the chair, onto his back, the Taurus flying across the room. Streng couldn’t breathe, and he began to shiver even though it wasn’t cold.

Taylor walked over and stared down at Streng. He was smiling. Streng reached up behind him, searching for Santiago’s gun. His fingers touched something else instead.

“You …” Streng said.

“Yes, Sheriff. It’s me.”

“You … have … got …”

Taylor leaned down, grabbed Streng by his shirt. It didn’t hurt; Streng was past the point of feeling pain. But he knew he had only seconds before he died, and he really needed to get this in.

“You’ve …” Streng whispered, “… got … something …”

“Speak up, old man.”

Streng smiled, blood bubbling up from his lips, but he managed to say, “In … your … eye …”

Then he brought up the knife he’d taken from Santiago’s hand and stabbed Taylor in the face.

• • •

T
aylor flinched in time, and the knife missed his eye socket and glanced off his cheekbone. He brought up a hand to feel for damage and found he could touch his teeth through the new hole in his cheek.

Taylor screamed in pain and rage and began to stomp on the sheriff, which did nothing, because the man had already died. He stormed over to the sink, pressed a towel to his face, and began to tremble. Then he set his gun on the countertop and automatically reached for the Charge capsules. Taylor broke one under his nose and—

—nothing. It didn’t relieve the pain. Didn’t calm his mind. Didn’t focus his thoughts. Taylor threw the capsules onto the floor, made a fist, and punched a cabinet, splitting the wooden door in half. His brain was a mess of signals, each one telling him to do something different. It used to get like that sometimes, before Dr. Stubin put the Chip in. He couldn’t figure out what to do next, but then the answer appeared in his head and blinked like a beacon.

Kill them. Kill them all.

Taylor picked up the gun and raced for the closet. He shoved his upper body into the PVC pipe and began to crawl. His cheek continued to bleed, making his hands slip on the plastic, and that only fueled his rage. He’d kill that fucker Josh first. Or maybe he’d just break his knees, so he could watch what Taylor did to the woman and the boy. From now on, his only mission objective, for the rest of his life, was
Have Fun.

The outdoors smell hit Taylor, and he saw he was close to the exit. He stuck his head out of the hole and looked around, squinting at the darkness, seeking out his prey.

“Hey!”

Taylor craned his neck up and saw Fran standing above the opening, holding a very large rock.

Then everything went black.

F
ran followed Josh’s directions and made a left, turning the Bronco onto Pine Glen Way. She had never been so tired in her life.

In the back seat, Duncan, Woof, and Mathison all slept in a big pile. To her right, Josh held her hand between turns.

“This is a dumb question,” Josh said, “But how are you doing?”

Fran pictured it happening once again—Taylor’s head coming out of the hole, her raising up the rock, smashing it onto his face. She hadn’t intended to get his attention first, but it seemed proper that he saw it coming. And it had to be her doing it. Not only because Josh couldn’t lift anything with his broken fingers, but because killing Taylor herself was the only way she’d ever be able to sleep again.

“I’m okay,” she answered.

“Really?”

“Really.”

She felt Josh hold her hand a little bit tighter.

“Adam’s house is at the next clearing. Right here.”

Fran turned and put the truck into park. Josh took the keys, and Fran carried Duncan around the house, down the pier, to Adam Pepper’s pontoon boat. Woof and Mathison tagged along. They boarded the boat, and Josh used the keys to start it while Fran untied the mooring lines.

Big Lake McDonald was still, quiet. A huge orange hunter’s moon reflected on the surface, and Fran felt herself get a little sleepy. She snuggled up to Duncan in the back seat while Josh guided them to the inlets, made his way into the river, and took it downstream.

“We have a full tank of gas, and we’re making good time,” Josh said. “The Chippewa River feeds a tributary right before the waterfall. We can take it to Eau Claire. They have a hospital.”

Fran closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were passing Safe Haven and the section of the river where she’d jumped in. It seemed like a very long time ago.

“You and Duncan can stay with me for a few days,” Josh said. “For as long as you need to. When I get my hand patched up, I’m going back to Wiley’s. Since he and Sheriff Streng are, um, gone, you’re the sole heir. Wiley showed me some money, some gold. That’s yours now. He wanted you to have it. Plus, he gave me a digital copy of that film you saw, told me to take it to the press.”

Fran liked that idea, going to the press. It sort of reversed the curse her father had brought upon the town. She also liked the idea of living with Josh for a few days.

This time she wasn’t going to let him get away.

“I think—” Fran began, stopping when she saw the five military boats speeding their way.

• • •

G
eneral Alton Tope pressed
end
on the laptop, signing off the mobile USAVOIP security connection a few seconds after the president hung up. The satellite photos, and early reports from the infiltration team, had been grim. Safe Haven had been annihilated. Almost a thousand people killed. A very impressive display.

Tope had been somewhat curious how the commander in chief of the armed forces would handle the situation but wasn’t surprised by his decision. A cover-up and media blackout would save the nation from embarrassment, worldwide disapproval, and a whopper of a lawsuit by the relatives of the slaughtered. The casualties would be blamed on a carbon monoxide leak. The area would be sealed off until the Red-ops team was found and dealt with. End of crisis.

But then they found the survivors. People who had been there.

They were thoroughly searched. So was the boat. Nothing of interest was discovered.

The man, Josh, claimed they didn’t know anything. He said he mangled his hand in a boating accident, the same accident that hurt Fran and her son, Duncan. Fran stuck to the same story. The boy started to cry when questioned, and they hadn’t been able to get anything out of him.

Their explanation for having Dr. Stubin’s monkey was also plausible—they found it on the road. Tope knew that Stubin and the monkey were dropped off at the original crash site. When the second chopper exploded, the monkey could have run off.

But Tope had popped in during their questioning and felt in his bones they were holding back. These people knew something. Something that was a threat to the country.

If it had been up to him he would have dealt with it differently. Tope was very good at covering things up. The secret was to tie up all loose ends. But it wasn’t Tope’s call. The president’s orders in regard to the survivors had to be followed, much as it left a bad taste in Tope’s mouth.

The army had taken over an office building outside of Safe Haven, as a base of operations. Tope left his makeshift command post and walked down the hall. Two soldiers guarded the break room where the survivors were housed. They saluted. Tope returned the salute and dismissed them. He unbuckled the strap on his sidearm and walked into the room.

They were sitting together, their arms around each other, looking appropriately scared. But defiant, too. Even the boy. That proved to Tope that they’d lived through something. He’d seen that look before, in combat troops who had witnessed heavy action. The thousand-yard stare.

“I know you’re lying,” Tope said.

No one answered.

“You may have seen some things,” Tope went on. “You might even think you know what’s going on. But how important do you think the lives of three people are compared to national security?”

Tope leaned against the wall and folded his arms.

“This situation will be resolved. And not in a way that will be satisfying to you. You’ll be tempted to talk to the media, try to explain what happened, set the record straight. You’ll have no proof, of course. We’re almost done cleaning up everything. But if you try, you’ll be found and dealt with. If it were up to me, you’d be dealt with right now. No offense.”

“You’re an asshole,” Josh said. “No offense.”

Tope leaned over to Josh, resting his hand on the butt of his .45.