C.O.T.V.H. (Book 3): Extermination (9 page)

His shirt was a bloody mess so he ripped it off tossing it into the backseat, leaving him in his sweat stained undershirt.  He glanced in the mirror again, slicking back his gray hair then turned his head from side to side until he was satisfied all the blood was gone.  Cort shoved the truck into drive and pulled back onto the road.  Several minutes later he coasted through Patricia as three fire engines blew past him, their sirens wailing.

Cort drove eighty the entire way back to Lubbock pulling into their garage less than an hour later.  He pulled the truck to a stop and turned off the ignition, saying a silent prayer that he hadn't been stopped.  Explaining a bloody teenager slumped over in the passenger seat would have been a hard sell to any cop.

Cort hit the button on the garage door opener closing the heavy steel door behind him. His neighbors, the few that hadn’t moved away after witnessing a police standoff, and then a strange ‘burglary’ complete with enough gunfire to make the most dangerous neighborhoods in all of Los Angeles look tame by comparison, had seen more than their fair share of strange things going on at the Bishop house, they would probably have a field day if they saw him hefting Jake out of the truck.

He groaned and grunted as he lifted his grandson’s unconscious form from the blood soaked seat.  The floorboards were slick with it.

It took some doing but he finally managed to get him into his room where he laid him gently on the bed.  "Hang in there, kid.  I’m going to go get you some help."  Cort left him lying on the bed and picked up the cordless phone off the coffee table in the living room, then began searching frantically for John's address book.

"Damn it John.  Where the hell did you keep that book?"

He searched through John’s things, finally finding it tucked in a drawer in the nightstand in John’s bedroom.  Cort couldn't help but stare at the pictures of John and Jake hanging on the wall.  Pictures of John as a child, with his little brother William. 
Now I've lost both my boys. 
Pictures of John and Julia on their wedding day, pictures of him and Billy with their arms around each other. 
And Billy too . . . Billy's dead too . . .
Tears threatened to come flooding from his eyes. 
Not now!
 
I’ve got to focus on Jake.  I'll mourn John and Billy later, but not now.

He flipped through the book looking for just the right name.  Running his finger down the page he finally came across it.  Pamela Williams, Billy Williams’ oldest daughter and Trauma Surgeon at the Covenant Lakeside.

Cort's fingers punched in the numbers as quick as he could.  He held his breath waiting for her to answer.  This wasn't going to be easy.  She’d warned Cort and John never to call her again after the last time Jake had been hurt.  On the second ring a cheerful woman's voice answered.  "Hello."

"Pam.  It's Cort Bishop.  Look I don't have time to explain.  I need you to grab your kit and get over here now.  It's Jake, he's hurt bad.  Really bad."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Pam said without hesitation, all cheerfulness leaving her voice.

"Pam wait.  I think he's going to need a blood transfusion.  Do you know his blood type?"

"That bad?  Okay, yeah I know it.  I'll have to swing by the hospital and ‘borrow’ a few things so it might take a little while but I'll be there as soon as I can.  Is John okay?  Is he hurt too?"

Cort grew silent, fighting with his words.  His voice breaking he said, "Just hurry Pam.  Please hurry.  I'll explain everything when you get here.  Jake . . . he's lost a lot of blood."

Pam hung up without saying another word.  Cort pushed the button ending the call, then dialed another number.  "It's Cort Bishop.  I need a big favor . . ."

******

Pam Williams arrived thirty minutes later with a blue cooler full of pints of O positive blood, several bags of IV fluids, and a variety of pain medications and antibiotics.  "Where is he?" she asked lugging her gear through the front door.

"Here let me help you," Cort said taking the cooler from her.  "He's in here."  Cort led her through the living room and down the hall into Jake's room.  He lay motionless on his bed.

Pam pulled two latex gloves out of her kit, then her stethoscope and blood pressure cuff and began checking Jake's vitals.  “Cort, grab that coat rack I saw in the living room.  I need something to hang these IVs from.”

"Is he going to be okay?" Cort asked impatiently.

Pam held up one finger silencing him.  She pumped the cuff up while listening to his heart rate.

"Pam, please!" Cort pleaded.

