Unbeaten Read online

  Nothing. Three more pushes of the broom. A plume of dust formed with his efforts. The old man seemed annoyed by a flattened white paper cup on the ground.

  “Just shoot him,” Jerry said. “Get it over with.”

  “Nah,” he’s not armed.

  “I’ll shoot him, then,” Jerry said.

  “No. He’s just an old man.”

  Davis aimed at him anyway. He sent off one round. The paper cup went flying like a saucer.

  The old man’s face darted toward them.

  “Put your hands up, now.” Davis and the others ran toward him. “Don’t move.”

  The old man stood, trembling, with his arms in the air. By the time they reached him, Davis noticed a dark spot on the old man’s khakis.

  “He’s pissing himself,” Jerry said. “That’s disgusting. Crappy old bastard.”

  “Stop it. Keep your eyes open. This could be a trap.” Trying to keep his men on alert was always a problem. “Do not get distracted here.”

  “It’s just me,” the old man pleaded. “What do you want?”

  “I don’t think for a minute you made that damn gate all by yourself. You’re not fooling me. Where are they?”

  “Who?”

  Davis looked around. The wide, swept streets. The buildings. Some were in disarray…others neat as a surgical tray. There were trails between debris to some. Others were blockaded. “The people that live here. The ones that took down the compound and killed Hyde. We’re not here for a visit. We’re here for a reason.”

  “There’s a few of us but they’re out scouting for supplies,” the old man said and began to lower his arms.

  “Don’t even.”

  “I’m not armed.”

  In a growl, Davis flipped his rifle over and punched the old man in the stomach and yelled, “I said keep your hands in the air.”

  “This is making me nervous,” Jerry said.

  “Where are they?” Davis yelled at the old man again.

  “They’re out,” the old man said, doubled over. “You came at a bad time. Try again later.”

  Davis knew if they were watching him, now would be the time they’d take potshots at them. If he hurt the old man, that would draw them out for an attack. The problem was, he had a hard time hurting the defenseless.

  His men were getting jumpy.

  “Let’s look around. Marvin, check out that old market. Take anything useful. Jerry, that building there. It’s too clean, the coffee shop. Check that out.”

  As he watched his men move off in the distance, the others stood there on guard, watching for anything that moved. Davis kept his rifle pointed on the old man. One false move, a shot at one of his officers, and the old man would die. In the meantime, the smell of urine permeated the immediate surroundings as he listened for any clues from his men.

  “Clear,” Jerry yelled from the coffee shop.

  “Find anything?” Davis asked.

  “Nah, smells like coffee but there’s nothing in there.”

  Davis looked to the market. “Marvin?” he yelled.

  A second too long passed without a sound.

  “Marvin?”

  Nothing. Not a peep.

  “What the heck? I saw him walk in. Didn’t he just go in there?”

  Davis grabbed the old man by the shirt and jerked him to his face. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing!”

  “Hey,” Marvin called out suddenly, as he appeared in the doorway of the old market. He stuffed something oblong and yellow into his mouth and tried to speak. Waving with his arm, he held up a familiar white box with blue writing and said, “’eck it out. They ‘ot ‘winkies in ‘ere. ‘ons of ‘em.”

  That’s when Marvin suddenly dropped into nothingness. He stood there one second and then the next, it was like the ground opened up and swallowed him and his Twinkies. A loud clang echoed as he disappeared from sight.

  Gripping up on the rifle, Davis couldn’t believe his eyes. One second, Marvin was there and the next he’d vanished.

  “What just happened?” Jerry yelled.

  In quick order, the men scurried to form a defensive outward circle. Davis held the old man at gunpoint in front of them by his shirt. “Keep your eyes open on all sides,” Davis said calmly. As a group, they edged back toward the direction they’d come in. They’d gone no more than five feet when the giant metal gate slammed shut with a loud, defining clang.

  “Oh…crap! Shoot the old man, Davis,” Jerry said.

  “Negative. He’s the only thing keeping us alive right now.”

