Aftermath (27 page)

And then Big G was standing him up, the massive bulk of his body huddled close behind him, each of his hands holding one of Doc’s arms and no matter how much Doc tried to fight against it, he couldn’t move. And out of the corner of his eyes, Doc could see the glint of Milo’s Bowie knife sliding out of its leather sheath.

Milo pointed at the door-jam of the rear hatch with the big knife. “Grab it!” He hissed. “Grab it or I’m gonna spill your guts on the street.”

Doc didn’t want to grab it. His heart was like a jackrabbit trying to get out of his chest. He tried to pull his left arm back, but Big G kept forcing it inexorably forward. Doc breathed in short, shallow breaths as he fought. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

His hand touched the smooth metal and he tightened his fist into a ball.

Milo was suddenly there beside him, his breath hot on his ear. “Open your hand, Doc. Open your fucking hand or I kill you. Do it!”

Doc closed his eyes and bared his teeth.

He opened his hand and grabbed the door jam.

The old metal hinges on the back hatch creaked just slightly as Milo slammed it down. Doc could hear the popping of his fingers, so quick in succession that they sounded like someone stomping on a pile of dry twigs. Doc felt the air come out of his lungs like an explosion and he began madly trying to yank his fingers free, but they were smashed in too tight.

Air found its way back into his chest.

He screamed.

Milo’s hot breath again: “Shhhh. Stop screaming. Be quiet.”

Doc tried to contain it but the pain was coming out of him in short, sharp barks with each rapid exhalation. Milo’s voice was strangely, horribly soothing. He didn’t want to fight it any more. It was easier just to give in. Do what he was told.

Milo stood in front of him, looking him in the eyes. “Doc, calm down.”

“
Okay.” Doc nodded, tears making dirty paths down his face.

To his right, one of the pickup trucks had stopped and the driver and passenger were looking on at Milo’s handiwork. Their eyes showed dim amusement and faint smiles tweaked their lips. Like they were watching a mildly entertaining sitcom.

“
I really wanted to cut your fucking hand off at the wrist, but I’m not sure I could stop the bleeding if I did that.” Milo tapped Doc’s hand with the knife. “But I think you need something very permanent to remind you…”

“
No!”

“…
So I’m going to cut one of your fingers off.”

“
No! Please!”

“
Doc, listen to me,” Milo droned on. “It’s for your own good that I do this, because if you ever backtalk me again I’m just gonna fuckin’ kill you. Just remember, it could have been your whole hand.”

Doc sobbed, the words coming out in strangled syllables. “Please. Don’t.”

But Milo had already set the edge of his blade to Doc’s flesh, at the very base of his index finger. “It has to happen, Doc. Just go with it.”

And then the blade was sawing through his finger, not a quick chopping motion, but an agonizing back and forth, quickly sliding through the skin and then grinding against bone—Jesus, he could feel that sensation all the way up his arm—and then tendons were popping, the ligaments snapping, crimson spurting out in perfect time with Doc’s thundering heartbeat and dribbling down the back of the Humvee.

Doc screamed until he had no more left in him. The pain seemed to keep increasing, like a plane rocketing into the sky until it stalled, and the pain finally crescendoed and his hand began to feel numb. It was still there, but it was almost as though his brain couldn’t process it all, so it turned the volume down. Brokenly, he thought to himself,
at least he didn’t cut off my whole hand.

The bloody knife was pointing at him now.

“
Did you learn your lesson?” Milo asked

Doc’s eyes squeezed shut and he nodded. Spit and snot and tears ran down his face, combining and dripping off of his chin. “Yes.”

“
Are you ever going to backtalk me again?”

“
No.”

Milo smiled, just as pleasantly as though they were two old friends that had just resolved a minor squabble. He looked at Big G. “Great! Get him back in the truck and let’s hit the road.”

***

Lee stood for a long moment in the glow of the red emergency lamps that were the only source of light inside the hospital room. Across from him, he could see the faint apparitions of Harper and Miller’s faces. They both stared at him, shocked. Confused. Lost. They needed Lee to do something, to take control of this situation, but it was spiraling quickly away from him and there was a knot of panic growing in Lee’s throat that threatened to choke him.

He paced the dark room, looking for anything he could use, but they had emptied the room out, almost as though they had anticipated having to hold prisoners there. Lee didn’t really believe they had planned this. Not judging by the looks on their faces. Milo was using them and fear of reprisal keeping them in line. Shumate had wanted to make a deal with Camp Ryder, but he wanted to stay alive more, and he genuinely believed that Milo was going to murder their group if his wishes were not obeyed.

For that matter, Lee believed it as well.

Lee didn’t personally know Milo, but he could surmise based on what he’d heard. One did not come to be the leader of a band of criminals and feared by so many by being merciful and kind. Cruelty and brutality were the traits that earned that position. Anything less was weakness.

After pacing the room three times, looking for anything useful and coming up empty handed, Lee returned to the hospital room door and gave it a swift kick in frustration. The thing was solidly built. Industrial, with a steel frame. No amount of kicking would break this door in. He tried the door handle, though he knew it would be locked.

He swore in the darkness and tried to force an idea to spring forth in his mind. He pulled and yanked and contorted his wrists, but the layers and layers of tape they had tightly spun around them were too solid to stretch or break. His circulation was cut off, his fingers and palms were beginning to feel cold and numb.

One question blocked out any new ideas: If he escaped, what would Milo do to the Smithfield group? They had successfully detained him, showing Milo that they intended to do what he said, but would Milo hold them responsible if Lee managed to get away? And if he did, what would the punishment be? An even better question, was whether or not Lee gave a shit about what happened to Shumate and his group at this point.
Lee could not help deeply resenting Shumate and everyone in the hospital for the situation he now found himself in. He came in peace, trying to offer a deal, and he gets imprisoned and turned over to the local warlord.

