Secrets under the mesa, p.10
Secrets Under the Mesa, page 10
And for that reason, I didn’t hesitate when I shot them.
Their eyes didn’t have time to adjust which gave me a distinct advantage. I’m no sharp shooter, but at a distance of fifteen feet, my aim is decent enough. I shot five times and both men crumpled to the entryway floor. If I said I felt remorseful, I’d be lying. I was euphoric right then – at least until I looked at Abby’s shocked face. Even in the gloom, I could see that her eyes were wide and she was looking at me with a mixture of shock and something that might have been revulsion.
More shots came from the kitchen. I noticed that Ben had moved from his post at the window and must be in the fray alongside Dylan and Monty. The sounds were a cacophony of grunts, growls, bodies slamming against appliances and cabinetry, items being broken and the soft thud of fists making contact with flesh and bone. I was sorely tempted to throw my hat in the ring but I knew I needed to stay at my post. The front door was a gaping maw of blackness through which anyone or anything could easily gain entry. Abby moved to cover the window that Ben had relinquished and I could see her small form squatting off to the side, careful to keep her face away from the glass. She’d been paying attention during the rushed and impromptu lesson.
The sounds from the kitchen came to abrupt stop with a loud thud, which sounded like a body making contact with linoleum.
Ben shouted, “Kitchen’s clear!”
I took my eyes off the foyer in the process of standing up as Ben came back into the living room. Just then, two shots whizzed past from behind me, so close that one of them grazed my bicep. The burning pain was instantaneous. A second later, a body fell down the stairs and landed alongside its compadres on the foyer floor. Joe had just covered my ass even though he’d come awfully damn close to killing me in the process.
The next few minutes went by without incident and we gathered together in the living room once more.
Finally, Ben said, “We need to get the electricity back on.” Dylan nodded and motioned for Ben to follow as they went back through the kitchen and out the carport door to the backyard. In another minute, the lights came on – a weak offering since most of them were still switched off.
But it was adequate enough to illuminate the gruesome fallout of the attack.
We were still on high alert, but as a group we began to survey the damage, starting in the foyer. Three bodies. Men dressed in black clothing wearing black gloves. They all appeared dead. Dylan squatted down and held his fingers against their carotid arteries, one after another. A quick shake of his head each time confirmed our suspicions. Joe stood behind me with his hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently, as I gazed down at the carnage.
I guess he thought I might feel horrified about what I’d done. Don’t get me wrong – it wasn’t something I took lightly. Still, there was no rush of self-loathing or mental hand wringing. They’d brought this party to us. We hadn’t gone looking for trouble.
Joe stayed by the front door as the rest of us ventured into the kitchen. We were careful not to turn on any room-flooding lights. We didn’t know if there were more bad guys outside watching for a clear shot through the windows. Dylan turned on the stove light which cast an eerie glow on the scene. Two human bodies, dressed just like the ones in the foyer, were sprawled on the kitchen floor. Beside them, lay Monty.
Dylan checked the humans first. One dead, the other unconscious with a dart protruding from his chest. Next, he knelt beside Monty.
Dylan had adopted the pit bull four years ago after he’d been rescued during a raid in Waxahachie. The home owners had been conducting illegal dog fights and Monty was one of the few animals with treatable injuries. The odds of being adopted with his history were slim though. That’s when Dylan had stepped in, tending to his physical wounds as well as the psychological and behavioral ones.
The brown eyes opened and the stump of a tail lifted and fell a few times as he gazed up at his beloved human. An expanding puddle of blood surrounded him.
“Flashlight,” Dylan said.
I grabbed one from a kitchen drawer and focused the beam on Monty. The bullet wound was dead center of his chest. It didn’t take an expert to notice the rhythmic nature of the blood flow. He would bleed to death in moments and there was nothing we could do to stop it.
Of course, Dylan knew this before anyone. He sat down on the floor beside him and stroked his head. Monty licked his hand.
“Good dog, Monty. Good boy. You did a good job.” Dylan’s voice was steady and calm.
Abby put her hand on Dylan’s shoulder, tears streaming down her face. A tight knot formed in my throat.
Monty’s eyelids began to close. Dylan continued speaking soft praises to his canine friend until it was over. When he lifted his face finally, the anguish I saw was almost more than I could bear.
“Joe, still clear out there?” I managed to say.
“Yep, no movement.”
“Let’s take care of him,” I said to Dylan.
Ben ran upstairs to get some towels and we wrapped Monty in a soft cocoon. I helped Dylan carry him out through the carport as Ben and Abby kept watch.
“The garden,” Dylan said.
We buried Monty at the far end of Dylan’s vegetable garden, next to a crepe myrtle bush and under an ancient oak tree. Even at night, I could see that it was a lovely spot. The moon hung full and heavy and the clear sky allowed the stars to shine with an intensity we didn’t experience in the city.
I tried to help Dylan with the digging but he seemed to need the physical exertion and pushed me away. Finally it was done and I pulled my friend toward me in a fierce hug. I felt him choke a couple of times against my shoulder. A wave of guilt washed over me then. I had done this. I meddled in things which people didn’t want meddled into and my blind determination to get to the bottom of what was happening in Dulce had led to the abduction of Abby and Joe.