  “They killed Marvin!” Jerry said, and Davis could tell by the tone of his friend’s voice that he was about to lose it.

  “Calm down, Jerry. As far as we know, Marvin’s still eating Twinkies somewhere below ground. We don’t know he’s dead. He’s just missing.”

  “He dropped down. It was a trap,” said one of the other men.

  “Probably onto spikes or something. Should we split up?” Jerry asked.

  “No, unless you want to end up like Marvin,” Davis said calmly. He’d always had the unnerving and unique ability to become calmer in a crisis. “That’s what they want. Divide and conquer.”

  That’s when he shook the old man. “Start talking. What the hell is going on here? This some kind of trick?”

  Then they all ducked as something exploded. From over the locked mammoth gate, smoke and flames rose from where their vehicles were. Two more explosions followed, one for each vehicle.

  The old man started to make a noise.

  The muffled crying started low and then morphed into all-out laughter. The old man was laughing his ass off.

  The laughter became louder…more jovial. Davis found it unnerving. He didn’t want to hold onto him anymore. He shoved him away as if he had leprosy or something equally repulsive, but held his aim.

  “Make him stop that,” Jerry said.

  “Keep it together, everyone,” Davis yelled.

  But not even Davis could stand the laughter. He backed away another five feet. Heads swiveled everywhere.

  That’s when tunes began to play on hidden loudspeakers in all directions. Jimi Hendrix’s voice bellowed All Along the Watchtower. So deafening was the sound, vibrations rattled the soles of their shoes.

  Stunned, Davis stood there, unsure what would happen next. His heart pounded five times the beat.

  Jerry suddenly stepped forward. Stood erect. Raised his weapon snug against his shoulder and cheek. And though Davis barely heard the shot over the loud music, he saw the flash of the weapon right before the round hit the old man square in the chest.

  “No!” Davis barely heard himself yell, but it was too late.

  The other nine of his men scattered and that’s when Jerry dropped to the cleaned street a few feet away. He never heard the shot that killed his friend right before him. He stared as pooling blood seeped from the side of his head.

  Jimi Hendrix sang on, ‘There must be some way out of here, said the joker to the thief…’

  Davis stood with his boots glued to the pavement. It took everything he had not to move. He dropped his weapon to the ground a few feet away and held his hands up in surrender.

  “Don’t run!” he tried to shout to his men while Jimi stole his words.

  They heard none of his warnings.

  He watched three of the men try to scale the metal gate. He watched one try to run into the coffee shop for cover. He watched as one tried to run farther down Hemlock Street. All nine died from unheard shots coming from different directions. While every one of his men were hailed down dead, Davis held his place as the music ended with ‘all along the watchtower.’

  Then silence, except for the persistence of his ringing and rushing pulse.

  The bodies of his men lay strewn along the swept asphalt.

  Before him, the wind off the coast blew a lock of Jerry’s hair across his face. Blood still oozed, no longer at a pulse rate, from the side of his head.

&n
bsp; Davis’ hands still remained up though they shook like crazy.

  After a while, his ears ceased to buzz. The shaking started from the pit of his stomach. He didn’t mean to, but he glanced at dead Jerry again and something overtook him. Before he knew it, he leaned over and retched bile from his stomach. Then he was left with a dilemma as he rose and felt a string of saliva hanging from the corner of his mouth. He took the chance and wiped it on his inner shoulder. Expecting a bullet to fly through his torso any second, he jumped suddenly at the loud clang behind him.

  Turning his head, he eyed the opened gateway.

  It stood open, ajar a few feet wider than before.

  Breathing hard, Davis looked around. There was nothing. No sign that if he moved, he’d meet his demise. No indication that if he didn’t, he’d die there any second.

  The flames on the other side of the gate were dying down. The black smoke billowed into the sky. Getting back to Astoria would take some time. That was if he made it through the gate to begin with.

  He swallowed hard.

  With his heart rate accelerating again, he took a few more breaths.

  Nothing.

  Just the wind now.

