Le bras pendant a la iambe liee,
Visage pasle, au sein poignard cache,
Trois qui seront iurez de la meslee
Au grand de Genues sera le fer laschee.
His arm hung and leg bound,
Face pale, dagger hidden in his bosom,
Three who will be sworn in the fray
Against the great one of Genoa will the steel be unleashed.
Watching the van as it passed around a curve and out of sight, I slipped the two-headed quarter back into my pocket. They would wait at a roadside park we had passed a mile back until six forty. No more, no less. That gave me just over half an hour.
If I hadn’t made it back by then, Debra had agreed to backtrack and detour around the area, taking the longer alternate route. I had assured her I would follow as soon as possible. It would mean driving an additional eighty miles, but that was better than ending up as part of the litter problem on the other side of the hill.
I pushed the Suzuki into the woods and slipped among the trees to head over the hill. I made my way about halfway down the hill, then stopped to scan for any signs of life. Nothing.
I moved on down, slipping from tree to tree as quietly as possible, alert for any indication that I’d been seen. Finally, I drew alongside the rearmost vehicle.
The station wagon, about twenty years old, with what had once been imitation wood grain trim, was about twenty feet from the tree I hid behind, so I had an excellent view. In the scorched mass of melted plastic and charred paint, I saw that the windshield had shattered, and wispy tendrils of melted plastic trailed from the chromed border. The hood was blackened, and black streaks trailed down the fender. Even the front tires were melted.
Astonishingly, the rear of the vehicle was nearly untouched except for the windows, which were all networked with the millions of breaks characteristic of overstressed safety glass. I figured the heat had probably done that, since I spotted no apparent points of impact.
The idea of impact brought another thought to mind, and I quickly reexamined the wagon. I sighed in relief at the lack of bullet holes, at least not on the side I could see. Checking the other side would mean leaving the cover of the trees, and I wasn’t willing to risk that yet, not until I was reasonably sure there wasn’t a sentry, or ax murderer, or whatever hiding somewhere in the trees on my side of the road.
I glanced at my watch. Only five minutes had passed since I’d come over the hill.
Yeah, I thought, time sure flies when you’re having fun.
It took another ten minutes of sneaking around to convince myself that no one lurked in the trees on my side of the road. Unfortunately, I also confirmed that there had been an ambush. Both vans and all of the bodies were riddled with holes, and I saw enough broken glass to tell me how the attack had probably gone.
An initial barrage of Molotov cocktails inundated the convoy, panicking the drivers and their passengers. They abandoned their vehicles, only to be cut down by snipers in the trees. The end result lay before me. Six bodies and four gutted vehicles.
I checked my watch. Nearly half of my time had passed, and I still had to search the other side. If it proved safe, I needed to drag the bodies out of sight. I hesitated for a moment more.
I finally prodded myself into action. I sprinted from the trees to the side of the overturned pickup. Then I waited, listening for a response.
Nothing. So far, so good. I ran for the trees on the far side of the road and crouched next to a large pine. The trees were quiet, and the only sound I heard was the pounding of my heart. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
I began the search, picking my way as quietly as possible through the trees, uphill to the motorcycle. I had nearly finished my inspection, keeping close track of the time, when I heard a faint buzzing coming from the thick underbrush about twenty yards ahead. Not quite a buzz, though, different somehow, but familiar.
I listened intently, willing my heart and breath to silence so that I might identify the tantalizing sound. I finally realized that, while I sat there frozen in place by a noise in the brush, my time was steadily ticking away. I couldn’t afford to wait around for the source of the disturbance ahead to jump up and identify itself. So I stepped out from behind the tree to investigate. As I did so, two things happened simultaneously.
The first thing was relatively insignificant. Something in my head clicked, and I finally recognized the buzzing as the faint sound of a carrier wave over an open radio channel. As soon as I realized that, I froze. That sound indicated that someone was watching the road, which in turn indicated that the road was unsafe for travel.
