Going Home (26 page)

Thad and I spent the next few hours sitting around in the back of the truck. I had the NGVs out and would look around every now and then. No one was about; the little camp was quiet, and the houses were dark. We weren’t talking much, trying to keep quiet. What little talking we did was in low whispers. At about a quarter to three in the morning, I heard a door shut on one of the houses; it didn’t slam, but I definitely heard the hinge squeak and the latch catch. Looking through the goggles, I scanned the area, looking for whoever was out. The glow of a flashlight behind a house caught my attention. It was illuminating the trees above and was obviously moving. I tapped Thad on the shoulder and pointed in the direction of the light. He let out a low “Uh-huh.”

The light came out from behind the house, and I took off the goggles. The light went to the shed. Whoever was holding it fumbled around for a minute, and the distinct rattle of a padlock being opened drifted through the night.

I leaned over to Thad and in a low whisper, said, “It’s one guy; now’s our chance. If we want to take it, we have to go now. What do you want to do?”

“Let’s go get it. It’s ours, and I need it.” He stood up and grabbed his shotty. “If we sneak up on him, we can get him without any noise. I can put him to sleep,” he said and then started toward the shed in a low crouch. Thankfully, the area was sandy, and there were few leaves on the ground. I flipped the goggles down and moved in a low crouch toward the shed. The man who opened it went in and closed the door, light from his flashlight leaking around the door.

For a big man, Thad was quite stealthy. He moved in near silence. The only sound I heard was my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. We came up to the shed on the hinge side of the door; Thad was in front of me. He stuck his coach gun out, and I took it. We heard the man in there—cans thumping together, the sound of boxes being opened. We stood there for what seemed like forever. Finally, the door swung open, and the man came out with a box under one arm. He stepped out and turned to close the door. Thad instantly grabbed him in a sleeper hold and lifted him off his feet. The box hit the ground with a dull thud. He was grabbing at Thad’s huge forearm, trying to break free. With Thad’s python of a forearm wrapped around his neck, he wasn’t able to call out. Thad had him locked up. In a few seconds, he went limp. The big man gently laid him on the ground. “We need to hurry.”

Stepping in front of the door, I clicked on my flashlight. All we could do was stand there. We were shocked at what we saw.

Sitting on a mattress on the floor were two young girls in their teens. They were chained to the floor; their clothes were filthy, and they were terrified. When the beam from my light fell on them, they turned their faces and tried to move to the walls, hiding their faces with their hands. Stacked in a corner was flat after flat of various canned goods. Boxes of dry goods filled shelves in the back of the shed. “What the fuck?” Thad said in a low voice. The guy on the ground started to groan; he was coming around. Thad reached down with one hand and pulled him to his feet. “What the fuck is this?” he said in a hoarse whisper into his face.

When the girls heard Thad’s voice, they looked over as he pulled the man up. Almost in unison they cried out, “Help us! Please help us!” They tried to stand, but the chains tied their hands to their feet, and they were unable to.

I looked at the girls, my index finger over my lips. “Shh, shh.”

“It’s, it’s not me. Bill keeps ’em here. He makes us do it,” he stammered out.

I looked over at him. “You bunch of sick fucks, what is he doing with them?” We were trying to keep our voices low, but it was getting loud.

“He calls them his concubines, says he has the right since everyone needs him.”

Thad had him against the wall. I looked down at the floor. Empty dog food cans were on the floor. In one corner was a stack of porn magazines and various sex toys. I kicked the cans. “What the hell is that about?”

One of the girls began to talk rapidly; her eyes were growing wider with every word. “He makes us eat the dog food. It’s all they give us. That fat bastard calls us his bitches and says bitches eat Alpo.” Her voice was getting louder.

I knelt down beside her, looking at the two of them, I said, “Shh, were going to get you two out of here, but you gotta be quiet.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you people do anything about this?” I asked the man that Thad had now lifted off the ground.

“He’s the only one with guns, him and his people. Everyone here isn’t here ’cause they want to be. If you try and leave, they come after you with that big truck. He has his group of men. They take women around here when they want to, no matter if they are married or young or anything; they’ve killed people an’ made us watch.” Thad dropped him to the ground; the girls flinched.