  Despite the cold chill, sweat ran in rivers down the sides of his face into his graying stubble. It itched terribly. Davis turned in an about-face to the gate. No one shot him. A few of his dead men were piled before the exit. He took a step toward. Then another. A few more. And then he ran. He couldn’t help but run faster as he reached the exit. Suspecting that they’d shoot him down at the last second, he leapt over the dead as he bolted through the opening.

  4

  Sloane

  “Daaamn…” Chuck said in the microphone as they watched the survivor run away. “What just happened? Are you sure we shouldn’t stop him?”

  “No. Let him go. That’s the plan, remember? He’s the messenger. We have a prisoner and a drone set to intercept,” Sloane said.

  “Drone?” Mae asked.

  She ignored the question. Some things had to be kept secret. Even from them.

  “Can I get down there now, and tend to the injured?” Kent said. His tone gave Sloane the idea that Kent wasn’t fully on board with her tactics. No time for that now.

  “Of course. You don’t have to ask.”

  “I hope the old man’s okay,” Kent said a smidge softer than before.

  “He’s moving. I can see him through the camera. I thought he was going to give us away there for a second,” Sloane said and then remembered everyone heard her on this frequency.

  “Good job everyone. That went as well as…expected. Though I wish we didn’t have to use force. They left us with no choice.”

  That’s when she heard, “I thought you said appear weak when you’re strong. That was bat-shit crazy, Mom.” Wren’s voice bellowed, “And whose idea was the choice of music?”

  Sloane knew this was coming from Wren. Always the opposition. The answer would surprise her, though.

  “Jason’s,” Sloane said, letting the pause hang in the air. “Now go and help Kent. We can talk about this later.”

  Getting used to having everyone hear her words, even to her own family, made her abruptly end the feed. It was time to send Jason on his mission, clean up and glean all they could from the one they caught before the others returned. They needed to get ready again, and soon. It was all up to Jason now and she hoped his plan worked.

  5

  Davis

  By the time he made it to the highway on foot, Davis still felt eyes upon him. Despite the coming dark, he figured they had infrared cameras housed in some of the trees he’d passed through. “They planned this from the start,” he said through gritted teach. “I need a vehicle.” He eyed several abandoned ones along the route. Most of them had one indication or another that they were useless to his needs. Tires blown, missing, or otherwise. He’d remembered seeing a few more as they came in.

  These people, whoever they were, would never leave a useful vehicle for him to make it back to Astoria anytime soon. No, they knew what they were doing. They were buying time. They were making him pay and they’d let him go, knowing he’d return with force. Though they had no idea what they were up against. They might think they knew…but they didn’t. Not really. That’s what scared him more than anything. This would cause a war. One he didn’t want to hang around for.

  “If I could just sneak in and get my wife and the kids out before it’s too late, I’d take them away and leave without a word.”

  A plan rose into his consciousness like a rising hot air balloon but burned and fizzled just as fast. As soon as he envisioned running with them, he knew it was too dangerous to consider fleeing. He’d already risked their lives enough. They’d never let him take her and their two young sons. Ever. No, he was trapped there. Indentured servitude was what they called it. He was an indentured servant. Maxwell Davis, Iraq Army veteran. The audacity. He shook his head in frustration as he continued to jog on into the early night. He felt trapped. Unworthy and really freaking tired now.

  Two more years of this and Tale said they would let him take his family and leave. That was their deal. They’d offer him the choice, stay or leave, but service first. It was insane, but he held no power now.

  Tale, the imposed king of Astoria, made the legendary Al Capone look like a nice guy. In the past, he’d ordered the killing of entire families for any inkling of disloyalty. As a former gang lord, Tale had escaped prison during the pandemic years after being incarcerated for multiple murders, rapes, and robberies.

  Meanwhile, Davis had lost his parents and siblings to the pandemic. Just returned from war, the jolt sent him spiraling as he cared for his wife and two boys. He’d neglected to see the danger of having a drug lord taking over the small town so soon. He thought he’d had time. He thought things would improve. Things spiraled out of control too quickly and then the world essentially ended with a new set of rules to go by.

