Escaping Home (24 page)

“Sorry, kiddo, you can't.”

“Why not?”

Mel looked up. “Yeah, if it's just a meeting, why not?”

Well, fuck me running!
I didn't have a good comeback to that, so I tried deflection instead. “I don't know if Sarge would want her along.”

“You don't work for him. Take her along,” Mel said, an edge in her voice.

I knew what she was doing, trying to get me to back out of the deal entirely, so I called her bluff. “Okay, you can come.”

“Really?” Taylor asked with a big smile.

“Yeah, it's just a ride in the woods. Why not.”

“I want to go, Daddy!” Little Bit shouted.

Mel looked at her. “No, you're too little. You're staying here with me.”

She kicked the dirt. “I never get to do anything.”

Mel was obviously pissed about the plan, but there was nothing she could do. I gestured to Taylor. “Come on, then. You and I have to get a little sleep before dinner. We leave at three in the morning.”

She and I both headed to the cabin to take naps. A few hours later, we got up and ate dinner with everyone. Mel had cooked fish in a Dutch oven with some rehydrated vegetables and potatoes, served over rice. While a very basic meal, it was good and filling. Over dinner, Mel told everyone that the food stocks were running out, that we needed to find other sources besides the MREs. Everyone agreed, and Jeff and Thad said they would help launch an expedition, which helped her mood a little bit.

After dinner I went back to try and lay down for a while, though I knew I wouldn't sleep well. Sometime later, Mel came in and lay down. She put her arm over me and laid there without saying anything. I held her hand and together, we drifted off to sleep.

B
efore I knew it, I woke up to Sarge beating on the side of the cabin. It was like some bad déjà vu.

“I'm up, I'm up! Knock it off.”

“Hurry up.”

Taylor sat up rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Is it time?”

“Yeah, get dressed.”

Mel stirred but didn't wake, so I left her alone as I got dressed and put on all the hardware by the light of a flashlight. Once we were dressed, I handed Taylor a camo shirt. “Put this on.”

I picked up my rifle and handed Taylor hers along with a small shoulder bag of magazines. Kneeling down beside Mel, I kissed her head and said I'd be back.

“You better, and take care of Taylor too.”

“I will. It'll be all right.”

“Love you, Mom,” Taylor said.

The guys were waiting at the buggies. Sarge looked at Taylor when we walked up, and I braced myself for what I was sure to be some interesting verbal abuse. To my surprise, he didn't bat an eye.

“I got coffee. Want some?” Sarge asked.

“Sure, why not,” I said.

“Me too, please,” Taylor said.

Sarge looked at her. “You drink coffee?”

Taylor nodded and I said, “Like a bubblehead.”

“What's a bubblehead?”

Sarge handed her a cup. “They're crazy people that go under the ocean in big black coffins.”

She didn't get it.

“Submariners. Sailors on submarines.”

“Oh,” she said as she took a sip of the coffee, then immediately spit it out. “Ugh, what is that?”

“Coffee,” Sarge replied.

“Where's the sugar and creamer?”

“Sugar and creamer? Where do you think you are? Starbucks?”

“Oh, I can't drink this,” she said and went to pour it out.

Sarge grabbed the cup. “Hey, little lady. Don't pour it out; there's precious little of this stuff.”

“That's just nasty! I don't know how you drink it.”

“It's an acquired taste,” Ted said, taking a sip of his.

“Saddle up, everyone! Morgan, you'll drive my buggy.” I got in and Sarge handed me a pair of night-vision goggles. “Here, no lights.”

The route we were taking was way out in the forest, in a rather remote area. The roads through the Ocala National Forest consist almost entirely of deep sugar sand, which is very fine and, unfortunately, means it is easy to get stuck. The other kind of roads were mud holes—which are exactly what they sound like. Today, we would to take both to ensure the safest route.

