Afraid

Duck Bill Lane.

• • •

Taylor noted that Olen had begun wheezing. While the gas mask protected the man from inhaling hydrogen cyanide, the chemical had soaked into his clothing and subsequently his skin. From there, it bonded with every cell it could, preventing them from getting oxygen. Taylor figured he had perhaps five minutes left to live. Because of this he took over the driving. They were currently on a rarely used dirt road and had to slow down to navigate the sharp turns.

“How far are we?” Logan asked, poking Olen with the knife. Olen was bleeding from a dozen or so previous pokes.

“We’re … close. Feel … sick …”

Then he puked in his gas mask and fell forward, banging his head onto the dashboard.

Logan stabbed him again. Olen didn’t flinch.

“He’s dead,” Logan said.

Taylor hit the brakes. He and Logan tugged Olen out of the Honey Wagon and left him on the side of the road. Then they took off their masks and protective plastic garments and tossed them into the trees. Taylor opened the MMDSC and pressed the talk button.

“Location 1.6 kilometers east on Deer Tick Road. Attempting to locate nest.”

Logan spat. “Now we have to search for him. You could have given the guy some of your Charge.”

“You could have given him some of yours,” Taylor snapped back. “This road is a dead end. If Warren Streng lives anywhere on it, we’ll find him.” Taylor scanned the tree line and saw a rusty sign nailed to a tree that read “Private Property, Trespassers Will Be Shot.”

“Besides,” he said. “I think we’re close.”

When the perimeter alarm went off, Warren “Wiley” Streng switched the video monitor feed to his plasma-screen TV and sat in his lounger, watching the Honey Wagon approach. It stopped, and two people in gas masks pulled a third out of the truck.

The camera used night vision technology, so everything glowed green. But even though it cost a fortune, it wasn’t high-definition like the monitor, and the figures were blurry. Wiley used the remote to zoom in and, from the dirty clothing, recognized Olen Porrell as the dead man.

The two others moved quickly and efficiently. Soldiers. No. Special Forces. Their black uniforms were somewhat stiff. Body armor, probably that new liquid kind he’d read about on the Net. One of them used some sort of device to call for backup, then stared at the No Trespassing sign for so long that Wiley was sure he spotted the hidden camera. But the moment passed, and they climbed back into the truck and continued up the road.

They found me, Wiley thought. After more than thirty years, they finally found me.

He pulled himself out of the chair and began to prepare for the attack.

• • •

It happened so fast Fran didn’t have time to react. Woof barked, and then the car doors were open and men were climbing into the Roadmaster. One of them was tall and thin, and the other was enormous. The giant got into the back seat, tossed Woof out of the vehicle, and placed a huge hand on Fran’s scalp, his fingers draping down over her face.

“If you move, he’ll twist your head off,” said the thin man, his accent foreign and heavy. Fran guessed him to be Santiago, and the large one, Ajax. “Then we’ll do the same to your boy.”

Fran stayed stock-still. Santiago started the car and fishtailed on the lawn, heading back up Duck Bill Lane. Duncan opened his eyes, looking confused, then terrified. He hugged Fran, and she hugged him back.

“You took your time.” Stubin removed something small and black from his pocket. “I’ve had this thing on for ten minutes.”

Santiago frowned. “You might have helped us by saying the address.”

“I didn’t know the address.”

Fran watched Santiago check the rearview mirror. He touched his ear, which was crusted with dried blood. “That firefighter cabron, I have to settle something with him.”

“It can wait.” Stubin squinted at the communicator. “Taylor and Logan have almost located Warren. They’re on Deer Tick Road. Take the next left you see.”

It was tough for Fran to find her voice with her skull being palmed like a basketball, but Duncan reached over and grabbed her hand, giving her strength.

“You found Warren. You can let us go.”

Stubin scrutinized her as if she were something he’d stepped in. “I suppose people only see what they want to see and ignore everything else. That’s why you trusted me. That’s why the U.S. military trusted me.”

Fran let the implications of that last line run through her head.

“The Red-ops team isn’t from Canada,” she stated.

“Of course not. They’re ours.”

The roadblock made a lot more sense now.

“They’re U.S., but the military didn’t order this,” Fran guessed. “They’re going to be angry with you.”

“They think I died in that helicopter explosion. Besides, they’re so busy making sure that no stories leak out that they aren’t even looking for us. Wouldn’t CNN just eat this up? U.S. terrorist cell destroys Wisconsin town. They’ll nuke Safe Haven before they let the word get out.”

“Let Duncan go.” Fran pursed her lips, keeping her tears at bay. “Please.”

Stubin gave an exaggerated sigh. “You don’t get it. You’re still useful to us.”

“Why?”

Santiago laughed. “Doesn’t this dumb puta know Warren is her father?”

Fran didn’t know what to say, how to react. She’d grown up the only child of a single mother who told Fran that her dad died in Vietnam. Mom got married when Fran was seven, and her stepfather adopted her. She hadn’t thought about her birth father in over two decades.

“It gets even better.” Stubin smiled, obviously enjoying this. “I’ve been looking for Warren for a long time. You couldn’t imagine the amount of research it took. The paper trail led me to Safe Haven. When we ran your car off the road a few years ago, we were hoping Warren would come out of hiding to visit you at the hospital or attend the funeral. He didn’t. Not exactly father-of-the-year material. Maybe he’ll show a bit more affection when we’re cutting off his grandson’s fingers outside his front door.”

Fran felt a panic attack coming on. The increased heartbeat. The sweaty palms. The hyperventilating. She thought back to the crash, to being trapped in the car, and flinched at the knowledge that it wasn’t an accident at all, that it was intentional. Her life, and Duncan’s, and Charles’s, shattered because some madman used her family as a tool to find a father she didn’t even know she had.

Fran began to shake. She felt a scream welling up, and she was ready to completely lose her grip on reality when Duncan whispered to her, “I’m afraid, Mom.”

And Fran knew she couldn’t afford to lose control. She had to remain calm, to look for escape opportunities, to be ready to act. For Duncan’s sake. So she stared the panic attack square in the eye and ordered it to go away.

Not this time. Not ever again.

The tremors left, and her heartbeat slowed, and her breathing became steady.

“Don’t be afraid of these assholes,” she told her son. “I’m not.”

Then she held Duncan tight to her chest and tried to be strong enough for both of them.

• • •

Sheriff Streng stopped the Jeep before turning onto Deer Tick Road. He opened the fuse