Half Past Midnight (35 page)

The reassuring answer came from the driver’s seat in front. “I’m doing just fine, thanks to you and your asinine stunt with that tank.”

“Ken!” Grinning from ear to ear, I struggled to sit up. René and Sarah helped me, and seconds later I was clapping Ken on the shoulder as he tried to drive and look back at me at the same time.

“’Bout time you woke up.”

Somewhere on the ride back to the factory, I lost my battle with consciousness and succumbed once more to the exhaustion that permeated my being. At least I had something to smile about when oblivion reclaimed me.

***

My next coherent thoughts involved intense feelings of vertigo and the uneasy, not-quite certainty that something was wrong—not threatening, but still wrong. Confused, unsure of where I was, my mind tried to sort through a collage of unfamiliar sensations.

Soft cushions, the smell of mildewed fabric, and the dank, humid atmosphere served to let me know I was no longer in the back of the Humvee. I heard the echoes of voices in solemn conversation beyond the door of my room. I concentrated on the voices. Only a word or two made it through, but I recognized my wife’s, and her tone was somewhat less than friendly. My memory was a bit fuzzy, but I recalled flashes of her alternating between laughter, tears, and anger when she saw my condition upon my return from our raid. Then, after examining my head with the experienced eye of a nurse’s daughter, she had decided I was in no real danger and prescribed compresses and bed rest, concussion notwithstanding.

Under her direction, René, Ken, Jim, and Sarah had moved me into Jim’s office and laid me down on the sofa, where she threatened dire consequences should I dare get up.

She needn’t have worried. As badly as I had felt, it wasn’t likely I could have gotten up if the building caught fire. I didn’t even recall hitting the cushions, so quickly did my exhaustion overcome me.

My body seemed to have recovered somewhat. I swung my feet over the edge of the couch and sat up, barely catching myself in time to keep my face from introducing itself to the floor. Weak and trembling, I raised my hand to touch a makeshift bandage over a huge knot on the front of my skull; I vaguely recalled everyone’s worries about a concussion. Memories of a nightmare tank ride reminded me that if a concussion was the worst of my injuries, I had probably gotten off lightly.

The exhaustion that had previously overwhelmed everything else was gone, replaced by aching, stiff muscles that stubbornly resisted my brain’s commands to rise. Synaptic impulse slowly won out, and I carefully limped through the door and down the hall toward the sound of the voices.

I couldn’t hear much of what was being said through the door, only enough to hear Debra adamantly refuse to allow some person or persons to awaken me.

Woe to the foolish mortal who dared the wrath of Debra. I smiled a bit at the thought and wondered how long I had slept. Snatches of conversation filtered through the door.

“… let him get some rest… already done enough?” I couldn’t hear it all, and my head hurt too badly to concentrate much, but it soon became evident exactly who she was arguing with. Ken’s voice, firm and calm as always, answered, though I couldn’t hear what he said. Jim joined in a few seconds later.

With a little grimace at the ache in my forearm, I turned the doorknob and entered. The previously animated discussion abruptly ceased, and the three occupants of the room turned to face me, suddenly seeming unsure of themselves. I turned from one face to the other, hoping to show them that I was all right. “Am I interrupting?”

Their lack of response was less than reassuring. I had just heard them arguing about me. Now… nothing. “Come on, guys, how would you feel if you walked into a room, and everyone stopped talking all at once?”

Jim grinned a little and waved me to a chair. “Come on in and sit down before you fall over.” Ken pulled the old wooden desk chair out, and I sat cautiously at the table across from Jim. Debra, sitting on my right, reached over and squeezed my hand. I tried not to grimace at the pain caused by that simple act.

“You shouldn’t be up.” It was a gentle admonishment and, though I could tell she meant it, she also seemed relieved to see me.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“Seriously, how’re you feelin’, Lee?” Jim’s smile and light tone were forced, his expression grim. The black eye made it look worse.

“Like I dove off the high dive into an empty pool.” The smile relaxed a little, as did his expression. “So what’s all the arguing about?”

The mayor hesitated, apparently loathe to renew the debate.