We drove in silence, mostly. We did have a moment of levity, though. At one particular muddy crossing, I had to gun the engine a bit, and the tires threw mud all over Taylor. She took it like a champ, though, and didn't complain, laughing as she wiped some of the splatter from her face. It even got the old man chuckling a bit.

After about thirty minutes of driving through the forest, we approached the lake from the south side. Heading west, I drove slowly—at this point, we were closer to the camp than ever, and I wanted to be aware of our surroundings, since the sun was already coming up. It was coming on five thirty when I caught the first glimpse of the antenna and pointed it out to Sarge.

“Let's see if we can get close enough to put this mast up and take a look with the camera.”

I started easing closer while Sarge looked for a place where we'd have a shot at seeing the site. He told me to stop and pulled the small camera console up in front of him. The hydraulic pump that raised it sounded loud enough to wake the dead. I leaned in through the driver's side to check out the camera. It was set to thermal and we could see the antenna and the small building under it. Sarge panned the camera back and forth. The only thing we saw was a lonely armadillo rooting around in the woods beside the building.

“All right, Mike, you and Doc stay here, keep an eye on this and let me know when they show up. They'll probably be in a Blazer. Ted, you and Morgan come with me.” Sarge handed out the small radios to each of us.

“What about me?” Taylor asked.

“You stay here. Don't wander off, just stay with the buggies,” I said.

A small road ran in front of the antenna. At a small bend in it, Ted dipped off into the bush, about fifty yards from the site where Sarge told me to find some cover.

“Stay in there. I'll go out first, and if it's clear I'll wave to you.”

“All right,” I said as I walked off into the scrub.

“Keep your eyes open.”

I gave him a thumbs-up and moved as quietly as I could through the tangle of brush, until I found a large log lying on the ground with a palmetto in front of it. I lay down on my stomach and took a camo face mask out of my vest and pulled it over my head.

We had a long time to wait, the sort of thing that takes patience, something I don't have. As the sky lightened, I was able to see more around me. I soon got bored and started poking ants on the log with a stick. Every minute or two, I would look up. My ears were always listening for the telltale snapping of a twig or brushing sound of someone walking through the palmettos, but in this case, silence was the sound track to this leg of our adventure.

Once the sun was up, I heard Sarge's voice in the little earpiece.
“Everyone good?”

Mike immediately replied that there was no movement by them. I keyed my mic and told him I was 10-4. Then it was silent again. Eventually, I had to roll over on my back and stretch my shoulders and back by doing small crunches. I was not made to lie prone like this for so long. I don't know how those snipers do it. Noon was a long ways away.

During one of Sarge's radio checks I asked Mike about Taylor. He said she was sleeping in the backseat of the buggy. I smiled. That kid could sleep anywhere. Not long after that call, Mike came back over the radio.

“We've got a truck inbound with two outriders on ATVs.”

“Roger that, let me know what they do
,”
Sarge replied.

After several minutes he came back on the radio.
“They've stopped. Looks like the ATVs are going to provide security. They're moving, you should see them any second now.”

“Roger that.”
There was a pause.
“I got 'em.”

The old K5 Blazer pulled right up to the building and stopped. Four men got out. One went to the back and opened the rear gate, letting a fifth man out.

“I got eyes on five bodies,”
Sarge said.

“Roger, I count five,”
Ted replied.

“I've got five,”
Mike said.

I pulled my binoculars from my pack so I could get a good look that them. One of them looked familiar, but it was really his rifle that jogged my memory. I keyed my radio. “Sarge, the guy with the scoped long gun is the survivor from the helo attack.”

“Roger that. You stay put, I'm coming out.”

I couldn't see Sarge until he started down the trail. The men didn't see him right away; he walked a good twenty yards before one of them pointed him out. While they had their weapons in their hands, they didn't make aggressive movements, which was a relief. I kept the binoculars on them regardless, carefully looking each man over.

The fifth guy, the one that got out of the back, had caught my attention. He was bandaged in several places, with one arm in a sling. He also wasn't dressed like the rest of them. The other four men were all wearing woodland BDU military uniforms. He was wearing what looked like a uniform, but more like what the Department of Corrections would issue. This, and the fact that he wasn't armed, really made him stand out from the pack.

