United States Of Apocalypse (22 page)

“Something like that. But she was still surrounded by kids.”

“That’s why you ratted on the most dangerous thug in New York?”

“Pembroke is insane. He’d have killed everyone in here, and still might, to get his tin crown. Say what you will, but I saw those families, and the thought of me being on the side that killed them didn’t sit well. I brokered a deal that got you out of this shit storm. End of story.”

“And where do you think I’m going to go? You think because I didn’t know anything about your boneheaded move, Pembroke isn’t going to put me in an acid wash?”

“Leave the state. Leave the country if you can. I bought you a chance.”

“Yeah, with your life.”

“Don’t give me that crap. If you’d seen what I had, you would have done the same thing. Fuck man, why do they put these things in nuclear-proof packaging?” Mike was struggling to open up a plastic sleeve labeled Tuna Casserole.

Tynes grabbed it out of his hands and tore it as easily as if it were made from tissue paper.

“Thanks. I must have got it started.” Mike was hastily squeezing the contents into his mouth like an over-sized tube of toothpaste when Sergeant Yonts came back in.

“You two know how to shoot?” Sergeant Yonts handed them both M16s and three full magazines.

Mike nodded dumbly, a noodle falling from his mouth and smacking wetly on the floor.

“I was a cop,” Tynes answered.

“My father was a cop,” Yonts answered. “He used to bring me to the range all the time with some of his police buddies. A good number of them couldn’t hit the paper from fifteen yards.”

“I can shoot.”

“And you?”

“I’m Mike.”

“What’s with your friend? Is he ‘special needs?’”

“The jury’s still out on that, but he can shoot.”

“Let’s go then.” They were not quite running, but the pace was brisk.

“You’re not in the Guard are you?” She didn’t wait for Mike to respond before asking the next question. “How do you know the colonel?”

“I’m his illegitimate son,” Mike said, removing his eyes from the soldier’s backside. “And this is my cousin on my brother’s side.”

“Uh huh. I want you up on the roof of the barracks. This overlooks the least likely avenue of approach. It should be far enough from the main action to keep you two out of trouble. Corporal Hernandez is up there. He’s in charge. Private Delano is a medic. If either of you break a nail or something, talk to him.”

“And where are you going?” Mike asked.

“Where I’m needed.”

Mike almost said she was needed with him until Tynes, sensing Mike’s response, elbowed him.

“Fuck, man,” Mike said, rubbing his ribcage. “Will you try and remember you’re like seven times the size of us puny humans before you start smacking me around?”

“Quit your bitching; we’re alone. Have you maybe been thinking of an exit strategy? I’m not going to go walk off into the sunset while they put you in front of a wall.”

“I think that door has been closed.” The roar of engines could be heard over the barking of orders being delivered to various points along the Guard line. “Holy shit.” Mike was looking down the street at a long line of trucks and cars, and he thought he caught a glimpse of a SWAT tactical vehicle or two.

“Looks like your sergeant miscalculated this particular approach.”

“You think she’s mine?”

Tynes looked at Mike queerly. “You have a warped sense of priorities, my friend. There’s a good chance Pembroke’s men will kill us, or if we win, the colonel kills you, and yet you’re still thinking about that woman?”

“Seems to me I have all my priorities in order, and you just called me friend, by the way.”

“Figure of speech. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“It’s just nice to know you care.”

“We’re going to need more ammunition.”

Ten guardsmen joined them on the roof. Mike walked over and grabbed an ammo can without saying a word.

“I’ll say one thing, man; you have balls of steel.”

“What are they going to do? Kill me? Seems like they’d have to get in line.” Mike put the box down between them.

Tynes shook his head. Vehicles kept coming, the lead ones, which were heavy dump trucks, stopping within fifty yards of the entire structure on all sides.

“This is well choreographed.” Tynes looked around.

“Got to be a thousand or more cars.” Mike did not like the looks of this. “That’s Pembroke’s limo.” A car had gone around one of the trucks and was approaching slowly. A white flag was tied to the antenna. “I could just nail Pembroke and this would all be over.”

“He’s coming under a white flag.”

“Cancer comes in a white-wrapped cigarette. Wouldn’t it just be better to stomp it under your heel?”

