Rebels & Lies (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 1) (9 page)

Paxton led the way to a small storage closet. The
day already turned into an interesting one for Kaspar. He had the fine pleasure
of enjoying a plate full of bacon made from one hundred percent murdered animal.
Kilbourne put it best as Kaspar devoured the stuff, “Better than that tofu shit
you’re used to.” That farmer, who lived twenty-five or so miles to the west,
would sure be in for it once the government found out he slaughtered animals
for human consumption.

The lights flickered on and finally there was
something that resembled progress. Inside laid racks upon racks of guns bolted
to the walls. Along the two walls were submachine guns and assault rifles.
Kaspar listened as the old leader rattled off their names: MP5, MP10, MP7, LWRC
PSD, M4 Carbine, and UMP9. Several shotguns at the end to the left: Remington,
Sawed off, Lupara. It was all gibberish to Kaspar. By the time Paxton got
around to how many shells a Remington could carry, his attention had wavered to
the point of half listening. On the far back wall were the side arms: P99,
Glock 17 and 19, Smith and Wesson 9MM.

“You ever hold a gun before?” Paxton asked. “I
mean, before yesterday?”

“No.”

“We’ll have to get you used to it.”

Kaspar smirked and looked to the ground in an
attempt to hide it.

“What?” Paxton demanded.

“Nothing, it’s just that, I’d always heard
stories about how Americans loved their violence and clung to their guns.”

“We used to have the right to carry weapons for
self-defense. But, I guess the new USR laws served you a whole shit load of
good, didn’t they?”

Kaspar nodded. The old man had a point.

Paxton reached for the rack of hand guns and held
out a black and silver P99. Kaspar took hold of it, the barrel pointed straight
at Paxton’s chest. The leader took hold of the barrel and moved it away before
Kaspar knew what happened.

“Be careful. The safety’s on, but accidents do
happen. Always practice safety when you handle one of these, you get me?”

Then don’t hand it over with the barrel pointed
to you
,
Kaspar thought. He fastened the weapon into the thigh holster given to him
after breakfast. Next came the MP7, which Kaspar slung over his shoulder with
the black strap. He led the way out of the storage area, with Paxton taking the
lead shortly after they walked out.

They were soon out in the back yard. The cool
chill of the morning air caused goose bumps to form on Kaspar’s bare arms. He
told himself it was the air, at least. There was something overwhelming that
brewed inside that was most likely the root cause of the bumps. On his thigh
and over his back was the power to swiftly take the life of another human
being. The very thing that took Mother away he would have to wield in order to
find inner peace.

The large, beautiful lawn housed several wooden
shelters. The shelters were open in the front with paper targets nailed to the
back. The loud crackle of gun fire filled his ear drums. The others got a head
start on their weapons training for the day.

“Cease fire!” Paxton cried.

The crackling continued until Paxton raised his
voice once again. He was heard this time and the rebels ceased fire. Kaspar was
led to the shelter at the far end. The others stared him down until he reached
it. He felt a high level of discomfort with strangers, trained killers at that,
staring him down with loaded guns in their hands.

In front of the last shelter stood a waist high
wooden table with the words “DEATH TO THE USR” inscribed with a combat knife
across. Paxton ordered the rookie to inspect his weapon and prepare to fire.
Kaspar pulled the P99 out of the holster and looked down at it, dumbfounded. He
looked wide eyed at Paxton and shrugged his shoulders.

“This is the safety,” Paxton said with a sigh. He
walked over to Kaspar’s position and pointed it out. “Switch it off.”

With the safety off, Kaspar held the gun up and
pointed it towards the paper target in front. He took in a few deep breaths and
couldn’t shake the awkwardness of not knowing how to shoot a gun. Not only
that, but he could feel the eyes of the others squarely on him. His right index
finger on the trigger, he was ready to fire…

“Remember,” Krys said from behind him with a
smile. “Don’t release the clip until it’s dry.”

