Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) (47 page)

“Easy, lady. I didn’t mean any harm. I was just toying with you.”

“You see, that’s the problem, I’m not a toy. Quit stalling and drop that rifle.”

“I’ve got a sniper on the roof.”

“Then why hasn’t he sniped me?”

The man finished detaching the sling, but it was still hanging around his neck. Tori slowly peeked behind him at the crowd and could see they were starting to figure out that something was wrong.

“Hurry now. You’re almost there. Use your left hand to hand me the rifle and don’t try anything funny.”

Several hundred yards back, the sniper was resting his .30-06 on the bipod of his rifle. The man had originally placed the crosshairs of his rifle on Tori’s forehead, but was distracted by an object he saw moving in the sky. The sniper turned his scope towards the hovering object and was so enthralled by the technology that he had forgotten what was happening below him on the street. Believing the man that he was providing overwatch for had the situation with the female stranger under control, he decided to take a shot at the strange hovering object.

Tori heard the sound of a loud rifle in the background and responded by shooting the man in the chest with her 1911. She caught the rifle as he was falling and latched the sling to her front right handlebar. She accelerated the Harley, but was being pulled to the right. She looked down where the rifle was dangling and noticed the man’s arm was caught up in the sling and he was being dragged along the highway. She dragged him as long and as far as she could, using her right arm to push forward against the weight of the man dragging her to the right. She decided to pull over and cut the dying man free. She looked to the south and saw the crowd of people running in her direction, no doubt to catch her.

The sound of gunfire soon caught her attention. Tori couldn’t find the knife she had placed in a saddle pouch, so she laid the bike on its side and attempted to untangle the man’s arm from the sling. That proved fruitless and the crowd was getting closer. She found another quick-release snap and pressed the button. She placed the rifle on the ground and grabbed the handlebars of the Harley and lifted with all her might. By the time she had the bike standing again, the crowd was so close they were within range of their weapons. She saw the impact of bullets on the ground beneath her before she heard the cracks of the gunshots.

Tori straddled the bike and reached down to grab the rifle she had taken, but a bullet hit it and kicked debris into her eye. Frantic, she left the rifle and darted off to the east, with her right eye closed as she thought only of losing her eyesight.

December 6, 03:00 Hours, Tom Walker’s Residence

Cade lay alone on the couch with his eyes wide open as he stared up at the ceiling. His head was neatly propped up against the arm of the couch and the pain had subsided. He had fresh gauze wrapped around his head with cotton plugged into the holes of his scalp. The bullet had gone in at an angle, somehow missing his brain and following the inner brim of his skull, finding its own exit. He was in very poor condition and certainly not well enough to travel.

His memories of his father were mostly what his mother had shared with him. She had raised Cade alone because Tom left very early in his life. Cade was about four years old when his father became dependent upon alcohol and started beating his mother. Sometimes, she would fight back, but she would only get hurt worse in the end. Many of the beatings were at night, after Cade had been put down to sleep. But the sounds of the abuse and the cries of his mother would stir him from his sleep and awaken him. If he cried, Tom would enter the room and beat him with his belt.

The information his mother gave him was true; although Cade remembered none of it, he had always harbored a dark desire for retribution. With his mother now deceased, he felt a compulsive urge to do what he had always dreamed of doing to his abusive father.

Cade gently sat up. Moving caused the pain to reenter his head, but that did not deter him. Cade was still filled with anger from his failure to kill Jessica. It never crossed his mind that he was acting irrational. His antisocial personality disorder had never been diagnosed, and it went unchecked in the Army. It was this disorder that voided out any appearance of social normality in his life. He felt very few emotions that a normal person might have, such as sorrow and joy. Instead, he was filled with a numbness and a sense of superiority. The more he thought of being bested by a girl, the more infuriated he became.

Cade sat on that couch in an upright position for about two minutes. There were others sleeping there, all of them on the floor. He quietly stepped over them and made his way to his backpack. He was looking for his knife, hoping it had been packed away. He quietly rustled through the bag for a couple minutes in search of the switchblade. Once he had found it, he made his way into his father’s room.

