Sic Semper Tyrannis (50 page)

And then something else.

Erik saw a figure emerge from around the corner of the cabin opposite them and skid to a stop in the loose gravel.  The man was armed only with a pistol and a radio, his eyes locked on the front of the women's cabin.

Stepanovich.

Erik's blood ran cold and time slowed to a crawl.  Erik released Brin from his grasp and ignored her shriek of protest.  He launched himself around the corner at Stepanovich, the Russian who had orchestrated his capture slaughtered the prisoners.   He had allowed his men to… With Brin…

Stepanovich ran toward the slaughter in front of the women’s cabin in slow motion.  Erik had just 20 feet to cross before vengeance would be his at last.  He started to bring his pistol up.  At the same time, Stepanovich caught his movement and those cold eyes swung to lock on Erik's.  Stepanovich stumbled and slowed to a stop as he raised his own pistol.  He shouted something at Erik in Russian.

Before either of them could get a shot off, dozens of freed American prisoners poured around the corner and swept Stepanovich away like a twig on a raging river.  The roar of their combined fury drowned out even the AK-47s. Erik paused for the briefest of moments to watch the tidal wave of anger and hate crash into the rear of the Russian line.

The Russians never had a chance.  The enraged American prisoners ripped the outnumbered guards to pieces.  As the carnage intensified, Erik sought out Stepanovich.  He brought his pistol up in a two-handed grip as he spun around and checked every angle.

Stepanovich was gone.

Then Brin was at his side:  "Snap out of it, Erik, we've got to get Susan and the kids!"

She led the way around the remains of the administration building to one of the smaller cabins in the prison.  Erik was right on her heels and only fired his weapon at a lone Russian who appeared around the corner and tried to get off a shot at Brin.  Erik wasn’t the best marksman in the world and he’d been running—the shot went wide and the Russian went down clutching his shoulder where it met his neck.  His rifle fell in the middle of the walkway as he screamed.  Brin reach the front door but Erik paused to scoop up the AK-47 before he followed.

Erik burst through the open door pistol first.  He fully expected another Russian guard.  Brin was close on his heels, but just far enough back to avoid injury when a man jumped out of the shadows and slammed something hard against Erik's head.  As he fell, he at least knew that she had not been hit.  Erik clattered to the ground, the rifle and pistol flung across the dirty wooden floor.  He landed painfully on his side and blinked away bright spots in his vision for a few seconds.  He heard the sounds of a struggle and a woman screamed.  It sounded like Susan.

Erik rolled over on his back and blinked through the pain as he looked up at the darkened ceiling.  His hands slapped the floor as he looked for a weapon.  A thunderous crash of gunfire erupted and the room was lit like daylight for a split-second.  Erik snapped back to his senses and scrambled to his feet.

Stepanovich took a step back from Susan.  She held her hands to her mouth.  As Stepanovich continued to move back, Erik saw Ted's eldest son, Mark, crumpled in a heap on the ground.  He wasn’t moving.  Stepanovich looked down at the young body and sneered.  Erik saw his chance and charged, screaming his rage.

Susan shrieked and slapped at Stepanovich as he tried to raise his gun.   He fired once at her before he attempted to get a bead on Erik.  He was too slow.  Erik crashed into him and sent both of them to the floor in a heap of fists and curses.

A white-hot fury consumed Erik as his hands sought Stepanovich’s throat.  The Russian was nothing if not well-trained, though, and quickly slipped both of his hands in between Erik's.  With a grunt of satisfaction, the prison camp commander spread his arms in a whip-like motion, knocking Erik's grip aside.  At the same time he raised one leg and kneed Erik in the stomach—it was enough to force the air out of his lungs in a whoosh and cause him to roll aside. 

Erik ignored the pain in his stomach as he continued his roll and bounced up on his feet, gasping for breath. Stepanovich stood up and fumbled at his belt.  Erik saw he was trying to pull a knife free.  Thinking only of keeping himself between the Russian and Brin, he flung himself once more at Stepanovich.

