The Survivalist - 02 (26 page)

“Isn’t it clear by now?” he said. “I never wanted anything you had to offer.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to shut out everything around her.

The man who had been shot through the liver cried out as he struggled to hold back the flow of dark blood.

“Help me,” he moaned.

There was no help for him, only suffering. Mason brought his pistol up and shot him in the head.

“Now, what?” asked Alexus, as she used both hands to try to stem the flow of blood from her own wound. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

Bowie had finished off his opponent and was turning his attention to Alexus. The fur around his mouth was soaked with blood, and his dark eyes fixed on her without a hint of mercy. Mason whistled, motioning for him to let her be. Bowie reluctantly returned to stand at his side, never taking his eyes off Alexus.

Shouts could be heard coming from down the street. Mason turned and saw at least a dozen people coming his way. Some were part of the militia. Most were just townspeople who had witnessed the shooting. He dropped the spent magazine from his Supergrade and slapped a fresh one in place. Then he walked over to Alexus and pulled her to her feet.

“Hey,” she cried, “I’m shot!”

“You’ll live.” He turned her to face the oncoming crowd.

They approached cautiously, unsure if the violence was over.

“Someone shoot him!” Alexus shrieked. “Shoot him, or, I swear to God, you’ll hang.”

“Let her go,” said one of the men carrying a rifle.

Mason gestured to the badge on his belt.

“This says that I’m an official lawman for the United States of America. Which of you can say the same?”

A few people looked to one another. No one spoke.

Mason pointed to a large man in the crowd who was holding a double-barreled shotgun.

“Before all this, what did you do for a living?”

“I ran the movie theater,” he said.

Mason moved on to the woman beside him.

“And you?”

“I sold houses.”

He pointed to an older man next to her.

“I worked over at Old Pete’s body shop,” he said.

“And look where this woman has taken you,” Mason said, pointing to the gallows in the adjacent cemetery. “Is that what the people of York hold dear? A hangman’s noose?”

Several people began to murmur about things that had happened.

“He’s right,” a woman said, stepping forward. “We’re not murderers. For the love of God, we shouldn’t be doing this. We should be holding onto one another, rejoicing that we’re even alive.”

Several people nodded and nearly every weapon lowered.

“While I understand your desire to instill order,” continued Mason, “it can never come at the expense of justice. Take your weapons home. Secure them in case they should ever be needed. Now is the time to build something better.”

Alexus struggled free of Mason’s grip and stumbled toward the crowd. A steady trickle of blood ran down her leg.

“Somebody shoot this bastard. I mean it!”

A deafening blast rang out, lifting Alexus off her feet. A huge red spray puffed out behind her. The owner of the movie theater had discharged both barrels into her. He looked around defiantly at the horrified faces in the crowd.

“She hung my son-in-law for stealing food. That boy was nineteen years old, may he rest in peace.” He turned to face Mason. “I’ll go quietly if you want to arrest me, Marshal.”

Mason stared down at what was left of Alexus and shook his head.

“No,” he said quietly. “She had it coming.”

By the time Mason retrieved his M4 rifle as well as the cans of ammunition that the militia had taken, nearly the entire town of York had gathered in front of Rose Hill Cemetery. The gallows had been dismantled in a move as symbolic as the tearing down of the Berlin Wall. People took turns standing on what remained of the stage, addressing the crowd. Promises of better access to food and water supplies and of a more just society were common themes.

Mason stood beside his truck and watched the event with a sense of pride. Unlike the town of Boone, which had been threatened from outsiders, York had fallen prey to predators from within. With Alexus’s iron fist now broken, they were rethinking their path forward. Where they would end up, he couldn’t say. Perhaps they had learned a hard lesson about imparting too much power to any one individual. If nothing else, he hoped they now understood that freedoms were easy to surrender but hard to reclaim.

Bowie leaned out the passenger side window, apparently afraid to let Mason out of his sight.

“Are you about ready to get out of here?”

The dog paced back and forth across the cab of the truck, anticipating their departure.

Mason swung the door open and climbed in.

“Let’s see if we can get to Glynco without any more bloodshed.”

CHAPTER

24

President Glass carefully read the two-page report as she spread a collection of photos across her desk like a photo shoot for the swimsuit edition of
Sports Illustrated
. These photos, however, were not of voluptuous women in G-string bathing suits. Instead, they showed scenes of bloody carnage that could only be stomached when presented in black and white. General Carr was standing in front of the desk, his face red and his brow damp with sweat.

“What the hell happened?” she demanded.

“I honestly don’t know,” he said. “I gave orders to minimize casualties. Somehow those orders were either misunderstood or simply disregarded.”

“Disregarded?”

“Apparently, there were rumors circulating that this group had been responsible for several brutal attacks on US service men and women.”

“And was that true?”

“I don’t think so.”

“This was supposed to be about delivering a message. This,” she shoved some of the photos across the desk toward him, “is not a message. It’s a goddamn massacre!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How many did they kill?”