And now this. If it weren’t for me, Joe would be in his home, Abby would not have put herself at the mercy of a scumbag like Skinner, we wouldn’t have had to take human lives (the moral and legal ramifications of which would come crashing down on us at some point soon) and Monty would still be alive.
It was all my fault.
Finally, we headed back to the house.
Four bodies had to be dealt with and the fifth living assailant would be an even greater challenge.
“We’re not calling the police,” Ben said, as we entered the kitchen. “Not yet. First we’re going to question this dickhead.” He punctuated the statement with a kick to the unconscious man’s ribs, eliciting a groan. The tranquilizer was wearing off.
The man looked younger than the other assailants we’d encountered that day. His skin was pasty and his hair was a greasy, nondescript blond. You wouldn’t look twice at this guy if you passed him on the street.
Pasty Boy’s eyes fluttered open when Ben clicked handcuffs onto his wrists, another offering from the duffel bag. Lying on his side on the floor, the first thing he saw was a forest of legs surrounding him. His gaze traveled upward to hostile faces.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered and closed his eyes.
Ben kicked him in the ribs again and received a satisfying squeal of pain for the effort.
“Wake up, dickhead. You got some splainin’ to do.”
“Fuck you,” the man replied with a groan.
Ben kicked him again, harder this time. Pasty Boy howled.
I smiled. There was something distinctly unlikeable about this guy and I had a lot of pent up frustration.
“No, you’re the one who’s fucked, asshole. You’re going to tell us everything you know. Starting now.” Ben emphasized the ‘now’ with another kick, this time to the groin. He gave his victim a few minutes to work through the groin pain before pulling him to his feet and shoving him into a kitchen chair.
The man was getting more lucid by the second. I could see intelligence in those pale eyes; a sly, shifty intelligence that told me we’d need to handle this jerk carefully if we wanted to get the truth from him.
“Who do you work for?” I asked him. The pale gaze shifted from Ben to me. I saw fear in those eyes but also defiance. We’d see how long that lasted.
“I work for the Keebler elves. We heard the recipe for Milanos was here and we came to steal it.”
Ben backhanded him. The blonde head snapped to the side and blood trickled out of his mouth. He spat a disgusting wad of red-tinged sputum onto Dylan’s floor.
This minor act seemed to flip a switch in the section of my brain that processes rage. Dylan’s house had been immaculate when we arrived earlier that evening. Now glass, broken doors, blood and bodies littered his home all because of this little fucker and his cohorts. Dylan’s home, which had been a sanctuary for injured, abused and unwanted animals like Monty – and this creep thought he could spit on the floor? Not in this lifetime, pal.
I squatted down so my eyes were level with his pale blue ones. I studied him at my leisure, my head cocked to one side. The seconds ticked by and I could tell he was becoming unnerved. Whatever expression showed on my face, it seemed to undermine his confidence more so than getting kicked and smacked around by Ben. Still, he kept his mouth shut as he fidgeted in his chair, doing his best to avoid making eye contact with me.
Joe came into the kitchen. “Nothing else going on out there,” he said. “I did a recon of the perimeter.”
My eyes never left the face of Pasty Boy as Ben recounted the events of the last 20 minutes, informing Joe that the only survivor was sitting right here. That prompted a flash of panic on the bland face.
When I spoke, it was in a soft, matter-of-fact tone.
“You get one chance to talk. After that, no matter how much you scream, beg for mercy or cry for your mama, it won’t matter because the window will already have closed. But right now, that window is open. I strongly suggest you take advantage of this opportunity because I can tell you it would be in your best interest to do so.”
“You think you’re scaring me?” Pasty Boy blustered. I could see the bravado beginning to slip.
I smiled and said, “Yeah, I think so. Because you realize that we’re not going to go easy on you. You realize that you have pushed us past the limit of normal behavior. You thought at first that we were a group of schmucks...pushovers...pussies. And now, as you look at us, as you look at me,” I held his face between my hands so he was forced to look into my eyes, “you know that we are capable of committing atrocities above and beyond what we could ever have imagined before all this began. And you know that I will take my time with you because there is something in my eyes that tells you I will enjoy hurting you. And you know what? You’re absolutely right.”
My smile broadened. I couldn’t help it. I was enjoying this.
Two seconds later, he started talking.
He knew little about his employers other than they were government and they paid very well. He suspected a prominent senator was involved because a name he recognized had been inadvertently spoken in his presence. The guy who’d committed this faux pas fell off the face of the earth soon after. The senator’s name was one Skinner had given up – a step in the right direction.
“So, what do you know about Dulce, New Mexico?” I asked. The recognition was instantaneous.
“I’ve been there a few times. Now that you mention it, I think I ran into you and your goon there a few months back.” The little prick had the nerve to smile.
Ben squatted down and looked him squarely in the eyes. “You must have been the little fucker I kicked in the nuts. I hope you don’t have plans to reproduce because I’m pretty sure your swimmers are seriously impaired by now.”
The smile disappeared.