Even as this ran through my head, and I prepared to carefully work my way around and up to the motorcycle, something much more critical occurred. I heard the sharp “snick-chak” of a semi-automatic handgun being cocked behind me.
“All right, buddy, you’ve got two choices here,” the voice behind me gloated. “You can either raise your hands and come with me real quiet-like, or you can make a run for it. Who knows? You might even make it.” He paused. “Well, what’s it gonna be?”
I could tell he was too far away for me to try for his gun and, even if he were closer, I didn’t know whether it was at the level of my head or back. Since I wasn’t feeling particularly suicidal, I surrendered. I raised my hands, glancing at my watch as I did so. Six twenty-nine, just over ten minutes left.
“Smart move,” the voice said. “Now, why don’t you do us both a favor and unsling that machete.”
Chancing a glance behind me to see where he was exactly, I did as he told me.
“Face front!” he yelled. “Did I tell you to turn around? Huh? You do what I tell you, only what I tell you, and only when I tell you to do it. Got it?”
When I failed to reply, he practically screamed, “Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“You can call me ’sir,’ asshole.”
I toyed with the idea of doing just that, but restrained myself. He might overreact if I called him “Sir Asshole,” and I really didn’t need a hole in my back. “Yes, sir.”
“Good boy!” he sneered. “Now, why don’t you pull that pig sticker out of your belt and drop it, too. And move real slow… I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
I slowly removed the Bowie and tossed it on the ground next to the machete.
“Okay, now stay real still.” I heard him shuffling toward me. He picked up my knife and machete then edged around, keeping about ten feet between us until he reached the bushes in front of me. The first thing I noticed was his clothing: hunter’s camouflage coveralls. He was about thirty-five, hard years, from the look of the lines on his face. Most importantly, he pointed a large-caliber handgun at my chest.
I had a sudden, intense desire to urinate, but managed to suppress it.
He reached into the bushes and pulled out a walkie-talkie. “Larry? It’s Frank.”
I heard a slight British accent in the reply, “Yes Frank, what is it?”
“Larry, I found someone sneaking around in the woods down here.”
“So what’s the problem?” The voice sounded bored. “Kill him and get it over with.”
The need to urinate returned instantly, more powerful than before. It took a conscious effort to hold back.
“Naw, listen, Larry. He was snoopin’ around. Kept looking at his watch. I think he’s working with someone else.”
Wonderful. How long had Frank been watching me?
Pause. Then, “All right, bring him in.”
“On my way.” Frank sneered. “Okay, prick, hands on your head.”
When I had done so, he continued, “Now, we’re going on up the hill a little ways,” he pointed east, “and if I see your hands leave your head just once, I’m gonna put a hole in ya. Got it?”
“Yes… sir.”
“Good, you remembered! I’m impressed. Now move.”
We moved out onto the road and about two-thirds of the way up the hill. There, we turned onto a small dirt road hidden from the highway by some recently planted saplings. It wound through the woods for about half a mile, ending in a small clearing dominated by a little country cabin. In front, a group of four men stood waiting, all but the largest armed with both rifles and sidearms. The exception was a huge Asian-Bruce Lee on steroids.
Frank stopped me about ten yards away. “Wait here. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay real still.”
He walked over to one of the armed men and held a whispered conference for a few minutes. Then the one Frank had been speaking to stepped forward. Incredibly, he actually stuck out his hand. “Good evening. My name is Larry Troutman.”
Real smooth customer. “I’d be happy to shake hands, Larry, but your man Frank has informed me that lowering my hands could be detrimental to my health.”
He clucked his tongue in apparent dismay. “Frank, don’t be so antisocial. Of course you can lower your hands, Mr.…?”
“Dawcett.”
“Mr. Dawcett. Fine. I can see that you’re going to be most cooperative, aren’t you?”