Kaspar turned to the woman and brought his
eyebrows together. He felt the urge to point the weapon at her. Not to kill
her, of course, but to give her a little scare. The smart side of his brain
told him not to do it. He wouldn’t last five milliseconds with all those others
who actually knew how to handle their firearms. He put Krys’s comment on the
back burner and refocused his attention on the target.

“Krys, shut up,” Kilbourne said.

“Yes, sir!” Krys replied, she gave Kilbourne a
fake salute and her smile remained.

When Mother died, Kaspar tried to imagine what
the killer must have looked like. He put together this image of a man with a
skinny face and a long, narrow nose. The eyes were fire red and the killer’s
smile revealed black, rotten teeth. The black outline of the human head became
replaced with this face. The killer stood tall and skinny in front of Kaspar.
Kaspar pointed the handgun in his direction and aimed for the head. He pulled
the trigger four times…

All four shots missed wide. The sound of Krys’s
laughter could be heard over the ringing in his ears. In a fit of frustration,
Kaspar slammed the gun down on the table and cursed aloud. He then spit out of
his mouth and looked at the paper target. One three inches to the left of
skull, the second shot missed the left shoulder by two inches, the third an
inch above the head, the final shot three inches northwest.

“Goddamn it,” Kaspar cried. “Tell that woman to
shut her mouth.”

“Krys, you are not helping.” Paxton said. He
reached out and touched her shoulder.

“Sorry, boss, just having a bit of fun.” Krys
replied.

“Let him get better. We don’t want him shooting
us out there.”

“Yeah,” Kilbourne chimed in. “You won’t be
laughing when he accidently blows your head off.”

Paxton walked over to Kaspar and looked him
square in the eye. Kaspar moved his head to the left avoid the old veteran’s
gaze. Undeterred, Paxton continued to move forward until he invaded the
neophyte’s personal space. Kaspar could feel the old man’s hot breath and
instinctively backed away. Paxton took a step forward in response.

“What was that?” Paxton demanded.

“Huh?” Kaspar replied.

“I said: what
the fuck
was that?”

“I missed.”

“You didn’t just miss. I’ve seen men stricken
with palsy shoot straighter than that.” Paxton breathed in and looked towards
the bullet hole. The sight caused him to shake his head once more. “Pathetic.”

“I’ll go again.” Kaspar said, his right hand
reaching for the gun.

“No, you will not go again. You are wasting my
ammunition and my time. You shoot too fast, like a high school boy on his first
lay.”

“I should slow down, then?”

“No, you shouldn’t…”

In a blink Paxton’s gun was pointed in Kaspar’s
face. Kaspar stared down the muzzle of the gun then at its owner. The old
veteran’s eyes told him that Paxton would fire the weapon without a second
thought. He backed away out of instinct and held his hands in the air.

“You see,” Paxton said. He lowered the gun back
at his thigh. “You’ve got to think quick as well as act quick.”

“Okay.”

Kaspar aimed the gun back at the paper target and
breathed.

“What did I say? Put that gun back on the table,
now!” Paxton shouted.

Was all this really worth it? Kaspar kept asking
that question in his mind as he put the gun back on the table. He could not
shoot worth anything. If he went out on his mission of vengeance right now, he
would get nothing but a quick death. Paxton ordered him to step aside and he
did. He watched as Paxton aimed the gun at the target.

BANG BANG BANG!!!

A look of shock filled Kaspar’s face when he saw
the target. Two shots center mass on the chest and one dead center on the head.
The shots were fired so fast that it didn’t even appear that there was any aim
involved. It was like Paxton had been gifted super human abilities with a
handgun. Who the fuck was he really dealing with?

“That’s how you shoot.” Paxton said.

“How’d you do that?” Kaspar asked, still in
shock.

“I clung to my weapon and I aimed. Come over
here.”

Kaspar walked over to Paxton who clicked the
safety back on. Paxton held the gun straight at the target and pointed to a
knob at the end of the barrel.

