The Alex Cave Series. Books 1, 2, & 3.: Box set Page 8

  When the vehicle drove away, Pickowski continued through the trees until he was well past the checkpoint. With a sigh of relief for his tortured ankles, he stepped back onto the road. He stayed within the protection of the trees as they ended on the edge of a vast, open meadow.

  The perimeter was lined with cars and recreational vehicles, and a large crowd of people were sitting on the grass in front of an elevated stage. There were no chairs, speakers, or microphones on the stage, and no one was standing on it.

  Below the stage and to the left was a long table, and two young men were setting large trays on it. Whatever was on the trays seemed to sparkle in different colors, but at this distance he couldn’t quite make out what the objects were. He decided to work his way through the woods and try to sit with the others on the grass so he could see and hear what was going on. The sun had set over the mountains, and the meadow was getting very dark. By the time he worked his way through the woods and stepped out from between the cars and RV’s, he doubted anyone would notice him. It worked, and he found a place to sit, about forty-feet from the front of the stage. He hoped no one would see the blood on his socks around his ankles.

  The man sitting next to him asked for the time, and Pickowski told him. He wanted to ask the man what this was all about, but knew it might make the man suspicious. It turned out he didn’t have to.

  “So where are you supposed to take your seeds?” the man asked.

  Pickowski thought quickly. “The East Coast.”

  The man nodded. “I’m headed for Florida.” He pointed at the girl sitting in front of them. “She has to go all the way to Kuwait. She and about fifty others have to catch a chartered flight first thing tomorrow morning. A friend of mine is Russian, and he’s taking a bunch of seeds to his friends over there.” The man shook his head. “People are taking seeds all over the world.”

  What the hell were these seeds? Pickowski wondered.

  The rumble of voices suddenly died out, leaving the pitch-black meadow in an eerie silence. Up on the stage, a beam of pale blue light had suddenly appeared in the center. Pickowski tried to see where it was coming from, but couldn’t spot any light fixtures around the stage or in the trees. The light grew wider by the second, but only reached a height of ten-feet above the stage. When it was five-feet wide, it ceased to grow and looked as though something was materializing in the center. At first it was just a white silhouette, and then the outline of a body took shape. A moment later, a person stepped out. With the blue light behind the body there were no discernable features, only a white-robed figure standing with its arms at its sides. The figure extended its arm and began to rise into the air until it was four-feet above the stage, then stopped.

  A voice suddenly echoed across the meadow, as if amplified through a huge speaker system, which Pickowski hadn’t seen.

  “The time has come, my children.” The baritone voice had a very soothing effect.

  “The age of the machine is about to end,” the voice continued. “We will once again breathe clean air and the war machines will cease to threaten our planet with global destruction. We will live in peace once more. I am a messenger from God, and I command you to spread these seeds of peace throughout the world.”

  The voice droned on, and Pickowski felt lightheaded. Yes, it makes sense, he thought.

  “And when you have fulfilled my command, God will once again live among you in a world full of love for all the lifeforms he has created.”

  Oh, yes, Pickowski thought. I want God to live among us.

  “Come forward, my children, and gather to your bosoms the seeds of world peace and begin your journeys to the far corners of the planet.”

  As Pickowski watched, the figure appeared to float back into the blue light and seemed to disintegrate. He felt very sad, as though someone very precious had been taken away from him. When nothing was left of the figure, the blue light shrank to a thin line and vanished.

  Pickowski heard the meadow erupt in muffled conversation as flashlights were turned on throughout the crowd and they all stood.

  The man next to him turned on his flashlight and stood, but Pickowski remained seated.

  “Are you coming, brother?” the man asked.

  Pickowski looked up and smiled. “Yes! Oh yes!”

  The man reached down and Pickowski took his hand, but when he stood, a searing pain shot through his ankles. Suddenly his mind cleared and he realized where he was. The man was frowning with concern, and Pickowski realized he must have flinched. “I guess my legs fell asleep,” he said and smiled.

  The man grinned, and Pickowski joined him as lines started forming back and forth across the meadow. He looked toward the stage and saw a steady line of people passing in front of the table with the trays.