“Come on, Jim. You look like you just swallowed something that’s trying to claw its way back up. What’s going on?”

I searched the faces of the three people I trusted above all others. If there was something they were keeping from me, it must be pretty bad. I sighed and looked up at the sunlight filtering in through the office window. From the angle, I estimated the time to be about an hour or two before noon.
I’m too tired for this!

Turning back to the three around the table, I saw that Ken had on his best poker face. I’d seen it before and knew I wouldn’t get anything there that he didn’t want to show me. Jim was just the opposite with his face a tortured roadmap of emotion. Above all else, I saw the worry of a man responsible for the fate of an entire town resting on his shoulders. Though the two men’s expressions were as opposite as east and west, the results were the same. I could tell nothing about the situation at hand.

I concentrated my gaze on Debra. We had been married for almost twenty years and knew each other better than we knew anyone else. It was hard for us to hide anything from one another. So when I saw the tightness of her lips, I knew she was fighting back her anger. She seldom raised her voice unless she was really riled, so that wasn’t unexpected, but her eyes bothered me—just a little wider than usual, a little brighter with moisture. I had seen the expression all too often during our internment in the shelter—fear.

“What is it that’s got you three at each other’s throats?” I prodded. None of them would meet my eyes, their gazes darting to one another like school children caught at some clandestine activity, none wanting to be the first to confess. “Jim?”

James Kelland, Mayor of Rejas City, the man most looked up to by all of its citizenry, shifted nervously in his seat and studiously avoided my gaze. He turned to Ken as though he wanted the other man to start.

I followed Jim’s cue. “Ken?” But Ken also seemed reluctant to take the reins.

I sighed wearily, too tired to properly express my frustration. “Look, guys, I’ve known you two for a couple of years now, and I’ve never known either of you to mince words, so I can imagine just how bad this probably is. Right now, though, I’m tired, my head is killing me, my whole body aches, and the only thing you two are doing by passing the buck back and forth is making me even more nervous. I can’t take too much of this crap right now, so could you please just spit it out?”

It was the mayor that finally started. “Larry’s outside.”

Those two simple words froze the blood in my veins.

“Outside where?”

“Out front. He’s got two of his tanks on the road outside the factory. One of ’em’s on the bridge with its cannon pointin’ right at us. The other one’s back behind the tree line.”

Oh, Lord
. “Okay, I don’t hear any shooting. What’s he doing?”

“He’s got hostages.” Debra’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper, and she wouldn’t meet my gaze, choosing instead to examine the grain of the tabletop as if it were the only thing she could bear to look at. As I watched, a tear fell from her cheek to dampen the wood. Here then was the heart of the matter.

I looked back at Ken. “I thought we got them all out. What happened?”

“Eric’s group didn’t do as well as ours. They ran into some complications with the hospital extraction.” Extraction? Was that what it had been? Such a fine, sterile word for such a bloody operation. My thoughts were understandably bitter. “Some of the hospital patients were injured too badly to move, and some of the doctors and nurses refused to leave them. They got as many out as they could, but ended up leaving nearly a hundred behind.”

“A hundred hostages?” I groaned.

Ken shook his head. “There’s more. Or I should say, there’s less.”

I shook my head irritably. “No more games! What else?”

He pursed his lips. “When he showed up here yesterday—”

“Whoa!” I interrupted. “Yesterday? He was here when we were in town?”

Ken shook his head. “That was the day before yesterday. You’ve been out for the last day and a half.”

“What?”

Debra nodded confirmation. “You were pretty banged up when they brought you in. When you didn’t wake up all day, we figured the best thing for you was to let your body rest and heal itself.”

“I slept a whole day?”

Ken nodded, too. “And half of today.” He pointed to Debra. “Your lady here threatened anyone who got within fifty feet of you with the violent removal of precious body parts.”

I thought back on the bits and pieces I could recall of the ride back in the Humvee. It had been light enough to see René and Sarah—early morning. When I’d seen the light in the window a moment ago, I’d assumed that it was nearly noon of the same day.

