Compass Call: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 3) (39 page)

“I guess that depends on when we leave, and where we’re going,” replied Jenna. “Do you still want to leave tomorrow night?”

“I do,” said John.

“Then I’ve got work to do. We’re almost done with the meal preparation, but I need to pack,” said Jenna, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not going to see Tony alone again are you?”

John wrapped the towel around his waist and sighed. “I knew this would damage my reputation,” he said with a smile.

“Not funny, John. We almost lost you. You were incredibly lucky this time.”

“It wasn’t luck, Babe,” said John.

“Really? Then what was it?”

“Providence. Fate. Destiny. I don’t know. Just call it anything but luck. Luck is a chance or random outcome, and I don’t believe in randomness or coincidences any more. What happened to me was meant to happen,” said John.

“You’re telling me you were
meant
to be kidnapped, tortured, and held hostage?” asked Jenna, clearly concerned with John’s line of thought.

“Well, yes and no. I mean, I was warned, but I still had to go. My going revealed something that wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t.” John wiped the mirror glass and looked at Jenna’s reflection while shaving. “I know it sounds crazy, but that turn of events wasn’t accidental . . . and it wasn’t chance or luck either. It was meant to happen exactly as it happened, and it couldn’t have happened any other way.”

“That may be true for you, but does that philosophy apply to me? You’re different, John. You see and do things, think things that are different than me . . . than us. I also don’t share your optimism. You were taken and could have been killed, and that’s the truth . . . the logic of it for me, so please don’t do anything alone ever again. Will you promise me that?”

John turned to face her and said, “I promise I won’t take any more unnecessary risks.”

“You mean it?”

“Scout’s honor.”

Jenna nodded and left the bathroom. John yelled, “I love you!” and he heard a similar reply from Jenna from the other room. John knew she would have to hear more, come to understand his new spiritual abilities, before she would trust him to work alone again.

The prisoners sat on the curb by the van with their hands zip-tied behind them. They watched as John and Pete silently removed
Luanne’s body from the van and carried her to the last empty grave. John was pleased with the location of Luanne’s grave. Pete picked a spot under a small oak tree in the far corner of the lot, and one well away from the other biker graves. John doubted anyone would ever build on the lot with the change, but he wanted her grave to be in a spot where the chance of disturbing it was low.

They laid Luanne’s body gently in the bottom of the grave. It was deeper than the other graves, almost six feet, and that also pleased John, but he wished he had more time to build her a simple casket. John took the sweatshirt Luanne used for his head in the roadhouse and put it under her own. He then covered her with plastic sheeting and climbed out with Pete’s help.

John and Pete shoveled earth into the grave and silently considered their own mortality. John knew the earth would reclaim her, as it did all things, but there was something about burying Luanne without a coffin that seemed right, as if it left her somehow closer to home. He thought it was strange how people spent so much money on elaborate coffins, it wasn’t like the dead appreciated it or anything. They were in another place, a place of life, not of death. Death and burial, even the memorial service, was a comfort for the living. For the departed, it was little more than a change of pace.

They tamped the dirt with their shovels and paused to wipe sweat from their brow. John felt he should say something, so he looked up and offered a quick silent prayer for Luanne, asking God to accept her sacrifice as penance for her past offenses. He didn’t hear a reply, which didn’t surprise him, but he felt comforted knowing that her offering was acceptable to him. John forgave here of every offense, and he felt lighter for it.

“John, I don’t mean to offend, but how did she come to be so special to you?” asked Pete.

John sighed and said, “She protected me from the last two bikers, the ones that came back to get me. She fought them off . . . and died protecting me,” replied John. John waved to the boys to come to him, and he had them take the shovels back to the garage and hit the
showers. They had done well, and he complemented them on their actions.

John and Pete joined Paul by the van. He was significantly more relaxed now that the prisoners had their hands tied, but that just made him look tired. In fact, everyone looked tired, even the prisoners. John knew it was common to crash after hard work, but the same was true for battle. They had done both, but they still couldn’t rest. There was work yet to do, namely the disposal of six prisoners.

Earlier, Pete had jokingly offered to shoot them, but John knew his heart wasn’t in it. Shooting a prisoner when your blood was up was one thing, but it was something else entirely to shoot them once they were subdued, and after you got a chance to watch them become real people. When the enemy became real to you, then killing them, even in the name of justice, felt more like murder than duty, or necessity. That was true for some people anyway. John knew the Bible was filled with stories where every captured male was put to the sword, no matter their age, but unlike those commanders, he wasn’t commanded to kill his prisoners, so he wouldn’t.

After the prisoners were blindfolded, John began his speech by saying, “If you guys cooperate you won’t be hurt. Nod if you hear me.” All the prisoners nodded, so John continued, “Good. Now we’re going to load you into the van and drop you off one at a time. But there’s one more thing we’re going to do before we leave . . . we’re going to mark you.” A few of the men stiffened at his last sentence, so he quickly explained. “The mark will be an oil-based dark walnut stain. I’ll brush it on your forehead. I’ve got experience with this stain, and know it will stick with you for about five days. After that you’ll be as good as new. Do you understand?” The prisoners nodded.

With that, John pried off the lid and dipped a sponge brush into the dark liquid. He then went down the line and marked the foreheads of each of the six prisoners. When he was finished, John looked at the men and decided on one more measure, something a little more obvious, so he walked the line again and added a dab to each nose.
He smiled despite himself and sat the can of stain on the curb. “That didn’t hurt now, did it?” The prisoners shook their heads, and several of them actually even sighed relief.

