“I’m not asking you again, Vickers,” Hatcher said as he chambered a round in the M4. Vickers stared at the man with stoic anger. Hatcher stood and pushed away from him. He lowered the barrel to the man’s crotch and let it hover in silent threat. He dragged the barrel along his taped thigh and settled it at the man’s kneecap. “Maybe if I just started shooting off pieces of you?” Hatcher’s tone was quiet and evil, visions of Mitch falling to the ground tightening his finger on the trigger.
Vickers watched the man’s eyes and his breath quickened. He thought he knew the man that stood before him—or at least men like him—but he saw something change in his eyes just as he placed the barrel to his knee. Vickers knew without a doubt that the man standing before him would do it. Not only would he do it, he’d enjoy it. He blamed him somehow for what was happening here, he could sense it. Panic rose up, gripping him by the throat like a vise and he tried to raise his hands in protest, only to be reminded once more of being bound.
“Wait!” His eyes round with panic. “Wait, wait, wait…” Vickers stammered.
Hatcher slowly took his eyes from the man’s knee and met his gaze. “You’d better be truthful.”
Vickers swallowed air as he considered trying to lie, but his mind raced. He knew if Hatcher sensed a lie, he’d shoot him. Vickers couldn’t escape if he were wounded, there’d be no time to call for a medevac. If he told the truth, he might shoot him, anyway. Perhaps a hybrid of the truth…
“There are bombs on the way,” he nearly whispered.
“There’s what?” Hatch nearly yelled.
“The Pentagon…we can’t contain the infected…” Vickers was shaking his head. “They’re too scattered. We can’t stop them. If they reach populated areas…” His eyes probed Hatcher’s, hoping he’d see reason. “They’re sending conventional bombs. BIG conventionals. Flatten the areas where we can find them. Pray to contain it. I was about to call in my people,” Vickers spoke in short sentences, rapidly, hoping the urgency would get through to them. “We have to pull out before the bombs get here. Then we come back and clean up any stragglers.”
“You can’t just blow up a national park!”
Vickers hung his head as much as the tape would allow. “You can when there’s a volcano under it,” he said quietly. “They’re planning to blame it on volcanic activity.” He suddenly lifted his head and stared at Hatcher, “I couldn’t stop it if I tried. It’s already been decided. The bombs are coming. Standing here threatening me isn’t going to stop them.”
“Call them and tell them to cancel it,” Candy yelled. “We may still have people out there.”
“Are you not listening to me?” Spittle flew from his thin lips. “Stupid cow, I can’t!”
Candy’s eyes widened as she stepped forward, backhanding him. “You need to learn some manners.”
Vickers glared at her, opened his mouth to fire back a retort when Hatcher snapped his fingers, gaining his attention. “How soon?”
Vickers glared at him, his lip curling in disgust. “Less than an hour. Depends on the time and how long I was out.”
Hatcher sighed and nodded Candy toward the office. “Go let the major loose. Something tells me we’re going to need her help.”
She sighed and marched toward the office, her distrust of the Army officers evident in her behavior. Hatcher turned his attention back to Vickers. “How do I know you aren’t just playing us?” His jaw clenched with the desire to cave the man’s head in.
Vickers did his best to shrug. “Tell ya what, Ranger Rick. Wheel me out by the chopper, key the radio long enough for me to call back my troops. I’ll be more than happy to load everybody up and leave Jellystone Park. You and your happy clan of cave bears can stay here and play hopscotch until the next batch of tourists come cruising in to see the sights,” Vickers offered with more than a mouthful of malice. “I really don’t give two shits what you and yours do. But I’d really like to get off the top of this hill before the fires of hell get dropped on top of my head.”
Hatcher stared at the man a moment, then slowly pulled his knife from his pocket. He folded open the blade with his thumb and felt a satisfying click when it locked. For the slightest of moments, he could almost see himself pulling the blade against the loose skin of Vickers thin throat, but held himself. Instead, he walked behind the man and began cutting the tape that held him to the chair.
“No more tricks. No more bullshit.”
“No more tricks,” Vickers agreed. “Just get off this fucking mountain before it’s too late.” Vickers was already devising a plan on how to turn the tables on Hatcher once his Ghost warriors returned to base. Perhaps add him and the cow deputy to the fold of civilian test subjects.
“Where’s Mitch?” Maggie asked as she stumbled out of the office, rubbing her wrists where the tape had been bound too tightly.
Hatcher turned a solemn eye and noted her tear-streaked face. It took him back she might actually care about his friend. He motioned toward the rear of the center and she brushed past him without speaking.
“What is she carrying on about?” Vickers asked as he peeled the tape off his lower body.
“One of ours was bitten while we were waiting for you to drag your sorry ass back here. Had to put him down. She knew him.”
“Really?” Vickers said absently. “Somehow I find that hard to believe. Major Chappell runs in select circles,” he commented as he finished pulling tape off his ankles.
“Yeah?” Hatcher felt his blood beginning to