  Tale was known for having a particular sadistic streak. A chill ran through Davis’s spine just thinking of his crimes against humanity. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the man. He was afraid of the crazy. There was a difference.

  Stopping the running cadence, Davis looked to the sunset in the distance. If they were watching, he should warn them. Just in case someone still had eyes and ears on him. Looking into the darkening night, he yelled, “You don’t know what you’ve started. Leave now. Vanish. Run for your lives while you have the time.”

  6

  Kent

  “Just pull it off,” Kent said, and Wren tugged away the strong Velcro tabs holding the bulletproof vest in place as he held the old man up. “That’s it. Now pull the chest frame away.”

  “It’s heavier than I thought,” Wren said, struggling with the bulletproof ballistics vest.

  “Keep breathing. Deep breaths, that’s it,” Kent said to the old man.

  “Damn…thing ‘urts. Couldn’t catch my breath.”

  “Don’t try to talk. I cannot believe you agreed to this. What the hell were you thinking? A few inches north and there’s no way you’d’ve survived a shot like that. Instant heart attack, man,” Kent said.

  “I wanted to. My choice,” the old man said.

  “Save it. You’re not a martyr,” Kent said and motioned for a few men to take him away to the infirmary with the stretcher. “Wren, keep an eye on him. Monitor his pulse until I get back.”

  “What are you gonna do?” she asked.

  “I’m checking on the others,” he said.

  Her eyebrows lifted. “They’re uh, dead, aren’t they?”

  “We’ll see. Go on.”

  She nodded, he suspected knowing now, he didn’t want her a witness to what he was about to do. He just needed to know. He needed to make sure they were dead. If not, he would end them himself if he had to. All but one. That was the plan.

  Turning on his flashlight, he pointed the beam at the man nearby, his blood sticky on the asphalt. He was dead-dead. There was no dou
bting the deadness there in one glance. Sadly, he wasn’t more than mid-twenties, if that. He was once someone’s son, though he was on the wrong side of this mess. It was an awful world now. Even so, Kent placed his gloved fingers against the man’s neck. Nothing. No thumping. No signs of life. Just an empty void. He still wanted to make sure of the finality.

  “Did you check him?” Chuck asked.

  He hadn’t known Chuck was standing beside him. His hand jerked away from the dead man’s neck.

  Confused by the question, Kent said, “Well, there’s no pulse, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Nah, I mean, communication devices, weapons, any kind of information?”

  Kent shook his head. “No, I didn’t. He’s just dead. That’s all I was after. He’s all yours now. Check away.”

  Standing up, Chuck flashed him a look. “What?”

  “You don’t approve of her methods, do you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a doctor. You took an oath, right? The Heimlich…something like that. Do no harm. That’s what it says.”

  “You mean the Hippocratic Oath. Heimlich is a first aid procedure for choking, you idiot.” Kent began to walk away then spun on his heel. “No. This…doesn’t bother me.” Though he wasn’t sure why, he was raising his voice. “Her methods are unique only because they’re classic and we’re not dealing with a classic enemy. We’re dealing with savages. And the phrase first do no harm does not appear in the Hippocratic oath. It never did. Keep that in mind when you piss me off.”

  Pointing to the market Kent said, “Have you checked on our prisoner?”

  “No. Sloane said to wait for her. As far as I know he’s still in there.”

  “You mean no one’s checked to see if he’s all right? That was an eight-foot-long drop.”

  “I’m sure we’ll get to him,” Chuck said. “He’s not going anywhere. He’s got an entire box of Twinkies with him to keep him company.”

  Kent left Chuck standing there to deal with the latest of the dead ones while he headed to what used to be the market. It was now only a cleverly disguised trap with Twinkie bait. Though the closer he came to the entrance, the louder the banging came from down below. Someone’s small silhouette stood near the doorframe. Arms crossed. Head held high.