He felt a satisfying crunch and shooting pain in his left hand as the knuckles of his fist connected with Stepanovich’s right cheek.  The Russian grunted as his head snapped back, but instead of falling over he latched his free hand on Erik's wrist and pulled him closer as the knife exited the sheath on his hip.

Erik was bigger and he knew he was stronger with a longer wingspan.  However, Stepanovich had pulled him in close and now Erik knew a knife was coming for his midsection.  His last option was to use his head. 

As he fell forward he swung down with all the strength in his neck and shoulders and connected his forehead with the bridge of Stepanovich’s nose.  The Russian howled in pain and fell against the floor.  Erik rocked back on his heels as the world spun around him.  He’d never hit someone with a head butt before and it felt like he’d just run face first into a concrete wall.  Idly, he wondered if he'd done it right.

As the world around him came into focus again, he could see the Russian crouched before him.   Blood ran freely down his face in a crimson stream as he clawed at the pistol on the ground.  An evil sneer spread across his lips as he took aim at Erik's face.

Before he could pull the trigger, Susan crashed into his side and sent them both back to the floor.  Now it was Erik's chance to grab the weapon.  In one smooth motion he reached out, scooped it up and got to his feet. 

"Get out of the way, Susan!" yelled Erik. 

Susan was beyond hearing.  She screamed, clawing at Stepanovich’s face.  She snapped at him with her teeth.  It was like watching a honey badger attack a lion.  She had just witnessed her son gunned down right in front of her—Erik could not imagine the rage that drove her forward. 

Susan wrapped her hands around Stepanovich’s neck as he tried to knock her aside.  Despite the obvious size mis-match, she attempted to smash the back of his head against the floor as she screamed through a flood of tears.

Erik shifted his gaze off the fight for a moment and quickly took in the scene around him.  He saw the body of Ted’s son.  Mark hadn’t moved and a dark stain had spread underneath his shoulder.  Behind him, the two younger kids held each other and cried.  He didn't see were Brin had gone, but she wasn't near the Russian and that was good enough.

Erik tried to adjust his angle so that he could take a shot without injuring Susan, but she refused to cooperate.  Every time Stepanovich shoved her away, she launched herself at him again.  She kicked, slapped, and clawed at his face.  Stepanovich had raised his arms like a boxer, shielding his head to conserve his strength.  He tensed, coiled like a spring and Erik knew it wouldn’t be much longer before he struck back at Susan.  The hurricane of blows that rained down on his face and chest would have to abate soon—no one could keep that up for long.

Then it happened.  Stepanovich whipped one hand out like a snake and grabbed hold of a clump of Susan’s matted hair.  She gasped in surprise as he yanked back and delivered a punch with his other hand directly to her neck. 

In triumph, Stepanovich threw her off him like a blanket and kicked her in the stomach, hard.  Susan crashed into a cot next to the far wall and lay still.  Stepanovich turned toward Erik and froze when he saw the barrel of the pistol just a few feet from his own face.  A smile began to form on his face and he slowly wiped some of the blood from his chin with the back of his hand.  He coughed, spat blood on the floor, and chuckled.

"Not special forces, eh?" he grunted.

Erik thumbed the hammer back on the pistol and leaned in closer, willing himself to pull the trigger.  He couldn't understand why he hadn't already done so.  Something held him back.  Some thought in the back of his mind fought through the anger and the fury that drove him to destroy this vile creature.   It warned him that if he pulled the trigger right now, if he applied just a few ounces of pressure and eviscerated the Russian’s head with a blast from the pistol, he would become no better than that which he sought to destroy.  The man was unarmed and beaten half to death. 

Erik argued with himself. 
Shooting him now is no different than killing that convict back at the Freehold.  Just pull the damn trigger!

His hesitation was enough to give a brief moment of confidence to the Russian.  "You know, your wife—"

The tremendous retort of an AK-47 erupted over Erik’s shoulder and he flinched as the entire cabin lit up from the muzzle flash.  Three shots were fired, but only one connected with the Russian’s chest.  It pinned him to the floor on his back.  A surprised look passed on his face as he collapsed.  Two clean circles of light appeared in the wall behind him.  Erik whirled and dropped to a knee as he took aim at the new threat.