Pam jerked the stethoscope out of her ears, "Damn it Cort get out of here and do what I say!  I can't work with you standing over my shoulder asking questions every ten seconds!"  She pushed him out of the room and slammed the door in his face.

Cort stepped back a few steps before walking into the living room.  Pulling John’s heavy coat from the rack, he tossed it onto the couch then carried the rack into Jake’s room.  He set it just inside the door then gently closed it.  Walking back into the living room, he dropped into Billy’s old chair.

He still had to tell Pam not only what happened to John, but what happened to Billy. How would she react knowing it was Jake that had killed the thing that used to be her father? 
It can wait,
Cort thought.
It might be selfish of me, but I don’t want her distracted.  I’ll talk to her after Jake is out of the woods.
 She would hate him for it but Cort could live with that.  What he couldn't live with was losing his grandson.

Knowing he had to keep moving, to keep planning or he'd lose it, he picked up the phone and again began dialing.  The rest of the Coalition needed to be informed on what had transpired.  

Ben had to be the first to know, though Cort wasn't sure how he'd handle the news of losing not only his best friend but also his adoptive father.  He punched in the numbers and waited for him to answer. The phone rang and rang without answer.

"Come on Ben," he said into the phone, "answer the damn phone." After the fifteenth ring he finally gave up and pushed the end button.  Next he dialed Talon Parker's number. He picked up after one ring.

"So how did the big hunt go?" Talon asked.

"Talon," Cort said his voice shaking, "Talon . . . John's dead.  At least, I think John's dead."

"What?!" Talon almost yelled into the phone.  In all his years of knowing him Cort had never heard his voice filled with so much emotion. "What happened?  What do you mean you think he's dead?"  Is he or isn't he?"

"I don't know damn it!" Cort yelled at his old friend.  Lowering the phone he tried to calm himself then put the phone back to his ear.  In a much calmer tone, "We ran into two Makers.  Jake thought they were survivors."

"Cort . . ." Talon said, clearly speechless.  Cort heard something being thrown around the room on the other end of the phone.  He'd known Talon his entire life and had never known him to lose his cool like this.  He heard two female voices that could only be Whisper and Diana asking him what was wrong.

"Talon?  Talon, listen to me . . ."

Talon picked the phone back up, his voice filled with rage.  "I'm sorry Cort.  I should have known if Makers were in the area.  But there were no signs.  None at all!  It just looked like a random grunt!"

"Talon, calm down.  There was a grunt there, but that's not all.  The grunt . . . it was Billy Williams,” he paused, “Jake killed him."

Talon was quiet for a long time.  When he finally spoke it was filled with anguish.  "It was a trap Cort.  They set a trap and I led you right into it.  There is no other explanation."

"You can't blame yourself Talon.  There's no way you could have known.”

“Cort,” he said slowly, “what
exactly
did you mean you
think
John is dead?"

Cort cleared his throat, "Well, the thing is, one of the Makers turned him.  Jake got torn up pretty badly.  I got him out as fast as I could and torched the house, but . . . I don't know Talon.   I just don't know.  Jake took his head off with the gun, but when we left he had regenerated and was looking directly at us . . ." he stopped unable to continue.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Talon said taking control of the conversation.  "I'm in Amarillo with the girls right now so it's going to take a couple of hours."

"Thanks Talon."

"Cort.  I'm sorry.  If I had known I never would have sent Jake in there. I just had no idea there were Makers in the area.  Maybe if I had scouted better . . ." he trailed off.  "I'm really sorry.  Is Jake going to be all right?"

"It's not your fault, Talon.  Jake . . . I don't know.  Pam Williams is working on him right now."

"Good god, Pam.  Did you tell her?"

"No.  I didn't.  I'm waiting for her to patch up Jake then I'll break the news."

"I can't say that I blame you.  Her and Billy had a pretty bad falling out after Terry’s death and after Donnie it only got worse.”  

“I feel like a real bastard keeping her in the dark like this, but . . . Talon I don’t know what else to do.”

“Cort listen to me very carefully.  I know you don't want to hear this, but we've got to make damn sure John's dead.  Because if he's not . . ."

"I know Talon.  I know.  Don't worry I've got someone on it."