I could tell by Ken’s expression that he had more to tell me. So I shoved my confusion aside and waited patiently for him to continue.

“When Larry showed up yesterday, he parked his tank just across the bridge and sent out a messenger with a white flag. The messenger claimed Larry was a lawful representative of the United States Army, and that you were wanted for war crimes.”

“What!”

Ken held up a finger. “Just wait. It gets better.”

“Jim told him you’d been killed in the fighting, and that even if you weren’t, in consideration of the damage he’d done the town so far, the good general was going to have to give us more than just his word that he was a legitimate government official before we would even consider turning someone over to him.”

I smiled despite the circumstances. “How’d Larry take that?”

“Not well.” Jim took over from Ken. “I watched that man take my message back to Larry. As soon as he finished talkin’, Larry pulled out a pistol and shot the man where he stood.” He shook his head. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it. His own man! Just dropped him ’cause he didn’t like what he had to say.

“Then he climbed back in his tank, and him an’ the rest of his boys just left like nothin’ happened. This mornin’, he came back with thirty hostages from the hospital. Turned ten of them loose and sent ‘em in with hundreds of leaflets.” The mayor slid a piece of mimeographed paper across the table. “Read.”

It was the same mimeograph paper as that on which the
Chronicle
was printed. I read silently.

Citizens of Rejas. It is my understanding that you have unknowingly harbored a criminal by the name of Leeland Dawcett. He is wanted by the U.S. Government for the ambush and brutal murders of several innocent people on the evening of June 13, 2015, on Highway 189 while en route to your town. Leeland Dawcett is the sole purpose of our expedition, and upon his delivery, my troops and I will withdraw from your town.

Today at noon, if he has not been turned over to me, you will then be guilty of harboring a fugitive during a time of martial law, and I will be forced to renew hostilities in order to recover this wartime criminal. Please do not force us to use the full might of the U.S. military against you.

Turn this murderer over to us so that we can leave you in peace.

Signed,

General Lawrence D. Troutman - USRD

I had no idea what to say. So many implications were buried in the note that it was overwhelming. “He’s claiming I killed those people on D-day?”

Jim nodded.

“The guy’s nuts, Jim! I mean, I knew he was a crook, even a murderer. But this?” I wadded the note into a ball and threw it on the table. “He’s crazy!”

The mayor shrugged. “No doubt about that, Lee, but he’s crazy like a fox. And with his tanks and troops, he has enough clout to make ever’body listen to what he wants to say.” He indicated the wad of paper with a wave of his hand. “That note implies that all of the fighting and killing here has been because of you and, if we turn you over to him, he’ll leave us alone.”

I paused and took a deep breath. “So how many are ready to hand me over?”

“Surprisingly few, actually,” Ken interjected. “These aren’t the good ol’ days when people would blindly believe whatever they saw on the idiot box. These are rough times, and actions speak a lot louder than words. Rejas has seen what you’ve done for her, and what Troutman has done. What he did to that messenger was just the icing on the cake.”

That was reassuring, but it raised a question. “I appreciate the sentiment, but if you weren’t arguing about whether or not to turn me over, just what was all the yelling about?”

Jim looked hurt. “You don’t really think we considered turnin’ you over to that lunatic, do you? It’s just that it’s almost noon, and we were tryin’ to decide whether or not to wake you up. You sorta made that a moot point, though.”

“Thanks, Jim, but I wouldn’t blame you if you did decide to trade me. You have more people than me to think about.”

He pursed his lips. “That may be. But this man has already proven that he can’t be trusted. I don’t think he’d stick to his word, even if we did give you up. The hostages he released had some other stories to tell when they got back to us.

“Seems Larry was in a hurry to get the hostages here this morning. He was in such a hurry that he couldn’t be slowed down with a bunch of sick and wounded.”

“Oh God!” I hoped the story wasn’t going where I feared.

But my hope proved to be in vain, as Jim continued, “He killed everyone that couldn’t keep up and forced the rest to march here overnight. According to Eric’s report on his raid, there were over a hundred people left in that hospital. Larry got here this morning with thirty. He didn’t leave anyone behind.”