When the patrols had returned before dark, the last to arrive without news of success sent Jamie into a spin. Without thought or hesitation, needing a release for the murderous rage rising like bile within him, he pulled out the .357 and disintegrated the skull of the man unfortunate to deliver news of their failure. The murder appeared to soothe his near debilitating fury, an aura of calm appearing to settle around him as the headless corpse collapsed to the earth, but the sudden violence had shocked Connor and Caleb to their core.
“I don’t know, little brother,” Connor had answered honestly. “Ever since the world died last month, I think our brother died that day as well.”
“What do you mean?”
Connor had pressed two fingers to each temple, trying to soothe the pulse of pain growing there.
“It’s like I don’t know him anymore, Caleb,” he sighed. “He’s… lost… somewhere, and I can’t reach him. It’s like…” He shrugged, struggling to articulate the hollow void in his heart where his brother once lived. “I don’t know, Caleb. Like he’s been possessed by… something. Every day, I’m finding it more difficult to see our big brother in there, you know?”
Caleb seemed to war with himself for a moment, then took a deep breath, reaching behind him to pull something from the back of his jeans. Connor stared in horror at the black Glock 17 the boy held in his hand.
“He gave me this yesterday,” whispered Caleb, eyes fixed on his brother. “Said it was time to sack up and be a man and do what’s right for our family.”
Connor’s own fury ignited at the combination of Caleb’s words, and the sight of his little brother holding a firearm. Caleb dreamed of being a healer, not a killer, and Jamie knew it. It was a bridge too far, and Connor started to rise from his seat.
“I’ll….”
“No,” interrupted Caleb, a flash of fear racing through his blue eyes. He shook his head, reaching his other hand out to grasp Connor’s forearm and stall him. “No, Conn. Don’t. I know what you’re going to do, but you can’t. You can’t go at him for this, not now. He’s not right, Conn, and I’m worried about what he would do.” The threat of tears polished his sapphire coloured eyes to a shine. “Because you’re right, I don’t know who he is anymore either and you saw him when he shot Alec in the face, right? He didn’t even think about it, and afterwards he seemed… happier.” Caleb did not resist the shudder that visibly ran through him. “We’ve just got to keep our heads down, Conn. We’ve got to find a way out of this.”
Two days later, war was declared.
Six men died, two SUV’s were lost, and weapons and ammunition stolen, when the now infamous pair struck the next fuel run to the nearby petrol station. Only the maintenance man, Mark, returned with the small tanker truck when Briggs led a QRF and prevented the pair from interrogating the engineer. Mark sported a fierce black eye after Nate had struck him with the butt of the rifle. Briggs had walked the scene, and it was only further proof that the older man had military training. His use of ammunition with the rifle stolen from the sniper of the court building roof was minimal and efficient, every shot finding its mark with unerring accuracy. The woman had baited them into the trap, and the old soldier had executed their four pursuers with assured ease. The two remaining behind with Mark had then been ambushed by this Nate fellow.
Clinical, efficient, lethal.
Whoever this Nate was, he knew what he was doing, that much was certain.
Everything had gone silent for a full week. Realising his rage over the radio might have clued the pair into the fuel run, Jamie’s volcanic rage turned to a glacial ice, which made being in his presence difficult and uneasy, as though he stood on the edge of murder and the slightest nudge would push him over the edge. Connor and Caleb steered clear of their brother as much as possible, until Jamie called them both to a meeting a week after the disastrous fuel run. One by one, Jamie moved through the channels on the radio, waiting for a response before moving up, until finally, Nate responded.
The woman must have snatched up the radio though, because a barrage of bizarre statements, delivered in a fake American accent, came over the airwaves in a stream. None of them expected such an unorthodox response and it threw Jamie off completely, as every demand for respect was met with an ever-increasing level of mockery, until Jamie’s ice-cold demeanour evaporated in an explosion of incandescent rage. He smashed the handset into the table repeatedly, streams of profanity flowing from his lips, until the radio was little more than shards.
“This is what she wants,” offered Connor warily, seeking to dam the torrent of murderous fury. “Don’t let her get under your skin.”
As Jamie turned his gaze towards him, Connor’s breath caught in his throat. Madness rippled across the blighted stare of his brother and for a heartbeat, the former soldier’s instincts came into sharp focus. For that brief flicker in time, he sensed a real and genuine threat from Jamie.
“Get me another radio,” he snapped at Brodie, one of his captains.
Connor exhaled a long breath of relief through his nose, heart hammering as Jamie’s eyes turned from him.
When the new handset arrived, Jamie pulled in a calming breath, switched to the channel, and spoke in a calmer manner.
“Listen to me, you little bitch. Are you still there?”
For the next two minutes, Connor struggled to retain his composure, fighting for a neutral expression as the airwaves were filled with the tranquil music of whale-song.
“What the fuck is up with this little whore?” hissed Jamie through clenched teeth. “Is she fucking
