Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) (6 page)

“Echo Four Fox, come in… Echo Four Fox, I heard two shots, are you sierra?”

Sierra
was the unit’s code for
secure
.

Stephen shook off the numbness when he remembered Sammie and Evan. He pulled the magazine out of the rifle’s magazine well and inspected the contents.

5.56 millimeter. NATO issue with steel penetrator. That’ll come in handy.

He patted the fallen soldier down and took notice of his name tag.

Corporal Brandon Ford.

He had a wallet in his back pocket. It was relatively nondescript, black and worn, made from cheap leather. Inside there were pictures. A lady and a small girl about Evan’s age. Stephen looked down at Ford’s left ring finger. The realization that he had just killed a father and a husband was more overwhelming than the initial impact.

Stephen wept.

When he again gathered himself, he continued to the science room and began the process of shuffling through the drawers and storage cabinets, his mind partially on home and partially on the second guard. Knowing he had little time, he moved as quickly as possible. He found a box of scissors at the moment he was about to stop his search.

On his way back to the rest of the prisoners, he considered the possibility that they were government sympathizers. Releasing them would mean trouble for Command Sergeant Damm’s mission.

I’m in a unique position where they may consider me an asset. I should be safe setting them free, but what about the fight for liberty? Leaving them tied up is counterproductive.

The thoughts kept swirling around his head. There was no right answer and there was no wrong answer. Nothing made sense anymore. All logic, morals, ethics, and rationale failed to make a connection. This was a new era, and with it must come a new way of thinking.

There can be no more good guys, no more bad guys, just raw survival. Primal man against primal man. That’s what life is like without liberty. The man with the better skills, the quickest hands, the biggest gun is the victor. No more voting, no more democracy or bureaucracy. This is beast mode. If I don’t kill him, he’ll kill me.

Stephen stopped at the classroom where he saw the spotter before. He could no longer see him and that gave cause for alarm.

Returning to the hall where the prisoners were located, he slowly peeked around the corner and saw everyone was still seated against the wall where he had left them. Boldly and defiantly, he walked towards them with his rifle at the ready position. Each of the prisoners was looking down as if they didn’t want to look at him. He slowed his pace and heightened his awareness.

What’s going on here?
he continued to think.

Placing his rifle at the high ready position, he moved in towards the men. There were several dozen rooms in this hallway. It was extremely unsafe by any measure taken by a security-minded man trained in such things. He felt pressed for time. Sammie and Evan were swamping his mind. His love for his wife and daughter brought about bad decision making. Instead of clearing the rooms, he turned toward the men and asked, “Are we alone?”

“Put your hands in the air, soldier,” a voice commanded from behind him.

Those nearest to Stephen could hear him sigh.

His hands went into the air, along with them, his rifle.

He knew he had to act swiftly. The first thing the man behind him was going to do was to take the rifle.

Stephen felt the rifle get snatched out of his hand.

Check,
he thought.

The next thing he’s going to do is pat me down. That’s when I have to respond.

Stephen felt the tip of the man’s rifle pointed into the small of his back. He was clearly holding a weapon in one hand and patting him down with the other. A wiser captor would have commanded him onto the floor to clasp his hands behind his back. Perhaps this man was distressed. Perhaps he was an amateur. Either way, he was making sloppy decisions, too.

Stephen used the distraction of the pat down to make his move. He quickly spun around and moved in toward the man in a single motion. It happened too quickly for the man with the rifle. He fired off a single round that caught one of the men that were sitting against the wall in the chest.

Stephen grabbed the rifle sling as he did before, and used his free hand to grab the scissors he had found in the science lab. This fight didn’t last as long as the previous one because this time Stephen wasn’t going to foil his defenses. Just before he moved to stab the man in the throat, he was taken down by the others, who had stood up and came to Stephen’s defense.

Stephen began cutting the zip-ties from the hands of the men. One by one, he freed them until he once again remembered his family. He handed the scissors to another soldier and encouraged him to continue cutting loose the soldiers. Stephen fled the building and set his sights toward home.

Several roadblocks littered the highway between the college and Murphysboro. Stephen was in an HMMWV that was left behind for the two soldiers at the community college. He used it for transport and it also got him through some of the checkpoints. Being a national guardsman gave some military access in the early parts of the Flip. It was Stephen’s acts of defiance that changed everything.

Once he had reached the eastern parts of Murphysboro’s city limits, he found himself at yet another checkpoint. Pulling in slowly meant he wouldn’t be raising suspicion levels. He kept his story the same at each checkpoint.

Rolling his window down, he spoke to the state police officer.

“I’m heading into town to pick up some MIA guardsmen.”

This time, there was something different about the checkpoint. There were far more electronics set up, and surveillance systems were up and running. The officer had an electronic notepad that was feeding him information in his left hand and a scanning device in his right hand. It wasn’t going to be possible to conceal his name. It was plastered across his chest, just above his pocket.

“First and last name,” the officer asked in a commanding voice.

“Stephen Gill.”

With his right hand, the officer scanned Stephen’s face.

Another officer was nearby, sitting in a patrol car. He exited his vehicle and walked over to the officer that scanned Stephen’s face.

Both men were now staring at the electronic notepad and looking at Stephen’s face, as if making a comparison.

“What unit are you with, Specialist?” the first officer asked.

“Transportation Company, out of the Carbondale Armory.”

“Your unit has been reported MIA and reclassified as FPCON Threat Level Red.”

“Well, you can see I’m still active and I’m no threat. Just trying to round up some MIAs.”

Stephen’s heart was pounding. He felt he was at a complete disadvantage.

“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to step out of the Hummer.”