Ben stood and took a step back. The next moment a bullet came through the kitchen window and lodged in pasty boy’s temple.
“On the ground!” Ben yelled for the second time in 24 hours. We stayed low for the next couple of minutes as blood oozed down the side of our captive’s head. His eyes were half open and the spark of life that all living creatures possess was clearly gone.
“Joe, I think your perimeter sweep was a bit lacking,” Ben said from the floor.
Joe shrugged. “I didn’t beat the bushes. This was a sniper’s bullet. My guess is he was 50 yards or so due south in that line of trees.
“Somebody didn’t want him talking, but why just this guy? Why not us?” Dylan said.
“Maybe we were next,” Abby replied in a horrified whisper.
We were still hunkered down on the floor when my cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw the incoming number was blocked.
“Hello, Joshua,” Loretta didn’t wait for a greeting. “Sorry for the window, but it couldn’t be helped. We couldn’t let that cockroach live. The rest of you are safe for the time being. Please make sure everyone is out of the house in exactly one hour. I’m sending a cleanup crew.”
“Loretta, what the hell?” I yelled into the phone, but it was already dead air.
I relayed the conversation to the group. We stood, staying clear of the window. By the time we got ourselves cleaned up, the sky was beginning to lighten.
Dylan decided the animals would be coming with us, so we put the iguana and the cat in small carriers and set them in the back of his SUV. The dogs were used to road trips to the clinic and their tongues lolled happily at the prospect of a ride. Daisy the dachshund sat in Abby’s lap sporting a fresh doggy diaper. She seemed perfectly content to let the other dogs jockey for best window position in the back.
“Clinic first?” I asked Dylan as we pulled away from his house. We were crammed into the Explorer like a bunch of furry and fleshy sardines.
“Yep. I’ll board them there until this settles down. They won’t like it but at least they’ll be safe.”
The drive to the clinic was quiet. Everyone seemed to be working through the emotional fallout of their actions. Some of us had taken human lives. Had those jerks deserved it? Of course. At the moment I didn’t feel remorse for the killing I’d done, but maybe that would surface in time.
Or maybe not.
It had been exactly twenty-four hours since I’d seen the hybrid on the local news story. My brain struggled to absorb the preponderance of events during that time period – the significance of individual threads and the horrific, half-formed tapestry they were surely weaving, vague and nebulous, like those pictures you have to look at with unfocused eyes to identify the pattern.
We pulled into the empty parking lot of Dylan’s clinic around 6:00 that Sunday morning. Humans and animals spilled out of the cramped SUV like too many clowns from a tiny car. Dylan herded us into the clinic and I headed for the break room to make coffee. Soon everyone joined me, drawn by the smell of fresh coffee.
Ben was the only one who seemed perky, as he rooted through the cupboards, looking for something to eat. I decided it was time for my speech – a speech I’d been working on in my head for the last hour.
“Okay, here’s the thing.” I said in a reasonable voice. “I can’t keep putting you guys in harm’s way. I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to any of you and I already feel responsible for every horrible thing that’s happened to us today. I won’t allow it to continue. I won’t allow you to be drawn into something so dangerous. This is my battle, not yours. I know Joe wants to stick with it because this is also his battle. But, the rest of you need to put your own safety first. I’m afraid I have to insist. As of this moment, you’re released from active duty. I want you all to hole up somewhere safe, at least for the next few days.”
Ben arched an eyebrow and said, “Go fuck yourself, Hawkins. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I ain’t going anywhere. So stick that in your pipe and smoke it.”
“Joshua, how can you think we’d back off now?” Abby looked like she might punch me. “What do you think we are...a bunch of pussies?”
If she was angry enough to drop the P-bomb while sober, she was definitely angry enough to punch me.
Before I could respond, Dylan spoke.
“This isn’t just your problem, Josh. Or Joe’s either. It never has been. People have died – have been dying for quite some time and probably in more gruesome and horrendous ways than we can even imagine. A great many more people could die in the future. Your intentions are noble but also selfish. You want to save yourself the guilt and anguish you’d feel if something happened to one of us. I get that. But we’re not children...we know what we’re getting ourselves into. We understand the danger. We’re also not the type of people who can turn our backs, especially when there’s so much at stake. You should know that.
“Now, let’s pretend this conversation never happened.”
I looked at Joe who shrugged.
“Now that that steamy bowl of crap is taken care of, I propose a leisurely drive over to Pearl Street for a little reconnoitering. After a quick stop at Dunkin Donuts first,” Ben said.
CHAPTER 7
The streets of Dallas were free of traffic. The church-goers weren’t venturing out this early, but of course the donut shops were open. After breakfast, Ben bought an extra half dozen maple donuts to go, ‘just in case.’ I don’t know what that meant, but when it comes to Ben and maple donuts, the fewer questions asked, the better.
All we had to go on was where the hybrid had last been seen, so we figured we’d start there then work our way outward in ever-expanding concentric circles. We carried our small arsenal in backpacks borrowed from Dylan’s house and in Abby’s oversized handbag. Just tourists out for an early morning stroll in the city.
But we were tourists loaded for bear. Or technically, alien hybrids.