One of them, Calvin, waved and started to walk toward Sarge. They met in the road and spoke for a moment, Calvin gesturing back to the bandaged man leaning on the truck. After a minute or two of talking, Sarge keyed his radio.
“Come on out, Morgan.”

I was more than happy to oblige and quickly got up, only to find out I was so stiff I could hardly walk.
Holy hell, I'm getting too old for this shit.
It didn't help to realize that Sarge's old ass had lain there just as long as I had, so I sucked it up and made my way out of the scrub as fast as I could.

“Hey, Calvin,” I said with a nod.

“Morgan,” he replied.

“You boys come on up here. I think you'll want to meet the feller we brought.”

As we walked to the truck, I saw a familiar face.

“Hey, Daniel,” I said, eliciting some strange looks from the others. “Morgan. Remember, we met out on the river. You guys found me sleeping under a tree.”

“Oh yeah, I remember you! Did you ever make it home?”

“Yeah, I made it. How've things been for you guys?”

“It was rough, you know. But things are getting a little better.” He paused for a moment. “It's good you made it. I wondered about you. This here is Omar,” Calvin said. “He escaped from the camp.”

That got Sarge's attention.

“We found him out in the woods. He was pretty shot up, but we nursed him back to health.”

“How'd you get out?” Sarge asked.

“They were going to transfer us. Me and a couple of others stole the bus and tried to get away.”

“What happened?”

“We didn't get far, they chased us and shot the bus all to hell. Everyone tried to run. Most were gunned down in the road. I got to the woods and hid, they searched and I was sure they were going to find me but they didn't. I saw some shit, though. They caught a bunch of people, lined them up and shot them right there in the woods.”

“Just executed them?” I asked.

“Shot them down like dogs.”

“What do you mean they were going to transfer you? Transfer to where?” Sarge asked.

“They have, what's the word they use,
pacified
parts of some cities. They're moving people into them. They assign you a place to live and give you a job. That's why they are trying to bring people into the camps. Once you're in you can't get out until they ‘resettle' you, as they call it.”

“How long were you in the camp?”

“About a month.”

Sarge rubbed his chin. “You know the layout?”

“Yeah, real good. My job was on the trash detail, so I've been in every tent and building there. Well, almost all of them.”

“Almost?” Sarge asked.

“There's a section where they take people who they deem a threat or who violate the rules. I never went in there.”

“Could you draw me a map of the place?”

Calvin reached into the Blazer and pulled a piece of folded paper off the dash. “Here, I thought you would want one, so we sat down with him and drew it up.”

Sarge unfolded the map, looking at it. “To scale, even.”

“Those distances are pretty accurate. I'm a surveyor; I know distance,” Omar added.

“I appreciate this—it's really going to help us out,” Sarge said.

“No problem, anything I can do to help. They treat everyone like damn prisoners in there. It's a bad place.”

“I had a feeling you might be up to something around here. When it kicks off, if you need any help just let us know,” Calvin said.

“I'll certainly keep that in mind.” Sarge stuck his hand out to Calvin. “Thanks for the info.”

They shook hands, and we started back toward the buggies. Behind us, I heard the Blazer start up and drive off.

“You think it's legit?” I asked.

Sarge looked at the map. “Sure seems so to me.”

F
red was dealing cards to herself. “I think you need to be there. Don't you want to see the SOB get what he deserves?”

Jess sat cross-legged on her bunk, chewing on a hangnail. “I do, but I'm afraid. What if he sees me?”

“He won't. You'll be in the kitchen. You can watch from there.”

Jess looked at Mary. “I think you should too. I just hope it works,” Mary said nervously.

“It'll work, trust me.” Fred held up the cup with the strained liquid. “I pour this in his coffee, and he's as good as dead.”

“You going to cook it tonight?” Mary asked.