“This is your sight,” he said. “You get the top
of that in line with the ‘U’ in the back. That’s how you aim. You’ll also want
to absorb the recoil when you fire. Use your right arm for that. You left hand
and arm are used to support your aim. Now, you may go again.”

Paxton stepped aside. Kaspar reached down and yanked the side arm
off of the table. He pointed the gun at the target. He breathed in deep. He
straightened his right arm and used his left arm to hold the gun in place. He
stared down the sight and aimed for the head. He took a breath and fired one
shot.

It landed above the head again. Only this time it was missed by
mere centimeters.

“Progress.” Paxton acknowledged. “Again.”

Sullivan sat in Fitzpatrick’s office without
answers. Fitzpatrick flipped through a report at a feverous pace behind his
desk. Sullivan wondered as he sat awaiting his next assignment how long it
would be before the city grew tired of it and fired him. How long before the
USR would rip apart the entire RU and start with fresh faces? He would settle with
Mason and Wilcox getting the chop. Maybe then he would get some partners who
actually knew what they were doing.

One thought continued to fester in his mind. He
could not help but think that if there was a hell, it had Sullivan’s name in
permanent marker on the guest list. That old woman, she didn’t deserve to die,
Sullivan knew. But, that was not what bothered him so. If she did have any
information on the resistance, that was gone. The resistance continued to run
wild and would commit more acts of terrorism all the while the USR, and
Sullivan in particular, could have done something about it. He could have
stopped it, or at least disrupted it, but he failed to reign in his partners.
That would surely send him to that awful after life.

“Looks like Forte found something.” Fitzpatrick
said. He looked up from his report.

“He’s going to have my job soon.” Sullivan
replied.

“Don’t be like that. He doesn’t have the
leadership qualities you do. All he cares about is money.”

“What did he find?”

“A young couple…they live in a busted up old
apartment in downtown. Thomas Everson and his girlfriend, Francis B…erlovski.
Ha, the fuck is she from?”

“What kind of evidence do we have?” Sullivan
asked as he leaned forward. His interest had been piqued.

“Another one of Forte’s suspects implicated them.
Yelled out their names in between the screams.”

Sullivan rubbed at his forehead. “At some point,
we are going to have to rely on real, concrete evidence.”

“These rebels are elusive, cunning, and smart.
They don’t leave behind much in the way of evidence, so we’ll just have to make
do with what little blessings we get. Keep the citizens happy and the Consul
off our ass.” Fitzpatrick replied.

“Whatever you say.”

“Take Mason and Wilcox with you again.”

Sullivan sighed, “Hopefully they don’t shoot the
place up again.”

Fitzpatrick handed the file over to his top man.
Sullivan flipped through the mug shots and read Thomas’s profile. He clerked at
one of the local grocery shops to make ends meet. They drew credit from the
government to feed and clothe themselves. Something struck Sullivan as odd. He
could feel something was wrong in the pit of his stomach.

“It’s off.” Sullivan said with his eyes still
buried in the file.

“Excuse me?”

“Look at their ages, sir. Twenty-one and
nineteen? Barely out of school? This Thomas kid grew up an orphan and was
raised in the camps.”

The camps were the schools that picked up
orphans. In the beginning, there were still a lot of leftovers that were
imprisoned. As a result, someone had to take care of their children. In
response to this, the USR set up academies where the young were taught their
philosophies and of the wickedness that came before. A majority of the boys who
grew up there joined the military or became Agents upon graduation. Thomas was
one of the few who did not meet the requirements to join either. He was tossed
to the wolves and forced to make his own way.

“They were implicated,” Fitzpatrick said again.
“By a man in no position to lie, at that.”

“Do you even believe your own bullshit?” Sullivan
asked.

“Come on, our job is tough enough as it is. If it
makes you feel any better, I’ll give the no kill order to Mason and Wilcox.”

“Like that’s ever stopped them before?”