“It’s strange to me when you actually make sense. You set a bad precedent firing on a truce though, or firing at all for that matter.”

“Don’t care. My life hangs in the balance and maybe the lives of everyone in this compound.”

“Including the sergeant.”

“Mostly the sergeant.”

“Nice to know where I stand.”

“Hey man, in the top one hundred people in my life, you almost crack the list.” Mike smiled.

“Something’s happening.” They both watched as the sunroof opened.

“It’s Murkediem,” Mike said resignedly, looking through the iron sights.

“National Guard Squadron Fifty-Four!” Murkediem shouted through a bullhorn.

“You think Pembroke’s in that car?” Mike asked.

“You know the man better than anybody here. What do you think?”

“I think I’d like to pepper that limo with as many rounds as I can and hope for the best before they get out of range. But kings don’t generally come out to the front. I’m thinking he’s holed up in one of those skyscrapers overlooking the entire thing. Shooting Murke wouldn’t exactly ruin my day either, though.”

“Hear him out at least.” Mike did a double take when he realized it was the sergeant.

“National Guard Squadron Fifty-Four,” he repeated. “I have been sent here as an ambassador for his Lordship David Pembroke.”

“What an arrogant bastard,” Tynes said.

“I offer you one chance, and one chance only, to prevent any bloodshed on either side and the annihilation of your facility.”

Jeers and boos arose from the guards’ defensive emplacements.

“Quiet!” boomed over the speaker system throughout the compound. The colonel was apparently listening to the potential usurpers demands. “What are your terms?” the colonel asked.

“First, his Lordship has requested that you hand over Michael Talbot and Officer Lawrence Tynes.”

Sergeant Yonts looked over to the pair. “That’s you two, I assume?”

“Depends,” Mike answered.

“On?” she asked.

“On whether or not the colonel capitulates to their demands.”

“He won’t.”

“Then I’m Mike and this big guy here is Lawrence.” Mike extended his hand. The sergeant did not take it.

“How many times have we been through this, Mike? My mother called me Lawrence. Everyone else got punched in the face until they figured it out.”

“Did any of them live?”

“Apparently you did, but not without concussive effects.”

“I’m trying to listen,” the sergeant shushed.

“I will think on this,” the colonel responded. “What next?”

“Once we have those two in our care—”

“Care my ass, more like a body bag,” Mike replied.

“Shut up,” Tynes and the sergeant hissed in unison.

“You, and everyone in there, will come out without their weapons.”

“And what will happen to us?”

“Happen? Nothing. You will be free to go wherever you please.”

“What assurances do I have of my people’s safety?”

“Why, Lord Pembroke’s word, of course,” he said, as if to question that were asinine.

“Murkediem is a psychopath. I watched him stick a knife in a man’s eyeball because of a bet. They’re as close to barbarians as can be without carrying a card that says they’re members of the New York Barbarians Club.”

“Do you ever not talk?” Yonts asked, genuinely curious.

“He’ll drone for hours,” Tynes informed her.

“I should have picked a quieter spot to fight this war,” the sergeant sighed.

“And if these demands are not met?” the colonel asked.

“There will be no quarter. Not for the women, the children, and certainly not the soldiers.” The jeering had started up again. More than one rifle could be heard ratcheting a round into the chamber.

“I would like to confer with my officers.”

“You have fifteen minutes.”

“That’s not enough time!” The Colonel barked back.

The limo turned into a bank parking lot and headed back toward the front lines and through.

“You heard the man’s demands,” the Colonel’s voice came through. “I know I am a colonel, and the leader of you band of misfits, but times have changed. Assuming they are sincere in their offering of amnesty, I want you all to have that option, especially those of you with family. If there are any among you that wish to leave, you have my blessing. No one will think less of you.”

Fellow soldier looked to fellow soldier to see which among them would do so.

“I’m probably going to stick around,” Mike said to anyone that was listening.

“Probably the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” Tynes said.

Though most stayed, there were those that wanted nothing to do with an armed conflict. Some had joined the Guard in times of peace, merely for the benefits, out of boredom, or from lack of drive to do anything else. A few had families and wanted to keep them safe. In all, sixty-seven men, women, and children headed to the gate with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and a few MREs.