“Yeah, after the kitchen closes.”

“Okay, I'll do it, I'll go,” Jess said staring at the floor. “I want to see the son of a bitch fall over dead. I just wish I could spit in his face.”

“Good, you wait. His ass is grass.”

The spent the rest of the afternoon napping and playing cards. Their dinner was once again brought to them and Jess ate for the first time in nearly two days. Fred waited until a few hours after the kitchen closed before carrying the trays back. She slipped in and lit the stove, setting her can over the gas burner. It didn't take long for the liquid to start boiling. She watched it as it bubbled, slowly thickening. Once it looked like a puddle of Hershey's syrup in the bottom of the can, she turned off the heat and picked it up with a rag. She took it to the dry goods storage and hid it behind a stack of cans of dehydrated potatoes. After checking to make sure everything was in order, she headed back to the room.

“Where is it?” Mary asked when she came in.

“I hid it in the kitchen. It would look a little weird for me to be carrying it to work in the morning, wouldn't it?”

Jess was already asleep. Fred looked at her and murmured, “I can't wait to see the look on that bastard's face when he dies.”

 • • • 

The next morning, they walked silently over to the kitchen. Kay was already there, as usual. When she saw Jess, she walked over.

“You sure you feel up to this?”

“Yeah, lying in bed feeling sorry for myself isn't going to help any.”

Kay smiled. “All right, sweetie, you just stay back here.”

Jess worked on the normal breakfast preps, getting food ready. She could feel the other women looking at her.
They know what happened to me
, she thought
,
trying to ignore their glances and whispers. She wished Fred or Mary was there with her, but they were both on the line so Mary could point him out to Fred. She heard the first group come in, the voices, the trays sliding down the serving line. She listened for one voice in particular, a voice forever burned into her mind.

Fred and Mary stood beside one another, doling out scoops of reconstituted scrambled eggs and oatmeal. As men passed, Fred would glance at Mary for any indication. It wasn't until the second shift that Fred caught Mary's eye. She saw him in line. The toothpick was the giveaway. He was talking to a woman who also wore the uniform of the security staff. When the woman turned around, Fred saw that it was Singer.

When they made their way to Mary and Fred's station, Singer said with a sneer, “Well, look who it is! Whined enough to get yourselves a cushy job, huh?” When neither of them replied, she continued, “But then I guess you're doing what you should be . . . a glorified version of a waitress at Denny's.”

Fred scooped the runniest eggs from the back of the pan and poured them onto her tray. Singer looked at the slimy mess with a frown but didn't say anything. Even for the staff, complaining about the food was taboo. Next, the man stepped up, pulling the toothpick from his mustache. “Hello, darlin'.”

Fred smiled, but her stomach was churning with anxiety. “Would you like some eggs?”

“Sure.” He looked at the pan. “Give me some of the firm ones there.”

Fred scooped the firmest eggs in the pan and gently tapped them out on his tray. He smiled. “Why thank you.”

Fred smiled back. “Sure thing.”

He slowly nodded his head, put the pick back in his teeth and winked at her. Fred's skin was crawling. She felt like a baby zebra being sized up by a lion. She waited until they were seated, then dropped her serving spoon so she could go back to the kitchen for a replacement.

“He's out there,” Fred whispered as she passed Jess.

Jess stopped what she was doing, her heart in her throat. Fred got a new spoon and took it back to the line, sticking it in the eggs. Mary picked up the spoon, using one hand to serve eggs and the other for the oatmeal. Going back into the kitchen, Fred picked up a large pitcher of coffee and took it out to the dining area. She went around the tables topping off cups and smiling at everyone. Making her way to the table with Singer and her friend, she filled a couple of cups before getting to him.

“Want some more coffee?”

He leaned back, looking her up and down. “Why, sure thing. We must be special to be getting table service.”

“Just my way of saying thanks for what you guys do.” She reached for his cup, knocking it on the floor. “Oh, I'm so sorry, I'll get you another one.”