“Don’t worry about it. They are two kids who
don’t contribute anything to our great society. Who cares?”

“Is that justice?” Sullivan demanded.

“What is justice?” Fitzpatrick replied. He leaned
forward in his chair and pointed his index finger at the window. “Seeing those
rebels out there tearing our city apart, spreading their ridiculous theories
and philosophies?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Take Mason and Wilcox with you. Bring those
crooks in and we’ll have a nice little chat with them, clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Maybe you were right about Forte. Get your ass
over there.”

“On the way.” Sullivan said.

The Agent stood and saluted his boss before he
turned for the door. Nothing about this assignment sat well. The suspect’s
profile reeked of innocence. Just what was this all about? Some poor schmuck
gets tortured and yells out names of people he knows, saying anything to stop
the pain?

Sullivan walked towards his office and touched at
the small device inside of his ear. He dialed Mason’s number into his wrist
watch and awaited the bastard’s voice. When the voice shot through, Sullivan
ordered that both he and Wilcox come into his office. He informed Mason of the
new assignment and ended the call. The quicker the conversation the better.

He sat down on his chair, let out another sigh,
and leaned back. He rubbed his fingers through his hair and something caught
his eye. On his desk rested a golden framed picture of his son. Little Davie
looked so happy, so full of life in all of his photos, this school picture
especially. The innocence of youth slapped Sullivan in the face. He reached
over and laid the picture down.

He hid his face from his smiling son.

***

Paxton threw the used cigarette butt outside the
opened window. He looked over to the back of the van. Kaspar rested his back on
one of the benches, his black bag covered face looked straight up. He might
have been asleep, lost in a sea of dreams. Paxton thought about checking on
him, but thought better of it. If he were asleep, it would be best to let the
kid get the winks in while he still could.

The more the miles went by, the more Paxton began
to question himself about his latest recruit. The kid couldn’t shoot worth
shit, not to mention his emotional issues. Desperate times called for desperate
measures, however. If Zach were still around, there was no way in hell they
would even consider a punk like Kaspar. But, the larger question at hand became
how to convince the members of The Committee to let him join.

The Committee, as Paxton explained it over
breakfast, was a secret alliance formed by former politicians and young
idealistic men. They had a Chamber in every major city across the country. Once
the battle was won, the members would align themselves together to form the new
government that would resemble that of old. That, of course, depended on whether
or not the politicians messed it up again or not.

Paxton tried to focus on the road again. The
truth was, he hated these long drives back and forth, but he knew they were
necessary. Times like these, with nothing but the paved road ahead, forced him
to think about his wife again, his beautiful Randi. He remembered when he came
home from North Korea, before everything went to shit, the look on her face
when he walked into that gymnasium. She gave him that smile which originally
caught his attention. The lights from the ceiling hit her eyes in such a
perfect way that they lit up the entire room. He reached to her and wrapped his
strong arms around her…

“We almost there?” Kaspar asked, the bag over his
head muffled his words.

“Yeah, kid.” Paxton replied.

“Good.”

Kaspar couldn’t remember how long it had been
since that son of a bitch made him put this thing over his head. He thought he
could get the better of Paxton, though, and tried to memorize the turns and how
long in between. He gave up after the third left, which was preceded by four
rights in quick succession. Upon giving up, his thoughts went back to Mother,
of course. After about an hour on the firing range, he started to get a feel
for shooting.

It won’t be long now, Mother. Pretty soon, I’ll
be gunning people down like John.

The van came to an abrupt halt. The loud clicks
of the emergency brake filled Kaspar’s ears.
About damn time
. He sat up
and cracked his back, then took off the black mask when given the order to do
so. The back doors of the van opened up and Kaspar hopped out the back. With
that bag over his head so long, the sunlight ripped into his corneas, forcing
him to squint. There was nothing familiar about his surroundings. They were in
an alley way in between tall buildings he never saw before.