A little bit of moonlight was streaming through the window, giving Cade the light he needed to look at his father and to say his goodbyes. He used his free hand to slowly open the blade and then he pressed through his father’s nose and into his brain.

Cade hoped the sudden death hadn’t startled anyone and that the blood would settle into the back of his skull. Gravity did its job and the blood did not pool forward out of his father’s face. The only sign of respect Cade showed his father was giving him a quick and easy death and not lying in a pool of his own blood.

Cade snuck back into the front room and killed three more men before he grabbed his pack and his rifle and snuck off into the darkness.

December 10, Benton, Illinois, about 160 miles south of Chicago

Nathan stood outside, at the head of his convoy, looking up Highway 37 on the southern edge of Benton, Illinois. Scratching his head, he couldn’t help but ponder the complications it could entail going straight through the town. Interstate 57 would take them north, directly to their destination, Chicago. They had tried so hard to avoid interstate travel.

“Highway 37 runs north and south, along I-57 until Effingham,” Nathan mumbled to himself.

Jessica, who was standing just feet away, heard him. “Are you rambling on again?”

“Yeah, this is a tough decision, Jess. Go through the seat of Franklin County, where only God knows what awaits us, or drive up I-57 and face certain conflict.”

Ash, who had just shut the door of the HMMWV he was rummaging through for a drink of water, came and stood next to Nathan, on the opposite side Jess was on.

“Do we even know what’s in there?” Ash asked, pointing to Benton, then putting a black sock cap on his head.

“No, we don’t, and that’s the dilemma,” Nathan answered.

Jessica put her arm around Nathan, showing him affection, and set her head against his shoulder, cuddling in next to him.

“Well, Nate, we know what awaits us if we go up I-57.”

“Yeah, UN checkpoints. Lots of them, and absolutely no cover if things get bad.”

“Look,” Ash said. “We probably need to head into Benton anyway. We’re short on supplies and haven’t managed to recruit anybody since the early days of Marion. We need more water, too.”

“Water makes you weak,” Nathan said.

“What are you talking about?” Jess asked Nathan as she gave him a squeeze. “Is that more jarhead lingo?”

Nathan laughed. “It is,” he said, “but it’s true. Sure, you need it to live, but being trained to go without when you have to can help keep your head screwed on tight when you’re running low.”

“I can see that,” Ash said.

“Okay, then,” Nathan said, changing the topic back to Benton. “I say we go through. Rally everybody on me.”

Ash and Jess stepped out away from Nathan and gave the
rally on me
hand signal.

HMMWV doors started opening and everybody in the group started to rally on Nathan.

Nathan felt the noise levels were a little high, so he shouted, “Listen up,” and began his operational readiness speech.

“I know most of you know a thing or two about Benton. Let me just say that it’s full of history and that makes it a popular location for Franklin County buggers. We have to go through to keep on a northward trek. I-57 poses more hazards than what we believe may be waiting for us in that town, but we won’t truly know until we get in. Now, some of you have loved ones being held in the Chicago FEMA detention center; some of you don’t have family anymore because the blue helmets took it upon themselves to execute judgment upon them for being American. Most of you want your country back, so you’re here to execute a little justice of your own. Whatever the cause, we ride together, we fight together, and we die together!”

Nathan had no more finished his speech when the sound of a roaring freight train could be heard coming in from the south. Every person faced east and took notice of the railroad tracks headed alongside Highway 37 into Benton.

Everybody began scrambling back to their vehicles.

“You guys know the protocol! No noise, no movement, no shooting until you’re being fired upon or given the go!”

All the vehicles began driving off the road and into a thin forest area on the west side of the street. Once all the vehicles were parked and facing the road, camouflage netting was pulled from the cargo areas of the HMMWVs and spread out over every vehicle that could fit. The others were hiding in the rear.