Stephen slammed his foot onto the accelerator and busted through the roadblock. As he sped away, he could hear the familiar plinking sounds of firearm rounds impacting his lightly armored HMMWV. He wasn’t worried about their .40-caliber rounds penetrating his vehicle. He paid little attention to his mirrors, which would have revealed at least three patrol cars had given chase. As he sped down the highway, he met several military vehicles with soldiers that appeared to be rounding up people. Two of them stopped what they were doing and joined in on the chase.

Stephen was unarmed and had no plan for such an exigent circumstance. He drew closer and closer to his home, but he realized if he led them to his house, there could be a multitude of additional problems he would have to deal with. In that moment, he considered the impact of his daughter seeing her daddy arrested, or even worse, she could actually get wounded or killed by a stray bullet. Stephen turned down a road that was just a few blocks from his home. As soon as he turned, he was out of the line of sight of his pursuers. He jumped from the moving vehicle, only to have his right leg broken by a bad and uncoordinated tumble. He wasn’t trained in the art of rolling out of a moving vehicle.

With the pain causing him to wince, he struggled toward the front door of a house and attempted to open the door. It was secured, so he broke the glass window and jumped through the opening. His forearm was bleeding and he saw that he had sustained a major cut to many superficial veins in his right arm. Rushing through the living room to find the kitchen, he grabbed a towel that was lying on the countertop. He tightly wrapped his arm and left out the back door.

Sirens and police cars were blanketing the area. When he saw the opportunity, he limped his way to a shed in the backyard. Inside, he found a toolbox with a utility knife and a screwdriver. He placed both items in his pocket and looked out of the window, waiting for another opportunity to head closer to home.

The next house Stephen came across was a two-story home. There was an open storm door under the picture window to the side of the house. He went inside and made his way through the ground level of the home.

I’ve got to get out of this uniform if I’m going to have a chance,
he thought.

He couldn’t help but notice that the last two homes he had entered were empty. It could have been coincidence, but he was confident the people were fleeing their communities out of fear. Some for fear of government takeover and some for fear of community violence.

Stephen found a bedroom with men’s clothing articles hanging in the closet. They were dress shirts that were too short in the sleeves and too tight in the neck.

I’ll have to roll my sleeves up and leave the top button undone.

The trousers were the same story. When he had pulled them up, he couldn’t button them. He left the shirt to hang over the pants and put his hands in his pockets to hold them up. He discarded the tools when he found a kitchen knife on his way out. Nothing could disguise his limp.

It wasn’t until he reached the edge of the block that he realized he wouldn’t make it home unless he was under cover of dark. The whole area appeared to be under lockdown. His heart was torn between reaching Sam and Evan and playing it safe.

What good will I be if I don’t make it? What if they need me now? Is it even possible for me to evade the search parties?
The questions were endless.

Stephen entered the blue house located just two blocks from his home. He had barely made it through the unlocked front door when he was met by an adult male.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Michael Williams. I’m injured and was hoping you could give me sanctuary.”

The man looked out the window and turned back toward Stephen.

“Michael, huh? You’re the one they’re looking for, aren’t you?”

“Look, mister, I don’t want any trouble.”

“Neither do I, but you seem to have brought it with you. If they find you here, we’re both going to disappear.”

“Well, then they won’t find me, right?”

“I suppose not. You’re bleeding through your bandage. Let me clean that up for you.”

The man left the room.

Stephen looked around at some of the photographs on the man’s curio cabinet. When the man returned with some clean gauze wraps, Stephen asked, “Is that your family?”

“It is.”

“Where are they?”

“I haven’t the slightest. When curfew was dropped, they vanished. Haven’t seen them since. I’m sure they were picked up and probably locked up somewhere.”

The man told his story as if trying to distract himself.

“Where did you get this cut? And what happened to your leg?”

“My name’s not Michael. It’s Stephen. I’m a member of the Army National Guard, but my unit went rogue, and when that happened, I was hoping to return to my family. We have other plans.”

“I see,” the man said, and then paused to look at the cut in Stephen’s arm. “You’re going to need stitches, Steve.”

“I have a stitch kit in my bugout bag at the house.”

“Where’s your house?”

“Not far from here, but I’m going to wait for dark.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I have a pair of crutches in the basement you can take with you. I broke my ankle a couple of years back. I’m not going to be needing them after tonight.”

“What’s tonight?”

“I’m going to look for my son. I reckon they’ll pick me up and take me to where they took him.”

“What about your wife?”

“I lost her to cancer ten years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’ll be dark soon. You should rest while you can. The next time you stand up, your leg will be hurting worse than it did before you sat down.”

“Great.”

Stephen took a position on the couch, but his relaxation was short lived. There was a loud knock on the front door.

“They’re looking for me,” Stephen whispered.

Stephen stood up and hid himself behind the front door.

“There’s only one of them,” the man said.

“Let him in.”

“You’re crazy.”

Stephen pulled the kitchen knife out of his pants and revealed it to the man.

The man opened the door, and a soldier pushed himself into the living room.

“We’re looking for a conspirator and possible terrorist. He lives in this neighborhood and was last seen a block or two from here. He’s a tall white male, green eyes, military-style haircut, and may be posing as an army national guardsman.”

“I haven’t seen anybody fitting that description.”

“I’m going to search the premises.”

“You don’t have the right to search my property without a warrant.”

“Your rights are suspended under executive order. Move aside.”

The soldier pushed the man aside and took two steps forward, exposing his back to Stephen, who plunged the knife deep into the man’s back, between the fourth and fifth ribs. The knife was long enough to find the soldier’s heart. The soldier went down, but not without kicking Stephen in the bad leg and knocking him off balance.

The soldier was grasping for the knife that was stuck in his back, but Stephen grabbed it and pulled it out. After that, the soldier’s death was hastened.

“They know where I live,” Stephen said in a panic. “I have to go now.”