I guessed his smile was supposed to be reassuring. Unfortunately, it only brought to mind the “Inverse Law of Enemies,” the one that said the more civilly an enemy treated you initially, the nastier his ultimate plans.
I could already tell I was in for an extremely rough time. Nevertheless, I shook his hand. “I’ll cooperate as much as I can, of course.” I could play games, too.
His smile broadened. “Fine, fine. Now, would you be so kind as to hand me your wallet. Frank, what is that you’re carrying?”
Frank handed Larry my machete and Bowie as I pulled out my wallet. Larry tossed the machete aside, but examined the knife intently, turning it over and over. “Very nice. Custom made. This must have cost you quite a bit-” He stopped mid-sentence, noticing the maker’s logo on the blade.
“You made this?”
I shrugged.
“Quite impressive. A man of talent. I presume you have a sheath for it.” I unclipped it from my belt and handed it to him.
“Thank you, Mr. Dawcett.” He stuck the sheathed blade through his belt and opened my wallet to my driver’s license.
“Mr. Dawcett… may I call you Leeland?” He went on before I could respond. “I see you’re from Houston, Leeland. That seems a long way to travel on foot.” He looked at me pointedly. “Where is your car?”
I’d learned as a kid that the best way to lie was to tell the truth, withholding as little as possible. “I was riding a motorcycle, but some jerk in a Rabbit ran me off the road about ten miles back. I’ve been on foot ever since.”
“In a Rabbit, you say? Was it green, by any chance?”
I nodded. “You know him?”
Almost wistfully, he sighed. “We recently offered him our hospitality, but he declined our invitation. Frank, how long ago did he leave us?”
“’Bout an hour ago.”
Larry was sharp. He caught my blunder before I even realized I had made one. “You traveled ten miles in an hour on foot? Somehow, I find that difficult to believe.”
Motioning to the other three men, he sighed. “I believe Mr. Dawcett is being less than honest with us. Michael, Edgar, please restrain him.”
As they grabbed my arms, the one on my left that I assumed was Michael, yelped. “Hey! He’s packin’ somethin’ up his sleeve.”
Larry whipped out his pistol and aimed it directly at my right eye. “Why, Leeland, I’m very disappointed. And we were getting along so well. Carrying concealed weapons into a friend’s home is very bad manners. It indicates a certain amount of distrust, and that’s certainly no way to start a relationship.”
He shook his head, clicking his tongue in apparent disappointment. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to remove your jacket, Mr. Dawcett.”
When I hesitated, he thumbed back the hammer of his revolver. “Please.”
“Well, since you ask so nicely.” Two minutes later, they had me stripped to my underwear, my clothes in one pile, my toys in another. Larry uncocked his revolver as he knelt and examined them.
“Quite an interesting arsenal you have here. Karate?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t going to try to explain the differences in various martial arts just now.
“Frank, come here. Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
Frank went over and squatted next to Larry. “Like what?”
“Like this!” Larry backhanded Frank with the barrel of his pistol. Frank dropped to the ground, stunned and bleeding. “What the hell were you thinking? First, you let that runt in the Volkswagen get away, and now this? Don’t you have any brains at all? God knows, I don’t expect genius-level brain work from you, but an occasional glimmering of intelligence would truly be appreciated.
“Let me spell it out for you, Frank. Bringing someone in here-in front of me! — bringing someone into my home without searching him first is stupid! He could have had an Uzi under that jacket for all you knew.”
Magically, the barrel of Larry’s revolver rested against Frank’s temple. “Perhaps there’s just no hope for you. I don’t think you will ever learn. Perhaps I should put an end to your miserable little existence.”
He cocked back the hammer again. “What do you say, Frank?”
Frank’s eyes widened until I thought they were in danger of rolling out of their sockets. “S-sorry… I’m sorry, Larry! I screwed up, I know. It won’t happen again, I swear!.. Oh God, oh God, oh God! Please, please, Larry!”