Objectively, Lee recognized the situation that Shumate found himself in. As the leader, everyone was looking at him to keep them safe, not to make alliances with other groups of survivors. There was no doubt that Milo outgunned them. Standing up to him would almost certainly result in massive casualties, and possibly complete destruction. Standing with Lee and disobeying Milo was a bad bet for Shumate at this point in time.

Subjectively, Lee did not see the point in keeping the Smithfield group alive, if it meant he was going to be dead. Of course, he didn’t know what Milo’s plans for him were, but he doubted they involved handshakes and friendship. He anticipated that Milo planned to get into his bunkers by any means necessary, which would include torturing him, and torturing or killing others like Harper and Miller to get Lee to talk.

So what do I do about it?

Lee’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices outside. All three prisoners turned and faced the door. The voices grew louder as they drew closer and Lee could hear two men’s voices contending with a female. Just from the sound of the men’s voices, he knew their fight was lost. The woman’s voice was clear and demanding and carried with it a note of command.

The door was unlocked and thrown open.

Even the subdued light from outside made Lee squint his eyes.

The voices continued their argument and Lee now realized the two men were LaRouche and Shumate. He didn’t recognize the female voice, but saw the three figures in the doorway, Shumate and LaRouche trying to keep a small-statured woman from barging into the room.

“
Get your fucking hands off of me!” She shook Shumate’s hand from her arm and pointed a finger in his face. “You touch me again I swear to God I’m gonna kick your nuts into your mouth.”

Shumate made a face that looked like steam might come out of his ears, but he only balled his fists at his side and didn’t touch the woman any more. On the other side of the woman, LaRouche held his hands up as though to surrender.

“
Just let her talk to him,” LaRouche put a staying hand on Shumate’s chest.

The woman glared at the two men, then turned her attention to the three prisoners. She stood all of five-foot and six inches, but put her hands on her hips and glowered like she was in charge of the damn place. She wore only a pair of jeans and a white tank top and Lee immediately recognized the same corded hard-work muscle he’d seen on Marie.

“
Which one of you was talking about my sister?” She demanded.

Lee raised his head a bit. “You must be Julia.”

She turned her attention on him and Lee thought for a second she might just hit him for the hell of it. But she approached him without hesitation and appeared to be looking over his injuries with a skeptical eye. When she spoke again, her voice was somewhat softer. “Is she still alive?”

Lee nodded once.

“
How do you know her?”

Lee looked to his left, where Harper and Miller were still leaning up against the wall. “She’s in a camp—the same one these guys are from. We left to get supplies for the camp. Marie asked me to see if I could make contact with you.” Lee turned an accusatory eye on Shumate. “She wanted me to make sure your group of survivors was okay, and to leave them with communications equipment so the two groups could help each other. Obviously, Mr. Shumate here has a different idea.”

Shumate bristled. “You know I don’t have a choice.”

“
We all have a choice,” Lee snapped.

Julia turned back to Shumate and LaRouche. “You have to let them go.”

LaRouche didn’t respond, but Shumate threw his hands up in the air. “Jesus-H-Christ, woman! Are you insane?” He jabbed a finger at Lee. “Milo wants that guy, and if he don’t get him, we’re all fucked! Would you think about everyone else for a change?”

That set Julia off. “Think? What about you? Have you
thought
about why Milo wants him so bad? Have you bothered to ask him? Don’t you think that’s something we should know about before we just cow-tow to every whim Milo comes up with? Or maybe you’re just too fucking dickless!”

Shumate fumed and growled something unintelligible, but turned his gaze on Lee. “Why does Milo want you?”

Lee thought for a long moment whether or not he should spill the truth to Shumate. Given the current situation, Lee didn’t think it could make things any worse.

Shumate took his silence as a refusal to speak. “You see? He ain’t gonna say shit!”

Lee laid it all out, quickly and concisely. “I have access to supplies. Things people need. The US government gave me these caches so that I could help restore order to the region.” He tossed his head towards the two men from Camp Ryder. “They can attest to that. I’ve been helping their group, and we were on the way back with the supplies when we stopped in here.”

Shumate stared at him dubiously, then looked at Harper and Miller.

Both men nodded.

“
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Shumate shook his head. “What a crock of shit.”

Lee felt frustrated laughter bubbling up in his chest. “That’s what everyone says.”

“
Prove it.” Shumate challenged.

“
Prove it?” A tiny chuckle escaped Lee’s throat. “Have you fucking looked in my backpack? Have you seen anyone else carrying live grenades, 40-mike-mikes and claymores? Anyone else got a bunch of brand new long-range radios in their pack?” Lee looked down at his clothing. “Even my goddamn clothes are brand-fucking-new! Everything we have is fresh from the supply cache!”

Shumate looked at the uniform Lee wore, then rubbed his face. “It doesn’t
prove
anything.”

This time Harper spoke up. “There’s a pickup truck full of supplies just outside the barricade on Brightleaf Boulevard. We left it there because we couldn’t get it past the barricade. You can go and see for yourself. All those supplies came from Captain Harden’s bunker.”

“
Now its a fucking ‘bunker’,” Shumate muttered.

Julia stepped towards him. “You got to let them go!”

LaRouche seemed to side with them. “It explains why Milo wants him so bad.”

“
He can help you!” Harper said urgently.

Lee cleared his throat. “Sheriff, you at least need to let these other two men go.”

A brief moment of silence before Harper objected. “Captain...”

Lee spoke more forcefully. “You’ve got no reason to keep them here. And those supplies need to get back to the other camp. The people there are starving. They need help. If you don’t let these men get back, you’re killing them just as surely as if you shot them yourself.”