Singer was shaking her head. “See, I told ya, useless.”

“Calm down, it was an accident,” he said.

“I'll be right back with another cup.”

“Well, aren't you going to offer me any?” Singer asked.

Fred was tempted, oh so tempted, to take her cup to the back too, but two people falling dead would look suspicious. She filled Singer's cup and headed for the kitchen. She grabbed a clean cup and took it into the storage room, where she poured half of the brown liquid into the cup, using a spoon to scrape it out, then poured some sugar on top. Passing by Jess, she jerked her head toward the dining area and went out with the cup and pitcher in hand.

Jess watched through a crack in the door as Fred poured coffee into the cup. He was smiling and talking to her.

“I even put a little sugar in it, to make it sweet, like me,” Fred said, handing him the cup.

“Oh, whatever,” Singer groaned.

“If it's half as sweet as you, it'll rot my teeth.” Fred giggled.
He doesn't know the half of it.

Jess watched as he put the cup to his lips and took a sip. She didn't know what to expect. Was he going to grab his throat and foam at the mouth? Or clutch his chest and keel over? What she didn't expect was what happened. Nothing. He continued to talk to Fred as she went down the table filling cups, finally making her way back to the kitchen.

Putting the pitcher down, she joined Jess at the door.

“Nothing's happening. It isn't working,” Jess whispered urgently.

“Give it a minute. It will.”

With their breakfast done, they watched as he stood, draining the cup in the process. As he walked toward the door he stumbled, falling into Singer, who pushed him off. “Don't try your shit on me!” she yelled. He grabbed at the frame of the tent for support. For an instant, it seemed like he recovered, shaking his head and saying something. Then his back arched and he fell over.

“Oh my God,” Jess said in a whisper. “You did it.”

“Dead as a damn doornail,” Fred whispered back.

The dining hall became a flurry of commotion, a crush of bodies heading toward him. Fred stepped through the door, watching as they tried to revive him. Then she saw Singer, who was looking right at Fred. She grabbed the arm of another security officer and pointed at her. Fred dipped back into the kitchen, and Jess ran from the door. Crashing through the door, Singer shouted, “What'd you do? What'd you put in that coffee?”

Fred stood there in shock. “I—I didn't do anything. I gave you the same coffee. I gave it to everyone out there.”

Singer moved toward the table, picking up the pitcher. She smelled it then looked at the other guard. “Smell this.”

He did. “Smells all right to me. She filled my cup and I'm fine.”

“No, I know this sneaky little bitch did something.” She stepped toward Fred and thrust the pitcher out to her. “Drink it!”

Fred took the pitcher and started drinking, her mouth curling into a smile as she did, coffee running out the corners of her mouth. Draining the last bit, she set the pitcher on the table and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Satisfied?”

The man said, “I told you. Quit overreacting, Singer. You're always looking to cause a ruckus.”

Singer stepped closer to Fred. “I know you did something, and when I find out what it is, your ass is mine.”

As Singer took a step back Fred let out a loud burp, quickly slapping her hand over her mouth. Through her fingers she said, “Sorry.”

The other guard was trying hard to stifle a laugh as a look of pure disgust passed over Singer's face. She wheeled around and stormed out of the kitchen.

Jess came out of her hiding place after she left. “I can't believe it. It worked, it actually worked.” She had tears in her eyes.

Mary came through the door, her eyes wide. “Guys,” she whispered. “He's dead.”

“Shh, don't talk about this here.”

As the body was being removed from the dining hall, they cleaned up, going through their normal routine. They were finishing up when Kay came walking over.

“I don't suppose you three know anything about this?”

Mary shook her head, feigning shock. Fred replied, “No. Why would we? Mary said she heard people say he had a heart attack.”

Kay slowly shook her head and whispered, “I hope you know what you're doing.”

“Kay, really? We didn't do anything. How would we? We were working here all morning, serving the same food to him as everyone else.”