He was getting hysterical. Larry drew the moment out for a few more seconds, then stood and holstered his pistol. “See that it doesn’t. Now stop your sniveling and go get cleaned up.”
Frank scrambled to his feet and sprinted for the cabin. Larry turned his attention back to me, once again the urbane sophisticate. “Now, Mr. Dawcett, I would like some answers. What were you doing sneaking around in the woods here?”
I hesitated a moment. How should I go about this? He would undoubtedly kill me without a qualm as soon as my answers displeased him. And, I didn’t think he would be terribly pleased to learn I had lied. But I couldn’t tell him about Debra and the kids until I was fairly certain they were safely out of his reach. I had to draw him out and string him along. Then, just maybe, they’d get careless enough for me to risk attempting escape. “Okay, but it’s sort of a long story.”
“I’ve got time,” he replied. “Han,” naming the last, and by far the largest, man of the group. “Please get my camp stool and some rope.”
Han trotted back to the cabin. “Interesting fellow, Han. A true warrior monk-or so he says. My family sponsored his sister when she immigrated, and now he seems to think he’s indebted to me. Quite handy to have around. Never questions orders, so long as they don’t go against his beliefs.”
Han reappeared with the requested items. Larry seated himself on the little folding stool and watched as Han stepped up to me holding a short length of nylon rope.
“That really won’t be necessary.” Once my hands were tied, my chances of escape would be minimal.
“Possibly, Leeland. Possibly. But you’ve already proven yourself to be less than honest and,” he indicated the pile of weapons they had confiscated, “there is considerable evidence that you could be dangerous at close quarters. You’ll understand if we tend to be a bit cautious with you.”
Resigned, I held my hands out toward Han.
“No, no, you misunderstand.” Larry shook his head. “Behind your back, please.”
“But, Larry,” I quipped, “I thought we were going to be pals.”
For the first time, Larry frowned. “I’m afraid I have my doubts. Please, Mr. Dawcett, I dislike having to repeat myself. Turn around!”
Han didn’t give me another chance to hesitate, but spun me quickly around and secured my hands as Michael and Edgar stood by to make sure I didn’t resist. He wheeled me back to face Larry once again. Michael and Edgar resumed their grips on my arms as Larry stood and walked up to me, still playing the country gentleman. “Now, Leeland, I believe you were about to tell us a story.”
“Sure.” I paused. “By the way, do you happen to have the correct time?”
Larry’s smile vanished, then inverted. “Frank mentioned you were keeping close track of the time. Somehow, I don’t think I’m going to like this little story of yours.” He glared a moment longer before finally glancing down at his watch. “Six fifty-five.”
I grinned. Debra and the kids were gone by now, even if she’d waited longer than the six forty deadline, and I imagined she would have, hoping that I was just running a little late. Fifteen minutes was long enough, though, that she would know something had happened. She wouldn’t like it, but she had agreed to take the kids to safety. Now I could concentrate on getting myself free.
Larry, watching my face intently, knew he’d lost a round. Though he didn’t know what the stakes had been, he was obviously not a man used to losing. I could tell my expression infuriated him. Perversely, that made me grin even more.
“Han, make him talk,” Larry ordered. “Now!”
Eerily quiet, Han stepped toward me. I barely had time to think “Oh, shit!” before he went to work. About my height, Han was gifted with a Herculean physique, not someone I would ordinarily go out of my way to antagonize. He hammered away at my gut for the next ten or fifteen seconds, though it seemed considerably longer. When he finished, I hung limp in Michael’s and Edgar’s grips.
A martial artist who couldn’t take a few punches to the abdomen wasn’t much of a martial artist. It was a simple matter of keeping your abs in good condition and knowing when to tense and when to relax. Learning to ignore or rechannel surface pain helped, also. Though Han tested my abilities, I wasn’t in nearly as much pain as I pretended.
Any savvy street fighter knew you could often snatch victory from the jaws of defeat if you could just gain the element of surprise. So I hung there, arms tied behind me, gasping for air I didn’t really need and pretending to gag, waiting for fate to intervene on my behalf.