"I'll be there as soon as I can Cort," Talon said then hung up the phone.

Cort looked down at his watch to see it was now twelve thirty.  He couldn't believe that just a few hours ago they'd all been on the road together.  He leaned back in the chair and finally let the tears come.

Chapter 5

Henry

Outside Patricia, TX

September 10, 8:17pm

The sun was just setting in the evening sky when Captain Henry Anderson turned his black Suburban down the gravel drive.  The still smoking, charred remains of the farmhouse was just coming into view.

He'd been in Dallas when he got the news of a suspected serial killer/arson case in Patricia.  Since then he’d been driving over five hours straight to get there.  On the way he'd received a much more distressing call from a friend.

Several fire trucks sat idly, the firemen wrapping up their hoses.  The Dawson County Sheriff department was on the scene along with deputies from several nearby counties. Also on the scene were about six television news crews.  One of the deputies flagged him down.

"Evening," Henry said, rolling down his window.  "Who's in charge here?"

The young deputy that looked young enough to be Henry’s grandson, leaned against the suburban giving him a nice big go to hell look.  "Sir, this is a closed crime scene,” he said in a bored tone.  “You need to turn your vehicle around and head back the way you came.  We don't have time for lookieloos."

Henry kept a smile plastered on his face, "But you have time for camera crews, right? Doesn't the Sheriff have an election coming up in a couple of months?  That wouldn't have anything to do with it would it?"

The deputy leaned in the window doing his best to intimidate him.  Henry wasn't impressed.  He'd seen his kind a thousand times before.  
Some twenty year-old on a power trip, oh this is going to be fun.  
He always enjoyed knocking them down a peg or two by two simple words, “Texas Ranger.”

"You got a smart mouth old man," the deputy said tipping his gray cowboy hat back and spitting on the ground near Henry’s tire.

The smile faded from Henry's face.  He didn't have time for this.  He moved his light jacket over just enough so the deputy could see his badge.  "Texas Ranger, son.  Now tell me where I can find the man in charge."

"Oh," the deputy said, leaning away from the window, his eyes growing large and his face visibly reddening.  "Excuse me sir.  You'll want to talk to Sheriff Wheeler.  He's the head honcho in this county.  Right now he's over by the barn.  Just follow the, err, camera lights."

"Thank you," Henry nodded.  "Now do me a favor, go tell your boss, if he's not too busy giving interviews that is, that I'll be waiting for him over at the crime scene.  You know, the big smoldering pile of rubble that used to be a house?  He can't miss it.  See if he can find his way away from the bright camera lights and actually do some police work today."

"Yes sir," the Deputy said rushing off toward the cameras.

Henry pulled his Suburban to a stop and climbed out.  Reaching in through his driver side window, he pulled his tan Stetson off the dash and placed it on his head, then pulled his belt back together over his growing gut.  Lastly he strapped his gun belt around his waist.  Driving for hours with the butt of a gun sticking into your side got uncomfortable pretty fast and Henry had pulled his off somewhere around Abilene.

Stretching his legs he walked over the driveway, his black cowboy boots crunching on the gravel beneath.  He ducked under the bright yellow crime scene tape, nodding to a couple of over worked crime scene investigators probably on loan from Lubbock or Midland.  Generators, that powered four big halogen lights illuminating the scene, hummed noisily.

Henry smelled the unmistakable smell of wet, burnt wood fill his nostrils.  He’d seen cases like this over a hundred times throughout his career and that smell still made him slightly nauseous.  "So what do we got boys?" he said to no one in particular.  One of the investigators, dressed in a white jumpsuit covered in black soot, came walking toward him.

"Looks like arson," he said reaching out to shake Henry's hand.  "Good to see you again Lt. Anderson."

Henry couldn't quite remember the man's name but he definitely recognized his face from somewhere.  As he pumped the man's hand his mind raced trying to put a name to the face.  
Walter . . . Luceno, that’s it
!

"Good to see you too Investigator Luceno, been a long time.  Oh and it's Captain now."

"Captain huh?  Well I'll be damned.  Congratulations then,
Captain
Anderson.  Oh and it's
Lead
Investigator Luceno."