The Saffron Malformation (87 page)

             
There was nothing left to do but wait, so he sat on one of the wooden chairs and did just that.  It was a half hour before he heard the vehicles approaching.  Reggie sighed deeply, and rose to his feet.  This was it.  He’d have to regulate their asses, at least long enough to send his message to the others.

             
Quey didn’t feel good about Reggie going off on his own.  He was sitting in the bar on the first floor, at one of the tables, sipping whiskey and listening to some slow jazz.  It helped him think—at least that’s what he let himself believe—but still he warned himself not to let it go too far.  Last thing he needed to be was swaying at a time like this.

             
The truth of it was this whole mess was fraying him and though he knew the alcohol wasn’t keeping him together it was making the process bearable.  He wasn’t cut out for this, and more importantly he didn’t want it.  He wasn’t a soldier.  He was a moonshiner at best and a scared little kid who’d lost his parents and was struggling to find a means to survive at worst.

             
‘I can’t do this,’ he told himself silently.

             
He wished Dusty was there with him, and for a moment he allowed himself to imagine that he was.  ‘What would you do old friend,’ he thought.  ‘Make a joke and convince me it was all going to work out,’ he answered for the man who never would again.

             
That was the thing he envied most about Dusty.  He always believed everything was going to work out.  Funny thing was he truly never believed he was going to die.  Quey had a chuckle at that.  “We’ll come out okay,” Dusty had said countless times after Quey voiced some concern about whatever bit of shadiness they were about to pull.  “Might get scraped up a bit, but it’ll work out.”

             
Quey took another drink and he felt his sheet vibrate in his pocket.  Pulling it free he looked at the screen and saw he had a new message from Reggie.  It puzzled him a bit that the big man would send him an e-mail instead of calling directly but he supposed it didn’t matter.  He unfolded the sheet, tapped the message and began to read through it.  It took him a tick to realize what it was saying.

              Well, I’m out here at the farmhouse and as Dusty used to say, I got my dick in a bit of a lion’s mouth.  We were right about it being a trap and now I’m snared.  Shouldn’t be long now before this thing comes to an end.  I hope you’re reading this because if you are then at least the mission was successful.

             
I don’t think I’m coming back from this one.

             
So you know, I found Rain.  She was down in the basement.  I’ll go ahead and tell you she’s dead, better to rip that bandage off quick I think before we get to the grit of it.  She was tortured.  I think they set that Sticklan Stone guy on her.  Sicko made a video of it but he left it behind.  I attached it and I know you don’t want to but you need to watch.  You need to know what she told them.  I’m not going to lie to you old friend, its fucking brutal.  Couldn’t watch it for long myself but I’m sitting in a room with the aftermath and it makes me glad I don’t have to.

             
Be strong brother.  I know you waver when it comes to this stuff, but you shouldn’t.  There’s a reason we follow you into lions dens and the bellies of beasts.  Believe that, because you have to.  For Rachel and Natalie and the kids.  For me and Rain and Dusty, do your best to carry this through.  As it happens, I find myself here looking back and you know what?  It’s been a good run.

             
Do this right brother.  Keep ‘em safe.

             
Quey felt his chest tighten and his guts churn.  The tears wanted to come but there was too much anger blocking their way.  Rain was dead, Reggie assured him, and near as well assured him the big man wasn’t coming back himself.

             
‘I’m nothing,’ Quey thought as he went through the list of the dead.  Four from his crew if you counted Railen—and he would.  And how many others?  How many at Fen Quada?  How many at the other towns the brood hit in their pursuit of him?  ‘Who am I?’ he pondered, ‘to warrant all these bodies.’

             
He reached for his glass then smacked it with the palm of his hand.  Long after it shattered against the wall he felt the sting on the tender flesh below his fingers.

             
“Just a fucking moonshiner,” he muttered.

             
‘I do not want this.’

             
It swarmed through his head, pawing at him with hands that meant to drag him down into despair.  He didn’t let them.  Tempting as it may have been, he couldn’t just lie down.  Railen had died so as not to slow them down, to give them a chance at escaping Fen Quada.  Dusty had fallen in a fight for their lives.  Reggie had sacrificed himself to bring them the knowledge of what happened to Rain and what she told them.

             
Quey looked down at the sheet on the table and saw the attachment.

             
He wished he hadn’t tossed his glass for a moment.  Reggie was right.  He needed to suck it up and press forward.  He couldn’t let all those bodies be a weight that stopped him.

             
Quey stood and collected his sheet.  He swayed a bit when he first started walking, but how much of that was from booze and how much was from something else he could not say.

             
The elevator ride to the third floor passed without notice as his mind was elsewhere, lingering on times long gone.  The doors opened on the hallway, an elaborately painted tunnel he dreaded to walk down.  His feet moved slowly and as he came to the main room he found what he expected, the remnants of his crew scattered about.  Leone and Amber were on the couch while Natalie and Rachel sat at the table talking quietly.  When they noticed him they stopped and stared, arrested by the woe that slathered his face.

             
“What is it?” Rachel asked.

             
Leone and Amber looked over the back of the sofa.  Leone…

             
Quey met his eyes and he did his best to hold fast.  Tears shimmered but he gave them no voice and didn’t allow them to fall.  His efforts were for naught, as he still gave it away without a word and he watched the boy’s face melt into dread.  “I got a message,” his voice was too hollow.  There was nothing he could muster to change that, no deep reservoir of strength for him to draw on.  He was sapped, so he did the best he could.  “It was from Reggie.  Leone…” he tried to find a way to begin.