“Now, Leeland.” Larry reverted to his original cocky attitude. “Do you understand the predicament that you’re in? I ask a question, and you answer it. It’s actually quite simple.” He went back to his campstool and sat, looking up at me. “You know, I already know quite a bit about you. I can see that you are a man of some intelligence. No, I’m not trying to flatter you.”
He nodded toward my weapons. “You obviously understand the world is in the midst of a major upheaval, and the old rules of society no longer apply. You have prepared accordingly. You evidently have some skill in the martial arts, since many of the weapons you carry require considerable training and practice to use properly, especially the manriki gusari.”
My surprise must have shown. Not many people, other than martial artists, could identify the Japanese fighting chain by name. For that matter, not many martial artists could, either.
He smiled at my expression. “Oh, yes, I have some small knowledge of the arts, myself. Among other things, Han is my Sifu. We have a symbiotic relationship, each helping the other.” Larry waved his hand at the pile of my weapons. “I must admit, though, most of these items are beyond my modest skills.” He patted my Bowie knife stuck through his belt. “However, I do appreciate a well-made blade.
“So let us speculate here for a moment. You are an intelligent man who recognized the mortal wounds our society has received for what they are, and you have prepared yourself with weapons that were, by the old rules of that society, quite illegal to carry, especially concealed.
“Yet you carry no food. No water. No tools or medical supplies. Not even the most basic camping gear. Why is that? You don’t strike me as the type of person who would prepare so thoroughly for a fight that might or might not occur, and yet not prepare at all for the nuclear devastation that has already begun.
“So answer a question for me, Leeland. Who were you scouting for back there? And I do emphasize the word scouting.”
Again, I told the truth, in a manner of speaking. I changed only my destination and the existence of my family. “I was riding my motorcycle from Houston to my parents’ place in Louisiana. I had it made until that idiot in the Rabbit ran me off the road. And don’t start beating the crap out of me again! I’m not lying. I may have been off on the distance or the time, but I’m not used to traveling long distances on foot. And as far as my scouting goes, what would you do if you were walking down the road and topped a hill overlooking a mess like the one you’ve got back there? You’d stick to the trees and try to sneak by as quickly and as quietly as possible.”
He appeared to think it over for a moment. I’d covered all the angles I could think of. Now all I could do was sweat it out and hope it was good enough.
He looked up at me again. “Very well, Leeland. Assuming this is true, it still doesn’t explain your lack of provisions.”
“My folks have got all the supplies we’ll need. They have a twenty acre spread with a freshwater spring.”
“What about the time? Frank said you were keeping close track of the time.”
“I wanted to get to the next town before dark. Like you said, I don’t even have basic camping supplies. Before the wreck, I could probably have made it all the way to my folks’ house. After the wreck, I figured I’d be lucky to make it to the next town.”
Larry stood and began to pace back and forth in front of me. He considered my story for a moment, probably weighing what I had told him against what he already knew about me.
“Well, Leeland, perhaps I was wrong about you. Let’s see now, you were riding your motorcycle from Houston to Louisiana. Where, exactly, in Louisiana?”
What a time for a geography quiz. Wasn’t Shreveport nearby? I didn’t have time to think about it, or he’d get suspicious again. I gambled. “Shreveport.”
He never batted an eye. “Very well, then, Shreveport. You wrecked the motorcycle and were forced to continue afoot from there. Then you came across our little hollow and decided that you would rather be safe than sorry, so you took to the woods in an attempt to quietly sneak by and reach Shreveport as quickly as possible. Is that correct?”
“Exactly.”
Larry whirled and backhanded me across the face hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. He had a serious flair for melodrama, probably from watching too many war movies.
“Now what?” I yelled.
He reached down and grabbed my beard, jerking my head up viciously. When I saw his malicious sneer, I knew I was in trouble. “Why were you heading west when Frank discovered you? Shreveport is east!”