  That son of a bitch hypnotized me! Pickowski realized as he followed in line. He saw the people who had already been through the line walking toward the vehicles. In their hands, which were held close to their chests, were small glass vials of sparkling colors. Some had several vials, others only one or two.

  He hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a crescent moon straight up above him. He thought it strange he couldn’t see any craters on its surface, but dismissed it as an optical illusion created by the atmosphere.

  As he passed in front of the table, he saw the trays held thousands of the small glass ampules, all sparkling in rainbow colors. He watched the man in front of him take one vile and clutch it against his chest, so he did the same and followed the crowd back to the vehicles. He made his way to the last car, and when he was sure no one was watching, dashed back into the trees.

  There was enough light from the vehicle headlights filtering through the woods for him to see his way around the underbrush as he made his way in the direction he figured the main road was. His sense of direction was correct, and half an hour later, he emerged from the woods onto the main dirt road. When he found his car, he climbed in and started the engine, and, with the lights off, drove down the road until he was close to where the headlights were emerging from the side road. He waited for a break in the traffic, pulled in behind a large recreational vehicle, and turned on his lights. A moment later, another set of headlights pulled in behind him. With a sigh of relief for not being discovered as an imposter, he retrieved the small glass vial from his shirt pocket. The sparkling colors appeared to be moving.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  IDAHO:

  Retired Army Colonel George Blackwood stood before the bathroom mirror in his private cabin, examined his naked body, and noticed the slight bulge around the waist. Not bad for a man of fifty-six, he thought. He ran a hand through his short-cropped salt and pepper hair, and adjusted the black patch over his left eye. With a grin of satisfaction, he turned and strode into the bedroom, opened the closet door, and grabbed a crisply pressed olive green uniform. He put it on and looked in the mirror. On the left sleeve of each shirt was a custom patch with a circle of gold leaves and three lightning bolts coming together in the center to form a ‘Y’. In gold letters around the circle were the words, ARMY OF SURVIVAL.

  When he heard the short array of bugle notes from the camp’s public address system, Blackwood peered out the window at the crowd of two-hundred men and women assembling in neat rows on the parade ground. He waited for his second in command to give a subtle signal that everyone was in place, and then he threw back his shoulders and stretched his body ramrod straight. He yanked the door open and strutted out onto the large front porch overlooking the parade ground. At the top of the steps, he stopped and slowly turned his head to study his troops before nodding at his second in command.

  Major Robert Conrad snapped to attention. “All personnel present and accounted for, sir,” he shouted.

  “Thank you, Major,” Blackwood began, his voice deep and slightly raspy. “Men and women of the Army of Survival, we are under attack!”

  Muffled conversations of surprise erupted from the crowd. Blackwood waited a few moments
before continuing. “The civilians in the surrounding cities have turned against us. They have cut off our supplies in a vain attempt to shut us down. This cannot be allowed, and the time has come for us to make our presence known. We will show them we will not be dictated to by a bunch of cowardly civilians. We will acquire the fuel and supplies we need to survive by any means necessary. Report to your company commanders at 1300 hours for instructions. All company commanders report to headquarters at 1100 hours.”

  Blackwood studied the faces of his troops for several moments, and when he saw most of the people nod in approval, felt a great sense of pride and hope for his army. He snapped to attention and gave a smart salute, spun on his heels, and strode back into his cabin.

  Major Conrad turned to the men and women on the parade ground. “Dismissed,” he shouted. As the crowd broke up, several of the company commanders approached him to ask what was going on. Conrad was as much in the dark about Blackwood’s plan as the rest of the troops, and frustrated he hadn’t been consulted ahead of time. “You’ll all be briefed at 1100 hours!” he said curtly, then strode across the parade ground and up the steps to Blackwood’s cabin. He reached out to rap on the door, but before his knuckles hit the wood, Blackwood hollered to enter. When he opened the door, Blackwood had his back to him, leaning over a desk in the far corner of the room. Conrad stepped into the room and closed the door. “What the hell’s going on, Colonel?”

  Blackwood continued studying the maps. “We’re broke, Robert. Or damn near it, anyway.”

