One Blood (19 page)

Amir squinted at the monitor. He did not need any more surprises—it was bad enough that they’d lost the girl. He glanced at his watch—8:05 a.m. Good. Lincoln should be free by now.

Amir’s cell phone vibrated on his hip. His calm evaporated when he read the truncated text: “Somebody followed us…”

Amir spun around to look at the monitors. Moose was at the front gate, on his back, with his hands covering his throat in a choking gesture. Spouts of what looked like oil spurted between his locked fingers. Four men stepped over Moose’s body and scaled the gate.

Amir’s eyes opened wide as he yelled, “Ambush!”

* * * * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Lake City, LA

“
There you are, maufucka.”

Brandon was slowly regaining consciousness. The world had exploded all around him as the building was hit from all sides with a barrage of careening bullets.

“
Get the fuck up!”

Brandon was jerked to his knees and he felt his shoulder pop out of the socket. He was pushed against the wall.

His oppressor ducked down saying, “Gotta get the fuck up outta here.” He poked at Brandon’s dislocated shoulder with his gun. “Trump! Salsa!”

Gunfire was the only response.

“
There a back way outta here?”

Brandon shook his head.

“
Fuck! Okay…when I say, we gonna bust up outta here.”

Brandon knew this was a horrible idea, but he was in too much pain to fight back. He was yanked to his feet as he contemplated the final minutes of his life.

Using Brandon as a shield, the man shoved him toward the double doors. Death awaited them on the other side.

Brandon mouthed the Lord’s Prayer.

“
Our Father
,”

Bullets obliterated the front windows to the left of the main entrance. Shards of flying glass cut into Brandon’s cheek.

“
Which Art In Heaven,”

The man checked his clip and safety.

“
Hallowed Be Thy Name,”

Car doors slammed shut. Men yelled at each other to surround the building.

“
Thy Kingdom Come, Thy Will Be Done, In Earth As It Is In Heaven,”

The man commanded Brandon to kick the doors open.

“
Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread,”

Sunlight blinded Brandon as the doors burst open into the day. He stared up into the mournful blue sky.

“
And Forgive Us Our Trespasses, As We Forgive Them That Trespass Against Us,”

His captor once again yelled, “Trump! Salsa!” Brandon saw two men lying nearly on top of each other, their weapons in death clutches as blood pooled around them.

“
Lead Us Not Into Temptation, But Deliver Us From Evil,”

Shorty appeared from underneath the bullet-laden Oldsmobile. Their eyes met for a long moment. Then Shorty ran across the field as the man pushed Brandon toward the car, shooting in every direction.

“
For Thine Is The Kingdom,”

Shorty was decapitated by a shotgun blast at close range.

“
And The Power,”

A burning sensation like ten hot irons tore open the flesh of Brandon’s shoulder.

“
And The Glory,”

They were at the car, opening the doors.

“
For Ever And Ever,”

The man pushed Brandon into the passenger seat and started the car. Brandon closed his eyes as they plowed through the fence surrounding Simmons Park.

“
Amen.”

* * * * *

Lake City, LA

Karen slept for an indeterminable length of time after she called her father. The boy, Brandon, who she barely remembered, had left her a note that he went out for food so she nodded off again. When she opened her eyes the second time, she was looking at the face of her dead brother.

Kristopher smiled a strange, sad smile, his blue eyes full of pity and shame. Kneeling next to her, he blew the hair from her eyes. Karen tried to speak but Kristopher put one finger over her lips and shook his head.

He motioned for Karen to follow him out of the house and they walked, side by side, brother and sister reunited.

Until the sky exploded in a thunderous cacophony of gunfire.

Karen fell into a ditch on the side of the road and put her face in the dewy grass, hands covering her ears. The gunfire boomed for what seemed like forever, but the silence that followed was far more ominous.

Kristopher beckoned for Karen to get up, but she was terrified. Crawling on her hands and knees, she sought refuge in her brother’s arms. With his help, she found the strength to rise.

Some part of her knew this couldn’t possibly be real, but she could smell her brother and feel his essence.

A car rattled their way. Kristopher looked at Karen.

“
Trust him,”
she heard him say in her head. Then he faded away.

Through tears Karen watched a burgundy Oldsmobile approach. It looked like it had been used for target practice. Then she saw Flashlight Man’s eyes and mouth widen in surprise and anger. The car skidded to a stop just a few feet away.

Kristopher’s words rang in her ears as she locked eyes with Brandon clutching his arm in the passenger seat.

Trust him.

* * * * *

Lake City, LA

With arrest or death imminent, Amir took one confused moment to wonder how the hell they’d been found out. Then he sprung into action. He picked up his military issue UZI and hunkered down.

The front gate exploded in a whine of metal. Amir heard the unmistakable bark of bullets leaping from the muzzles of Zire and Reem’s street sweeper shotguns. He knew they would rather die than go to prison.

He wished it was that easy for him.

Got to stay patient. Let them get past the first line of defense, waste some ammo, and then get what I’ve got for them.

Crouching low, Amir switched off the safety on his weapon. A terrific boom shook him to the floor.

What the fuck was that?