             
The boy was already shaking his head.  Rachel’s hand had moved to her mouth and her eyes began to shimmer as she watched Quey, who seemed fragile as burnt paper standing in the entryway.  Natalie swallowed hard and looked at the boy.

             
“Reggie found her,” he began and when he saw the bit of hope glimmer across the boy’s face he knew they were the wrong words.  They would make the ones that followed all the more cruel.  “She’s dead,” he blurted.

             
Natalie was on her feet and to Leone before he had even registered what he’d heard.  Quey saw the boy’s eyes glance about and his breathing change as his heart raced and he tried to understand.  His eyes flooded with tears and his shoulders heaved.  It felt like someone was squeezing his chest.  “What? No.  What?” the boy managed.  This was a dream, his mind tried to convince him.  A dream of a different life.  He was lost in a different reality and he needed to find his way back to the proper one.

             
Natalie laid her hands on his shoulders.

             
“I’m sorry Leone,” Quey told him, but those were the wrong words too.

             
“No, she’s okay.  I thought…” the world seemed to spin around him, though maybe it was more like a spiral because with every moment that passed everything seemed further away.  “She’s going to come back.  She wouldn’t just…”

             
“She didn’t,” Quey said.  “She fought.”  He meant to say more but couldn’t, not without losing himself in his own tears, and that was the last thing the boy needed to see.

             
He shrugged Natalie’s hands off his shoulders.  “How?” the boy asked.

             
Quey looked at him.

             
“How,” he demanded.

             
Leone reminded him of himself at that age, standing in a hospital watching his parents slowly rot away in adjacent beds.  Her’s was by the window because she liked to watch the trees and feel the fresh breeze.  He had the remote because she’d just tell him to turn on whatever he liked anyhow.  Quey had posed a similar question to the doctors then and he’d been fed the bullshit Blue Moon had written for them.  It had taken years of independent research to learn the truth, and though in some ways it made things worse, he was never satisfied until he heard it.

             
“Sticklan Stone,” Quey told the boy and it was enough.

             
Leone looked toward the ground nodding.  “It was horrible?”

             
“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Natalie assured him.

             
“You know the man,” Quey blurted.

             
Leone had his own memories of his own dealings with Mr. Stone.  They rushed in and broke his heart.

             
“Quey,” Natalie snapped.

             
Quey glared at her and barked, “He doesn’t want comfort, and if he did lies won’t give it to him.  Someone dies you want to know the truth.”

             
“That’s still no reason to,” was as far as Natalie got.

             
“Thank you,” Leone gathered himself long enough to say.  He met Quey’s eyes for a brief moment and then what strength he’d mustered left him.  His face scrunched and tears spilled and as the first sobs came he dashed down the hall to his bed.

             
The room had a lot in common with a tomb for a spell.

             
“What about Reggie?” Natalie finally asked.

             
Quey looked at her.

             
“It’s on the news,” Rachel said from the table.  They looked at her and saw she was looking down at her device.  “Screen to news feed, Saffron watch,” she said.  The holoscreen across the room flashed and then there was a page with a list of stories, each had a picture and brief description to go with.  “The one about the shootout,” she added and the screen flashed again.

             
The reporter was an attractive young blonde woman in a sensible blouse and jacket.  “Earlier today Saffron Security forces engaged a cell of the Anti-corps terrorist group in a firefight that left eight soldiers dead, and three wounded.  This apparently was a safe house,” a picture of it appeared over the woman’s shoulder, “the group was using as a base to plan and engage in terrorist activities.  We go now, to Richter Crow, C.E.O of Saffron’s operations.”

             
Richter Crow stood tall and stone-faced in his dark blue suit and tie.  His hands shuffled through some papers on the podium in front of him.

             
“Piece of shit,” Rachel muttered.  Quey glanced to her and nodded once.

“As many of you have heard there was a shootout between our security forces and the terrorist group calling themselves Anti-corps.  I am here to tell you that this small cell was a branch of a much larger group operating right here on continent.  It is believed, given the information we’ve gathered from the house and other intelligence collected over the years, that this group has been active for quite some time and is believed to currently be hiding in the wastes.”

              “Son of a bitch,” Quey said.

             
Leone had heard his father’s voice, even through his door and over his sobs and now he was walking back into the room, his eyes trained on the holographic image of his father.

             
“On a personal note, there are aspects of this operation that have not been made public.”  The man paused and brought a hand to his eyes, as if wiping tears.  “Many of you know my son’s, Gren and Voz.”  Another pause.  “Most of you don’t know my younger children as I have gone to great lengths to keep them from the media.  I have a daughter, Viona, and a son Leone.  Last week they were on holiday in Beleuge, enjoying the museums and taking in the sights, when they were taken.  Taken by Anti-corps in an attempt to scare us into backing down our vigorous pursuit.  Earlier today, I learned that Viona was found in this house.  The extent of the brutality used against her...”

             
Quey realized too late what was coming, he’d given Richter Crow too much credit, assuming there was a glimmer of humanity in the man, something that would keep him from using her this way.  He moved toward Leone but it was too late, the image of Rain’s horribly damaged body appeared on the screen.