The heavy machine gunners were ready to enter their turrets. Everybody had their weapons locked and loaded as they hunkered down and waited to see what would happen next.

Bicentennial Park, Northwest Indiana

Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan had been communicating with General John James for the past three days on a sophisticated radio frequency system using a SATCOM transceiver and ground relay station. Of many of the bits of information Buchanan had on the system, it included footprints, the rotation of the earth, the elevation of the satellites being used, their speed, etc. Buchanan felt it was all way over his head, but was all too happy to be using a radio that could reach across the state of Indiana.

He also felt that the idea of placing a Com Marine in his unit so that communications and radio-traffic security could be insured between the two groups was a genius idea, at the least.

Relations between the two groups were being solidified and Buchanan was ready to release the burden of command to his superior, Commandant John James. He had learned from James that the commandant still had an ace up his sleeve, but wasn’t ready to reveal it to him just yet. He was hoping that sometime soon, perhaps after their official union, they would lay out all the cards, so to speak. Buchanan was eager to know what the general knew, and was very eager to share with him the intelligence that the oracle had brought.

Fort Wayne, Indiana

Michael shook the hands of John James and Belt McKanty one last time. He had made the decision to stay in Fort Wayne, where there was some semblance of liberty and the old ways.

“Thank you for all you’ve done, Michael. You have proven yourself to be a hard man. You would have been a good Marine, in different times.”

“Thank you, sir. Coming from you, that means a lot.”

Michael readjusted the strap on his rifle and snugged it up onto his shoulder, and headed out the gates, where he enjoyed patrolling the perimeter of the city.

John and Belt were packing up their belongings as well. They were loading their military vehicles with ammunition, MREs (meals ready-to-eat), and other essential gear for a long-term excursion outside the gates, where Operation Returning Liberty was going to officially kick off.

When John and Belt were finished packing, they shook hands and separated. The general had parted the convoy in two. The whole convoy would be under the general’s command, but should there be an attack, they would be removed from one another in different parts of the convoy, assuring a commander would survive. John took the front portion, and Belt took the second portion.

Each of them entered their respective vehicles and they drove off in a westward direction, towards Bicentennial Park, Valparaiso, where they would finally meet Bravo One and his brave Marines.

The District

Executive Commander Abdul Muhaimin had waited patiently his entire military career to possess what he had now attained. His ambitions filled his head and overwhelmed his mind with new opportunities and avenues for advancement. He was not interested in the UN’s version of what a global community should be. The UN’s vision was summarized in their Agenda 21 policy and that conflicted heavily with his Muslim belief system.

Originally, Muhaimin was disgusted at the thought of entering the United States. After it had fallen, he felt it was by his hand. In the mind of General Muhaimin, it was by his command his troops came through the southern borders of America. It was his genius that the Mississippi River was used to float his machines of war and personnel into the Midwestern states. It was his word that brought soldiers to the East and West Coasts of America, and it would be by his command that America lived or perished.

When word came of Councilor Pao’s opinion that America be exposed to a deadly viral pandemic in order to speed along the green-zoning process, it deeply offended Muhaimin. For Pao’s act of attrition against the executive commander, Muhaimin sent a message to the would-be destroyer of his ambitions. In just a matter of a couple days, word would be reaching his ears that Pao had received his fair reward. But, for now, the executive commander was working on something else.

The upgrades for the Utah Data Center had arrived and Muhaimin was eager to test the ability of his new upgraded FLIES drones. In a couple minutes, the installation would be complete and the signal magnification would be expanded to unprecedented distances. Soon, every veteran who had ever served in the past fifteen years, having received an RFID chip, would be located, identified, and lit up on an E-Tech board, and they could be systematically rounded up or terminated.

Muhaimin sat in the Oval Office with his feet propped up on the Resolute Desk. He was anxiously waiting for the phone to ring with news from his Advanced Technological Weapons Systems czar that the upgrades were complete. After a half hour of waiting beyond the time he was promised, he stood up and straightened out his uniform.