Paxton reached into his pockets and fished out a
security card while Kaspar followed him to the back door. The old veteran
swiped the card then entered a five digit pass code. The air tight lock
released with a long hiss. They entered the building then arrived in a dimly
lit lobby. There was not a window in sight. No chance for the USR to get a peek
or a shot in. Armed men, dressed in black fatigues, surrounded the room. M4
Carbines rested in each of their hands, an American flag attached to their
thick Kevlar vests.

Kaspar could feel that familiar feeling that
increased in annoyance. The feeling of not knowing what was going on would soon
drive him to madness. He just wanted to…feel as if he was in the loop, if for
nothing else that his own mind’s sake. The eerie silence of the room didn’t
help matters at all. All those guards were so damned quiet. None of them moved,
save for one guard who checked his wrist watch. It wasn’t enough to have to
meet The Committee, but the silence added to his nervousness. Somebody say
something…

“Let me tell you something, kid.” Paxton said.

“What’s that?” Kaspar asked, his eyes continued
to dart around the lobby.

“Just answer each of their questions with a ‘yes,
sir’ and you’ll be fine.”

“What questions should I expect?”

“Remember how I grilled you last night?”

“How’d I do?” Kaspar asked, but he already knew
the answer.

“You failed miserably.”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence.”

“Oh,” Paxton said, “one more thing.”

“What?”

“The Committee wants patriots, not vigilantes.
Keep your little revenge mission to yourself.”

Paxton led the way to the front desk. The silent
armed guards kept their gaze on the two men. Seated behind the desk a plain
looking receptionist sat. She had blonde hair, wore a cheap faded green dress,
and had a string of fake pearls around her neck. When her eyes met Paxton’s, an
all too pleasant smile grew from ear to ear.

“Ah, Mr. Paxton, how are you today?”

“Not bad, yourself?” Paxton replied.

“Just fine, thanks.”

“How are Isabella and Isaac?”

“Ike brought home straight A’s and Bella’s
learning to talk a bit better, sweetheart.”

Paxton chuckled, “So, you can actually make out
what she says?”

“Ha, just a little bit. What brings you here
today?”

“New recruit,” Paxton said. He motioned for
Kaspar to step up to the desk. “We need to introduce him to the Board.”

“And, what’s your name, sugar?” the receptionist
asked. Her pleasantness gave Kaspar the creeps.

“Ryan.”

“Well, I’m Amy. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Amy stuck out her skinny hand and Kaspar embraced
it. He applied little pressure to the handshake, wouldn’t be much of a first
impression if he shattered every bone in the poor receptionist’s hand.

“It’ll be just a moment.” Amy said and stood up
from her chair. “I’ll let them know you’re here. Y’all just relax out here for
a moment.”

Easy for you to say, Kaspar thought. He knew that
this would be the only legitimate shot he had to exact revenge. As much as he
hated to admit it, he needed Paxton’s teaching and the resistance’s weapons to
pull it off. The nervous energy inside of him intensified when he tried to
think of what The Committee would ask him. He tried to come up with as many
bullshit responses before he would have to go in there.

“Stop that.” Paxton said.

“Stop what?”

“Worrying. It’s all over your face. If you want
to make it through this, calm down and cowboy up.”

A door opened to the right and Kaspar looked
over. Out walked Amy, with that same creepy smile on her face. What was she so
happy about? She informed the two men that The Committee members were ready.
Paxton stood and led the way to the door. Once they reached the door, he gave a
light shove to Kaspar’s chest.

“Wait out here,” Paxton ordered. “Let me go in
first and butter them up for you.”

“Sure, take your time.”

Paxton pointed his right index finger. “Just take
a seat over there.”

There was a small wooden bench on the opposite
side of the door. Kaspar walked over to it and sat down. His head went straight
to the floor. He wondered how long the old man would be in there for. He hoped
that it wouldn’t take long. Ever since Paxton told him to keep his lust for
revenge private, that was all Kaspar could think about. No matter how hard the
fight, he knew deep down it was a losing battle.