One of the girls began to cry. “Please get us out of here. I can’t take it anymore, please.” She started to sob harder, her shoulders bouncing up and down. “Don’t leave me here.”

“Unlock the damn chains,” Thad said in a low stern voice. “Now.” He kicked the man’s boot.

“I, I don’t have the key. Bill’s the only one that’s got it. I only have the key to this lock,” he cried out. He sat on the floor, convulsing in sobs.

“How many of the men around here are in on this?” I asked.

“There’s five of ’em. One of ’em is at the roadblock at all times. The other’s off,” he blubbered.

“Where do they stay when they’re off?” I asked.

With a shaky hand, he pointed to a house just past Bill’s. “So three of them are in there now?” I asked. “Yes. Please don’t kill me. I’m just trying to keep them away from my own daughter. She’s only twelve.”

“Well, I got a key for them chains,” Thad said as he pointed the shotty at the eyebolt in the floor that held one end of the chain. I put my hand out. “Don’t do that. They’ll just come running. I have an idea that will take care of them in a fitting manner. Stay here and watch him. I’ll be back in a few.”

“What’re you gonna do?” he asked.

“Get ready for a barbecue,” I said.

Taking one of the cans of gas from the back of the shed and a roll of duct tape, I ran over to the truck. Rummaging around in the pack, I found one of the MRE accessory packs and took the book of matches from it, along with a hank of paracord. Taking the matchbook, I pulled it apart, taking one of the two pieces of matches and folded it back on itself in thirds. Then I took the cover and laid the striking surface on the stem of the matches, folded it around them, and taped it down. I pulled out a piece of paracord from the hank about eight feet long and cut it off and then pulled all the inner strands out; two of these went with me. I pulled four pieces of duct tape about six inches long off the roll and stuck them on my sleeve. I headed to the building that pathetic sack of shit pointed to. The house was small, cypress sided like the others, with a wraparound porch.

Slipping up on the porch, I eased up to the front door; a screen door hung from squeaky hinges. Kneeling down, I poked a hole in the screen at the bottom right corner. Gently opening the door a crack, I stuck one piece of the inner strand through it and tied it off. Cutting it off about eighteen inches, I tied the other end to the match stems sticking out of the book. Feeling my way along the bottom board of cypress siding, I found a crack. Tying a knot in the second strand, I slipped it behind the crack and pulled it tight, tugging on it to make sure it wouldn’t come out. Stretching the strand back out, I cut it off, leaving enough to tie the free end to the match cover, folded it over the string, and wrapped it with duct tape.

Making sure everything was set, I opened the can and started pouring the gas on the plywood floor of the porch, quietly going all the way around and coming back to the front door, where I laid the can on its side, gas still running out of it. Stepping off the porch, I ran back to the shed. Thad was still there. The man lying on the ground was weeping. Thad had opened some cans of ravioli and gave them to the girls, who were eating it with their bare hands, bottles of water at their feet.

“Okay, I’m going to go out behind that tree in front of Bill’s house. When I give you the signal, fire a couple of rounds into the air. When Bill comes out, I’ll drop him. Anyone you see with a gun, drop them. There are two of his culprits at the roadblock. They may or may not come up here.” I was looking around; this felt like it was all taking way too long.

“Sounds good to me. I’m ready. What about him?” Thad nudged the man with his boot, who flinched at the touch.

“Leave him, unless he gets involved. He’s got to live with what he’s done. Maybe he’ll think about it every time he looks at his daughter,” I replied. The man was looking up at us, completely impotent.

I ran over to the tree and got prone. I looked over at Thad and gave him a little wave. He drew his Glock and fired two rounds and then three more. Just as I suspected, a light came on in both Bill’s house and the one next to his. Bill’s cronies were a little faster than he was. I heard the front door open, and then the screen door flew open. The matchbook initiator was pulled rapidly apart, igniting the matches, in turn igniting the pool of gas on the floor. The gas went up with a whoosh; the poor bastard standing in it went up with it. The flames ran around the house, and the dry, oiled cypress caught easily. The screams of the flaming body writhing in front of the house were horrible. The other two men inside were screaming, trying to find a way out.