Before him, Brin held an AK-47 with trembling arms.   A tendril of smoke slithered up into the air from the end of the barrel.  The look on her face was not anger, or even fear.  It was the look Erik would assume someone might have when having to put down a rabid dog.  Cold, not necessarily ruthless, but efficient. 

He reached out to her.  “Brin?  Hey, sweetie, can you—”

Brin's face darkened and she brushed past Erik, bringing the rifle up to her shoulder.  She screamed, a sound of such hatred that Erik would never have assumed
possible
from his wife.  The AK-47 erupted into light and noise.  She fired over and over again, and emptied the entire clip into the twitching body of what was left of Captain Stepanovich. 

Erik was stunned and only snapped back into action when he heard the
click
that signaled the banana-shaped magazine on the AK-47 had emptied.  Brin still shrieked her outrage and shook the rifle at Stepanovich’s body as if she still fired.  Erik got up and slowly placed a hand on top of the warm barrel.   He holstered his pistol and gently cupped his wife's face with his throbbing left hand.  Something in there was badly bruised, if not broken.  He shoved the thought aside and focused on Brin.  She wouldn’t look at him and he had to slowly apply pressure to his hand to turn her head in order to see the tears in her eyes.

Her breathing was fast and shallow—he could see sweat on her forehead.  The primal rage that made her eyes almost glow as she dispatched Stepanovich faded and serene coolness returned.  She blinked once, then twice, and finally recognized her husband before her.  She turned her head back to the rifle and let go of it as if it had been a poisonous snake.  She took a step back, and one hand went to her mouth as she gasped at the sight of what she had done.

Erik pulled her to him and embraced her in a tight hug, until she finally wrapped her arms around him and hugged back.  Over the top of her head he watched as the children rushed to their mother.

"Momma?" squeaked Junior.  His high pitched toddler's voice brought Erik back to the room and the Freehold—it seemed like a lifetime ago—when he had found Susan shot in the stomach.

"Mommy?  Can you hear me?" asked Ted's daughter, Lindsey, in a shaky voice.

Brin gently removed herself from Erik's embrace in order to reach Susan.  She carefully rolled her friend over and checked for a pulse.

"I'm alive," groaned Susan.  "But my baby…"

Erik knelt and placed a hand on Mark’s throat.  He rolled the youth onto his back and saw the finality of the situation.  Not at all sure what to do, Erik gently moved his hand over Mark’s smooth face and closed his eyes.  He looked up at Brin and shook his head slightly.

Lindsey knew exactly what that meant and began to cry.  Brin bent down and whispered something in Susan’s ear and then hugged her friend.  The two women wept together.  Susan moaned again, her grief pouring out of her in a low undulating wave.

An explosion outside jarred Erik's mind back to the escape.  He dashed to the open door and peeked around the corner as more freed American soldiers rushed by screaming for revenge. 

The crack of hunting rifles now completely drowned out the bark of AK-47s.   The battle seemed to be closer—or Erik's hearing had been damaged from the close quarters combat—he couldn't tell which. 

Then he heard the tell-tale
whump-whump-whump
of the BTR’s main gun.  Erik turned back toward the women and children inside the cabin.

"Brin!  Can Susan walk?  We've got to go—
now!
  This is gonna be our only chance!"

Brin helped Susan get to her feet and checked her blood-stained shoulder.  "She's been shot!"

"I can make it," said Susan through gritted teeth.  "I've got to find Ted."

Erik could see the edge of the forest not far in the distance.  He bent down and gently lifted Mark.  Erik grimaced as he saw how emaciated Ted's children had become on the strict rationing of the Russians.  Mark, who would been a robust 12-year old, now felt little more than a sack of potatoes in his arms.  Erik’s hands grew slick with Mark’s blood.  He clenched his jaw. 
Mission first.

"Everybody follow me—we’re going to get out of here.  Kids, we’re going to go find your daddy.  Okay?"

He was rewarded by a blank, bloodshot stare from Lindsey and a slow nod from Junior.  They moved next to him and Teddy gripped the side of Erik's pants.  Erik tried smiled him, but worried that with all the dirt, blood, and grime smeared on his face he might look like some sort of nightmare.