“OK. Now we’re gonna start loading you into the van, one at a time, so no funny business and you’ll be free soon enough. Nod again if you understand me . . . good.” John turned to signal Pete, and with that his friend walked to the first prisoner, stood him up, and loaded him into the van.

The prisoners were loaded in less than five minutes, and when the last one was loaded Paul climbed into the van’s front seat and turned to face the men with his shotgun. He knew they couldn’t see him, so he raked the shotgun and loaded the ejected round back into the ammo feed tube. With control now established, Paul made himself more comfortable.

They all agreed the prisoners would be under armed guard every second of their detention. The group had come too far to take any unnecessary risks now. Everything had worked well so far, but John knew one foolish distraction could change everything for them, so they had to stay alert. Their mission was almost complete, and they were eager to finish it.

John hoped that by dropping the prisoners off one at a time, far from each other, and from any known residential areas, that the bikers wouldn’t cause them any more trouble. It was wishful thinking, he knew, but it was his only option. That’s why he destroyed the roadhouse, to deny them their former rally point and meeting place.

John agreed to drive the van since he knew the area better than anyone. Paul, as was already established by his placement, would literally ride shotgun for him. John asked Pete to stay home and provide security, a job that he already managed to accomplish quite well during John’s brief hostage experience, and he readily agreed. He was just glad John wasn’t alone on this trip.

After settling the timeline with Pete, John climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He figured a half tank of gas was probably enough, but he asked Pete to fetch him a spare five-gallon gas can before he left. He didn’t know what the van got for mileage, but the last thing he
wanted was to run out far from home. After stowing the gas in the back of the van, John offered one last request to Pete, “Don’t leave the keys in the motorcycles. I don’t want Tony slipping away by vehicle,” said John.

“Mission complete,” said Pete, as he shook the pile of keys that filled a cargo pocket. “We’ll keep our eyes on the obstacle. But that doesn’t mean he can’t walk away.”

“True, but I don’t think he will. He’s gonna play this smooth. But you’ll wait until I get back . . . we’re going over there together, right?”

“I could have it done by the time you get back,” said Pete. John was about to comment when Pete put his hands up and said, “But I won’t,” he added with a grin.

“Thanks, brother. I’ll see you in a couple hours. I wouldn’t worry about the water for the rest of the day either,” said John, as he pulled away. Pete offered a casual salute and walked toward the house without a single glance over his shoulder.

The drive was uneventful and boring, but necessary, and much more humane than any of their previous ideas of killing or maiming the prisoners. John planned to drop a prisoner off about every eight to ten miles. He didn’t want to release them within easy walking distance of each other, and thought that distance was more than enough to keep them apart for a few days. He also planned to take as many turns as possible to confuse the prisoners about where they were in relation to each other. John wasn’t worried if the men knew the area as well as he did, he was only interested in a wide disbursement.

The two men previously agreed not to talk in front of the prisoners about anything that related to their company, but they did agree to talk about the drop-off procedures. John proposed that, when the van stopped, he would get out and open the rear doors. Paul would then join him at the back and grab the nearest prisoner while John covered him with Adam’s AR. Paul proposed that they release the prisoners with their hands tied behind their backs, but John thought that was cruel until Paul explained that they could cut their zip-ties with friction.

“How’d you know that?” asked John.

“Pete told me,” replied Paul.

“What source of friction would they have at their disposal?”

“Well, there are barbed-wire fences all over the place,” said Paul.

“Yeah, but they’ll never find a wire fence while they’re blindfolded . . . and with their hands tied behind their backs,” said John.

Paul grinned and said, “Then I’ve got an idea for that. I’ll just zip-tie them to the nearest fence.”

John was impressed with Paul’s thinking and said, “I like it.”

“Besides,” added Paul, “if they’re too stupid to figure it out, then maybe it’s better they die tied to a fence.”

John agreed and said, “It’s time for the first drop.”

At fifteen miles on the odometer, John pulled to the side of a rural road and stopped the van. He considered giving each man another speech, to tell them never to return to the neighborhood and all that, but there was really no point. He knew the bikers weren’t bound by any type of ethical honor code, so it would be a waste of effort. An oath to never return would be as tangible as the wind.

John opened the rear doors and Paul climbed out and grabbed the nearest man. He then walked him to the barbed-wire fence, and using a new zip-tie, Paul secured him to the rusty wire. “Did you hear what I said about cutting the zip-ties with friction?” asked Paul. The man nodded and waited. “When we leave you’re on your own. John didn’t want to give you a speech, but I will. If I ever see you in the neighborhood again I’ll kill you . . . I’ll use my sword on you too.”

“You won’t have any more problems with me. No sir . . . not me,” said the prisoner.

“I hope not,” said Paul. “Now sit down so I can remove your boots.” “What?”

“You heard me. Off with the boots,” said Paul. The man awkwardly sat, and Paul helped him remove his boots. With boots in hand, Paul said, “Adios, Desperado,” and walked back to the van.

Paul tossed the boots in the back of the van and slammed the doors closed. When both men were once again seated in the front, John said,
“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” as he put the van in gear and pulled away.

“Yeah, well, the way I see it . . . they’re getting off easy,” said Paul. “Shooting them would have been the only guarantee they would leave us, or other good people, alone.”

John nodded and said, “That’s how I thought about Luanne until she saved my life.” Paul didn’t know how to reply to that so he remained silent. “I know what you’re saying though,” added John. “But taking lives is serious business. We can’t see the end of all things. The boots are a better idea,” he finished.