Bill came out on his porch, shotgun in one hand, the other thumbing a suspender over his naked shoulder. He looked over at the flaming house and stopped in his tracks. I centered the peep on his temple, dropped the front sight into view, and squeezed the trigger. The little rifle barked, and he collapsed in a heap. A scream ripped through the night, and glass crashed with a shrill sound. One of the two guys in the second house had jumped out through a window. I quickly put two rounds in him from the little carbine. Standing up, I walked toward the burning house, a now-motionless smoking corpse lying in front of it; small flames still flickered from pieces of the clothes. Another shriek tore through the night. I spun to my right and saw a short, fat woman, Mary, in a long nightgown standing on the porch beside Bill’s body. She raised a huge revolver at me.
Boom!
Boom!
She tumbled back into the house. I looked over, and the barrels of Thad’s thunder stick were smoking.

Again, everything seemed to slow down. Thad was there, slight tendrils of smoke drifting from the barrels of the coach gun still held to his shoulder. Light from the flames danced off the trees, and screams from the man still inside the house echoed under the canopy of oaks. Then in a surreal moment, Johnny Cash’s voice came into my head. It started low and grew louder until I realized what he was singing:
“I
fell
into
a
burning
ring
of
fire;
I
went
down,
down,
down,
and
the
flames
went
higher.”

The poor bastard in the house finally crashed through what was left of the front door; his clothes were a flaming mess. He fell down the steps into the yard, writhing in pain. Three rapid pops ended his misery. I looked to my right and saw Jim standing there, with trembling hands holding the pistol I had given to Jess, orange light from the flames reflecting off the slide. He dropped the pistol and fell to his knees; Beth and Jess ran out to him. Others were coming out of the darkness.

I walked over to where they were huddled around him; he was convulsing in sobs. “How could you allow this to happen?” I asked.

With red, swollen eyes he looked up at me and said, “You just don’t understand; you couldn’t understand.” Thad walked up as Jim began to tell of their quick slide into the innermost circle of Dante’s Inferno.

He told us Bill was a pedophile, a registered sex offender. He knew of Bill’s past but always treated him with detached respect, neither condemning nor approving of what he had done. Jim was a Christian man and believed it was up to God to pass judgment. In his dealings, Bill was a trustworthy individual that would offer a hand to fell a tree or carry you to town for that forgotten part at NAPA.

When things changed, so did Bill. He had always struggled with his inner demons. When the yoke of civilization was lifted from him, he reverted to what he really was. In the past, he had been a master at what he did; he easily gained the trust of his intended victim’s family. But this was different; they were coming to him. All he had to do was show them a little kindness. He offered them food, water, shelter, and safety.

In the beginning, that was all he had to do to get what he was looking for. But, as with every addict, over time it takes more to achieve the same high. Before long simply molesting the kids wasn’t enough. He turned to humiliation. This worked for a while as well, and then that wasn’t enough. Then he went to pure brutality. That was what we found in the shed.

Others had come around us; all listened in silence as Jim laid the despicable acts out for all. “Why didn’t you stop him? Why didn’t any of you stop him?” I asked.

“How could we? Him and his men had the guns. No one here has any guns. Plus, if you interfered, he would withhold food,” Jim said.

“Or threaten
our
kids,” a voice from somewhere in the dark crowd said.

Thad looked over at Mark. “You had a gun when we got here. Why didn’t you do anything?”

“One of Bill’s boys was there. My gun and anyone else’s that wasn’t part of their little group wasn’t chambered. The guns were kept at the roadblock. We never carried them around. They made us keep the chamber empty so they would have a chance at us if we tried anything,” Mark replied.

“I know it sounds unbelievable, but we all had to come to terms with this in our own way. Some were protecting their kids. Some of us did it to stay warm, safe, and dry. It’s cowardly, I know, and I will have to live with that for the rest of my days.” Jim lowered his head and began to cry again.