“I certainly hope so,” Kay said, then left.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” Fred said, heading for the door.

They went back to the room, each in their own thoughts. Once there Jess lay out on her bunk, and Fred climbed up on hers and stretched out as well. Mary paced around the small room.

“Sit down or something, Mary,” Fred said.

“I'm sorry, I'm just scared.”

“Why?”

“They know we did it.”

“No, they might think we did, but they don't know. Besides, you didn't do anything.”

“I'm still scared.” She paced some more, then went to her locker. “I'm going to go take a shower.”

Fred and Jess didn't speak about what had happened. Fred felt good about herself. Justice was done. It felt good to fight back. She wanted to sleep but was too keyed up to, so she hopped out of bed and picked up a deck of cards, sitting down to play solitaire.

Fred was almost through all four suits when the door opened. She turned just in time to see Singer and three other people rush into the small space. Singer grabbed Fred by the neck and shoved her face onto the table, as someone else pulled her arms behind her back. Two other people were wrestling with Jess.

“I told you I'd be back to get your ass,” Singer said in her ear.

“What the fuck? What are you doing?” Fred shouted.

Singer looked over as the other two fought with Jess. She was on her back, putting up a hell of a fight.

“Come on, get her cuffed already!” Singer shouted.

Jess drove a heel into the groin of one of the two men, forcing a loud groan from him. He collapsed on the floor with his hand between his legs.

“Oh, for Christ's sake, move,” Singer said, grabbing the other man's shoulder and pulling him out of the way.

Jess looked up at Singer, a bright red light between them. Then there was a pop, and Jess went rigid as the Taser sent fifty thousand volts coursing into her. The male guard quickly flipped her over and cuffed her hands behind her back.

Fred tried to stand but was shoved back into her seat. “What the hell are you doing? Why are you doing this?”

Singer removed the spent cartridge from the weapon, dropping it on the floor. “You think you can kill one of us and get away with it? Look around. Where do you think you are?”

“We didn't do anything!” Fred screamed in her face.

“Oh no?” Singer nodded to one of the guards who stepped out the door. He returned with Mary, who was crying and looked like shit. “Your little friend here already gave your ass up! All you bitches are gonna pay now.”

Fred looked at Mary. “What?”

Through her bawling Mary said, “I'm sorry. She grabbed me when I was in the shower. I'm so sorry!”

“You sick bitch, what'd you do to her?”

“What'd I do? I'll show you what I did.” Singer jammed the Taser onto Fred's neck and pulled the trigger, pushing her to the floor as she convulsed from the electricity. Fred let out a wail of pain.

“How do you like that? Huh? You like that?”

Fred lay there moaning as Mary wailed, “I'm sorry, Fred, I'm so sorry.”

“Get her up!” Singer shouted. Fred was jerked from the floor and dragged out the door past Mary.

The other two dragged Jess out and piled them into a Hummer. Mary was pushed in on top of them and the truck drove off. They drove to the far side of the camp and stopped. When the doors opened, they were pushed to the ground.

“Get up!” Singer shouted as she roughly pulled Fred to her feet. They were led through barbed-wire gates and taken into a building the likes of which they hadn't seen anywhere in the camp. Once inside, they were each placed in a small room where the cuffs were removed, then they were ordered to strip off their clothes. Male officers watched as they undressed and were forced to bend over in front of them and spread their cheeks. After this humiliation they were told to squat down and cough three times. Then the officer ran his fingers through their hair and made them open their mouths and move their tongues around.

Once the search was over, they were given orange jumpsuits with
PRISONER
stenciled on the back. Before she could even finish putting it on, Jess was forced out of her room, a black bag quickly pulled over head. Terrified, she listened as chains were drug across the concrete floor. A chain was secured around her waist and her hands cuffed to it. She could feel as a set of leg irons were secured around her ankles. Her heart beat in her ears and she felt nauseous. She could hear Mary crying, and Fred yelling, but she was bound in place, unable to move. Tears rolled down her cheeks.