Mike leaned over the edge of the building to shout. “Stop! You can’t go—he’ll kill you!”

“Fuck you” echoed up from below, punctuated with a middle finger.

“I know the man; he won’t let you live!”

Some hesitated, but were urged on by the others. Men watched with fresh anxiety as their fellow brothers and sisters in arms walked out.

“Whoa man, where you going?” Tynes had wrapped an arm around Mike’s waist as he leaned even further, as if being closer would somehow elicit a different response.

“They’re going to die.” There was a wild look in Mike’s eyes.

“You don’t know that. He offered them sanctuary.” The sergeant responded evenly, though her heart was racing with concern for those that were departing.

The world went frighteningly eerie and quiet as the group left the compound and began to walk down the street. A few of the refugees looked back to where they had come from every few steps or so. But most kept a watchful stare ahead for where the potential dangers lay. Everyone stopped suddenly, alerted when a truck started up, drove forward a few feet, then turned sideways, nearly blocking the entire width of the narrow avenue and stopping the exodus from the camp in its tracks.

“What the hell?” Tynes asked.

“There’re ports on the side of that truck bed.”

“What?” Sergeant Yonts asked, turning to look at Mike.

“There are cut outs, like cannon bays on old pirate ships,” Mike said.

The driver opened his door. He had a large smile plastered across his face. He waved the people to come forward, then he stepped down off the truck and walked around the side and behind. Most took that as a good sign, but others felt progressively more reluctant and began to lag behind, causing uncertainty to spread throughout the group. Mike’s heart began to hammer in his chest.

“What’s going on?” Sergeant Yonts asked when a man and a woman carrying a baby broke from the group and fled back toward the armory.

“It’s a fucking ambush.” Mike squinted into his scope, desperately seeking a target that had not yet exposed itself.

“They see it,” Tynes said right before the first rifle report rang out. A seven inch trap door on the side of the truck bed slid open, and the barrel of a rifle appeared. The man pulling his wife back towards the compound was hurtled forward as a bullet slammed into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground chin first, his arms rendered useless when the projectile severed his spine. His wife dropped down next to him, grabbing his arm. She stood and tried to drag him, her head rocked to the side as a bullet nearly scalped her, sending brain matter spewing all over the baby in her arms. Her arms instinctively wrapped around the child as she collapsed on the ground next to her dying husband.

Mike felt like things were happening in slow motion. He watched in horrifying detail as the woman’s mouth opened—he wouldn’t swear it on a stack of bibles, but he was pretty sure he witnessed her soul exit her body in a wisp of white. Two more ports slid open. Mike saw the muzzle of a wicked-looking machine gun poke out. Long licks of fire erupted from the barrel as multiple bullets flew downrange and into the confused, exposed group. People were nearly cut in half from the relentless hail of hot lead. Those that weren’t immediately gunned down, impotently sought a refuge they had no hope of reaching.

The dump truck was receiving return fire, but the ports were small enough and the metal thick enough that most of the shots were ineffectual. Mike did his best to calm his breathing and use all the tricks his father had taught him regarding targeting. He centered his front sight post within the peep scope simultaneously focusing on the post. He gently eased the trigger back, making sure that when it finally fired, it would surprise him as well as the person he hoped the bullet would obliterate. He rocked back slightly as his body absorbed the recoil. The muzzle of the machine gun launched backwards as Mike’s bullet hit the gunner in the nose. The round scraped off the soft cartilage and pitched upwards, neatly bisecting the man’s brain. His hands reflexively clamped down on the trigger, sending sprays of bullets harmlessly overhead.

“That you, Talbot?” Tynes asked.

“I think so.”

“Good job. Now keep shooting,” Sergeant Yonts said, not skipping a beat as she continued to fire. Most of the people that had sought a peaceful exodus from the coming fray were dead or dying. Five were nearly within the relatively safe embrace of their peers, and the guardsmen were doing their best to ensure that they made it. Gunfire intensified on both sides to a crescendo and then dropped off when the five made it back inside. There were cries for mercy from those bleeding on the street. Pembroke’s men did not shoot them; the injured were left as potential lures to force the Guard to attempt a rescue, exposing more of them to slaughter.