Amir thought of his mother’s beautiful face and his resolve hardened. No matter what happened, he could not die before fulfilling his mission.

The intruders fired incessantly at the school, but Amir was at peace.

Come and get it, boys.

* * * * *

Angola, LA

Panama X’s smile dissolved into a grimace as the crowd noise grew into an uproar outside the prison gates. On the television monitor outside of his cell, the local news interrupted
The Price is Right
to broadcast the Governor’s much-anticipated press conference. The reporter was speculating about what the Governor was going to address.

Panama X wondered the same thing.

He watched Randy Lafitte step out of the Louisiana State Capitol Building and approach the podium at the top of the famous stairwell. Panama X was struck by how ragged the man looked after eight turbulent years in office. Then he saw something only he could see. Randy Lafitte was infected. He’d had an encounter with a baka. But how?

Amir.

His son apparently had changed the plan.

It still might not be too late.

Lafitte opened with, “People of Louisiana…”

The prison alarms sounded. Gunshots rang out. There was screaming.

Panama X stared at Randy Lafitte on the television monitor and chanted under his breath.

* * * * *

Baton Rouge, LA

“
People of Louisiana,” Randy began, glancing down at his prepared remarks. “I called this press conference so I could address several topics of interest and put some rumors to rest.” His cell phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. “Regarding rumors that my daughter has been kidnapped,” he said, lips drawn in a tight smile, “those rumors are…unfortunately true.” He clenched and unclenched his fist in his pocket. “My daughter, Karen, was kidnapped two days ago. The good news is that she was returned to us safe and sound this morning. She’s currently in the care of some of the best doctors in this great state of Louisiana.

“
She’s fine, but the people responsible will pay dearly for this transgression of the law and invasion of my family.” A black eagle of fear spread wings inside his chest. “The mastermind behind this deplorable act is already in custody. Death row inmate Malcolm Wright, also known as Panama X, a man convicted of killing thirty-two innocent people in a botched assassination attempt, planned the kidnapping of my daughter to try and pressure me into granting a stay of execution. Well, I do not take kindly to being blackmailed. Malcolm Wright lost his latest appeal to the Supreme Court and an execution date will be set as soon as the paperwork clears. My policy of swift justice for deplorable criminals like this is in full effect.”

Randy’s desire to watch Malcolm Wright in his death throes was nearly as great as his desire to see Karen alive and well again.

“
I have to thank Chief Bill Edwards and the entire Lake City Police Department for their hard work during this investigation. Moving on, it appears that Hurricane Isaac will make landfall to the west of Baton Rouge sometime between eight and ten o’clock this evening, though, as we all know, this storm could change direction at any time. The President has declared states of emergency for Texas, Louisiana, and Mississippi.

“
Evacuation plans are in effect for Baton Rouge and surrounding areas. Evacuation teams are going door to door passing out hurricane preparedness pamphlets and encouraging the people in the low lying areas to leave. I urge everyone to take the necessary precautions. Remember, you can replace material things, but you can’t replace life.”

He felt the crowd stirring with nervous energy.

An image of Kristopher flashed in his mind. “Last, but certainly not least, is the question of why I have chosen to show Lincoln Baker clemency. The answer is not as difficult as you may expect. I’ve recently reviewed new evidence proving Mr. Baker’s innocence. This information was also reviewed by the Louisiana Pardon Board, which recently convened to go over the case. They have agreed that Mr. Baker should be released immediately and I cannot, in good conscience, let my personal feelings get in the way of doing the right thing. The moral thing.”

Randy was immediately pelted by a barrage of questions from the cadre of reporters.

Enjoy your brief freedom, Lincoln. Because it’s all going to be over for you soon.

* * * * *

Angola, LA

The reporters were lined up like a firing squad just outside the exit. They reminded Lincoln of a kennel of rabid dogs barking for attention. Lincoln stared past them at a woman holding up a sign. Her expression was so frantic, Lincoln’s pulse jumped.

He squinted trying to read the black lettering across white poster board. It said:
DEAD MAN WALKING

What the fuck?

Lincoln felt a whoosh of air by his right ear. A bullet had just narrowly missed his head. A second bullet hit home and imaginary hands pushed Lincoln face forward.

Blood seeped from the exit wound in his left shoulder. Chaos filled the air as people scattered, desperately trying to get away from the shooting. Some even ran toward the prison as if it were a safe haven.

Lincoln got to his feet and made a dash for the front gate, more determined than ever to get the hell out of Angola once and for all. He got within reach of the gate when he was shot again—this time through the left bicep. Lincoln lost his balance and fell to the concrete, his skull bouncing off the pavement.

White lights of pain burst in his field of vision and he closed his eyes against them. With his last lunge, he’d made it just outside the prison gates, but things had changed. The gate in front of him looked nothing like a prison gate; in fact, it resembled another gate he knew all too well. Lincoln tilted his head skyward. He read the bullet-riddled, square yellow sign posted a few feet above his head:

Welcome to Simmons Park.

No Cursing.

No Fighting.

No Horseplay.

No Fence Climbing.

Have Fun
!

The concrete had morphed into gravel. Weeds sprouted through in several places. The alarms had stopped. There was no more screaming.