“Battle assessments indicate at least fifty dead.”

She closed her eyes.

“Women and children, too?”

“Women, yes. No children.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, piling the papers back into a neat stack.

“I want these photos destroyed. No copies kept anywhere. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She waited, but the general didn’t turn to leave.

“Do you have something else?”

He considered his words carefully before speaking.

“As you know, the relief supplies were tagged with RF identifiers.”

“Of course. That’s how we located these people in the first place. Oh, God, don’t tell me there was a mistake.” Her gut twisted into a knot.

“No, ma’am. There was no mistake. We positively identified that the stolen supplies were onsite.”

“What then?”

“While pursuing the enemy, the soldiers in one of the gunships picked up an unusual RF signal.”

She looked at him, waiting for the point.

“Ma’am, I want to be clear that there’s a chance that this could simply be an anomaly in the technology. We’re double-checking that now.”

“What are you talking about, General? Get to it.”

“They inadvertently picked up the distinct RF signature of someone who we thought was dead.”

“Who?”

He took a deep breath.

“Your daughter, Madam President.”

“
What!
” She leapt to her feet, her reading glasses falling to the desk.

“I have no other explanation. The RF signature was uniquely coded to her transponder.”

President Glass’s eyes filled with tears.

“It must be a mistake. It has to be. They told me—”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m aware of the crash reports. But the aircrew sat for several minutes confirming the signal. I don’t see how it could be a mistake.”

“Could—” she started, choking on the words. “Could someone have gotten the chip, or . . . her body?”

“That was my first thought as well. But the soldiers reported seeing a young girl fleeing the battle.”

President Glass slowly sat back down, suddenly feeling lightheaded.

“Was she alone?”

“No, ma’am. She was with two other people, a man and a woman.”

“She was their prisoner?” The implications of such imprisonment were too painful for her to even consider.

“I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“It appears that Samantha was armed.”

President Glass shook her head in disbelief.

“That’s impossible,” she said with a nervous smile. When he didn’t offer anything more, she said, “Armed?”

“Yes, ma’am, with a rifle of some sort.”

General Carr reached into his jacket and pulled out a single photo. He laid it on the desk before her. It showed a woman and a young girl struggling to open the front door of a large house. The girl’s face was angled away from the camera, but her height and build were about right for Samantha.

President Glass stared at the photo for a long time, tipping it from side to side as if that might help her to get a better view. Then she gently touched the young girl’s face with her fingertips.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” she said.

“I think so, yes.”

As impossible as it seemed, Samantha was alive. Not only had she lived through the helicopter crash two weeks earlier, she had survived the horrific massacre initiated by her own mother’s hand. President Glass closed her eyes, and tears spilled out the corners.

“We have to find her,” she whispered.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve already pulled together an elite team of operatives. They’ll take to the air within the hour. Assuming that she hasn’t moved, they should have her in hand shortly.”

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. But, as the words started to come out, she couldn’t keep from crying.

“General, do whatever it takes. You find my baby girl.”

CHAPTER

25

The night air was warm and sticky, leaving Tanner covered with a thin layer of sweat even before he stepped out into the darkness. Four frightened men watched as he climbed down from the brown United Parcel Service delivery truck.

“Let’s go over it again,” he said, looking at Callaway.

The professor nodded. “Bob and I are going to use ladders to climb onto the roof of the furniture store. We’ll wait until exactly midnight to start firing.”

“That’s when Joe and I will light up the cars,” said another man.

“And once they’re on fire?” asked Tanner.

“I’ll run to the south end of the rail station. Joe will go to the north. We’ll do our best to shoot at them as we move.”

“Remember,” cautioned Tanner, “it doesn’t matter whether you hit anything. We just need for the soldiers to hunker down and focus on the street.” He patted one of the large UPS truck tires. “I’ll come in by the railroad, lights out, and as quiet as this beast will allow. Then I’ll set the fuse and run like hell. Keep in mind that, when Timothy McVeigh blew a bomb this size, it collapsed most of a large federal building. If you’re within a couple hundred yards when this thing goes off, you won’t walk away from it.”

Everyone looked at him, shifting their feet around as they struggled to rein in nerves.

“Why are we doing this horrible thing?” asked Tanner.

For a moment no one said anything. Then the professor spoke up.

“To protect our children.”

“And our wives,” added Bob.

“And to punish them for what they’ve done,” said Joe.

“People are going to die tonight,” said Tanner. “But, by God, they deserve it. Don’t you forget that when you have those bastards in your sights.”

Tanner tilted his watch so that the moonlight illuminated the face. It was less than a minute until midnight. He climbed into the UPS truck and waited. There were countless things that could go wrong with his plan. For one, the bomb might simply not go off. The professor wasn’t an explosives expert, and, as he had pointed out, there were countless subtleties that could cause it not to work. The soldiers might also see or hear Tanner coming and riddle the truck with bullets before he could get close enough. Or, even if everything went according to plan, the soldiers might decide to go on the offensive and move away from the railway station before the bomb detonated.