Oops. I was busted. The only chance I had now was to infuriate him enough to where he might make a mistake. “You know, a good mouthwash would clear that liver and onion smell right up, Larry.”
His eyes glinted coldly. “I thought you were smarter than this.” He let go of my beard and turned away. “Han! Don’t hold back this time.”
Han stepped forward. His fist flew, and it felt like I’d been hit with a sledge hammer. I wasn’t going to be able to take very much of this new assault. The second blow exploded in my belly, and I screamed-partly in pain, partly to help tighten my abs… mostly in pain.
I glimpsed the next punch as it flew toward my nose and tilted my head forward. Han’s knuckles collided with my skull instead, making my vision swim. I had a sudden, piercing headache, but also the satisfaction of hearing Han yelp in pain. When my sight cleared, I saw that he had split his knuckles on my skull. Mom always said I was hardheaded. I just hoped that my skull was in better shape than his knuckles.
“Stop!” Larry yelled. He walked over and examined Han’s hand, then pulled a tube from a small kit on his belt. “Put some ointment on that, Sifu. I’ll finish this.”
Han nodded once and stepped back as Larry turned to me. “Well, Leeland? Last chance. Will you cooperate, or do I finish what Han began?” Han stood silently rubbing the white cream onto his knuckles.
“Not… going to let… him… finish… his own… work?” I gasped.
Larry shook his head. “For all his fine skills, my teacher has some simplistic beliefs. He would never willingly take a life, except in self defense or honorable combat.” He pulled my knife from its sheath. “I, on the other hand, have no such qualms.”
I sighed. A lot of options went through my mind at that point. I could continue to comment on his breath, or even spit in his face. For that matter, he was close enough for me to break his knee, since they hadn’t seen fit to tie my legs. But all of those grand gestures would undoubtedly result in my immediate demise, or worse, my slow execution. And I had an intense desire to live as long as possible.
So I spilled my guts. I told him everything that had occurred since I had seen the fireball. It didn’t matter; my wife and kids were safe. The only lie that I clung to was our true destination. If I didn’t make it and, at that point it didn’t look good, I didn’t want Larry going after them.
When I finished my tale, he shook his head. “So you’ve deceived me all along. You lied about being alone. You stalled for time so your family could get away. And worst of all, you deprived me of the supplies they were carrying in your van.” He sighed. “That was stupid. Very stupid. I could have ransomed you back to them for those supplies. I might even have dealt in good faith and let you all live.”
Larry gestured with my Bowie, waving it before me. “But now, I can’t trust you. I can’t ransom you. And you know, of course, I can’t afford to feed you or have you go to others with what you know about me. Actually, Mr. Dawcett, it appears that your usefulness is at an end.” He raised the blade to my throat.
It’s now or never, I thought, and kicked as fast and as hard as I could, connecting with his knee, hearing it pop, and at the same time trying to pull my neck as far away from that blade as possible.
Larry’s eyes bugged out, and he shrieked as, to my amazement, a wet, red-streaked shaft erupted from his left shoulder and buried itself in Edgar’s throat. Edgar released my right arm and dropped to the ground clawing at the crossbow bolt protruding from his throat. Michael shoved me away, and I fell on my face.
I heard the crack of a rifle. Michael screamed and fell, twitching briefly beside me. His lifeless hand gripped a pistol, and I saw with horror that the barrel pointed directly at my chest.
Han froze, looking at the carnage of the last two seconds, then slowly raised his hands. I struggled to my feet. Larry lay screaming, thrashing about on the ground. Michael and Edgar were both apparently dead.
Debra’s voice rang out from the edge of the tree line. “Don’t move, big guy, or I’ll kill you, too!”
Han’s eyebrows rose slightly, probably at the sound of a woman’s voice, but he didn’t move. I smiled shamelessly. The cavalry had arrived.