  “I knew we were losing contributions, but I thought we still had enough coming in to keep the camp going.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “So what are you planning to do?”

  “Come over here and take a look.”

  Conrad moved next to the Colonel and looked down at the maps. Blackwood pointed to the map of Idaho and indicated two red lines drawn from east to west. “Interstate 90 to the north, and Interstate 84 to the south of us,” he said to Conrad, and slid a map of Nevada below the one of Idaho. He pointed at the red line near the center of Nevada. “Interstate 80. These will be our battle grounds.”

  Conrad looked up and stared at Blackwood. “I don’t follow you, Colonel. What do you mean by battle grounds?”

  “These are the three main transport routes to and from the west coast. Every commodity imaginable is trucked across these roads. Food, dry goods, and fuel. Everything we need to survive. These roads are where we are going to get our supplies.”

  Conrad’s jaw dropped slightly as the realization of Blackwood’s plan jelled in his mind. “Are you talking about hijacking?” Blackwood grinned sadistically and Conrad shook his head. “That’s the craziest idea I’ve . . .” Conrad stopped when Blackwood’s stare turned savage. “But Colonel, the police would be onto us in a heartbeat.”

  “Not if we have a plan. Where there are truckers, there are truck stops. We hit them hard all along the interstates. Just one night and we’d have enough supplies to last us a year. Maybe more, if luck’s on our side.”

  “It’s still a big risk.”

  “Damn it, Robert! Would you rather risk losing our army? Everything we’ve worked so hard for?”

  Conrad hesitated to answer. He didn’t like the idea at all. “If some trucker suddenly finds his rig gone, he’ll be talking to the highway patrol before we’re ten miles down the road.”

  Blackwood grinned. “Not if he’s dead,”

  Conrad was shocked with disbelief. This wasn’t his army. It was Blackwood’s, and he did not intend to kill some innocent trucker. “Look, Colonel. When I joined this army I did not sign on to become a cold-blooded murderer.”

  Blackwood’s face turned red with anger. “This is survival, damn it! I’ve worked years to build this army, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it together!” Blackwood moved his face to within inches of Conrad’s, fire in his eyes. “Now, are you with me?” he growled.

  Conrad stared back and slowly shook his head. “You’re completely mad, Colonel. Count me out.” He turned and walked toward the door.

  Blackwood began shaking with rage. “You’re a Goddamn coward!” he snarled, but Conrad didn’t respond and reached for the doorknob. Blackwood yanked open a drawer, grabbed a pistol, and pointed it at Conrad’s back. “No one deserts my army!” he yelled and squeezed the trigger.

  The explosion echoed throughout the camp as Conrad was hurled against the door and slid to the floor. He managed to roll onto his back and stared up at Blackwood, stunned disbelief in his eyes. He tried to speak, but only a gurgled moan escaped his crimson-stained lips, then his head lolled to the side.

  Blackwood stared down at Conrad and realized what he’d just done. He didn’t feel remorse, but realized now he’d have to explain what happened. “Damn!” he swore softly, and tried to figure out what to do. If anyone finds out about this, I might have a mutiny on my hands, he thought. What can I tell the rest of my officers? Conrad was sent on a mission, he thought. Yes, that would work! But how do I get rid of the body? Wait until late tonight and take it deep into the woods? No, that’s no good. The sentries would see me. I’ll have to get somebody else to do it. But who could I get? None of the officers would do it. Possibly an enlisted man. A new recruit. Yes, if he gets caught, I’ll deny everything. He’ll take the blame. What was the name of the new recruit I met three weeks ago? There was something cynical about the man. He had a dead, cold look in his eyes. What the devil was his name?

  Someone beat on the door. “What’s happened, Colonel?”

  Blackwood grabbed Conrad by the arms and dragged him into the bathroom, leaving a long smear of blood on the floor. He heard the frantic beating on the door again as he spread a throw rug over the pool of blood where Conrad had been. “An accidental discharge!” he yelled back. He opened the door a foot and held up the pistol. “Everything’s fine. Just an accidental discharge.”

  The man on the porch nodded and began descending the steps, and then Blackwood remembered the new recruit’s name. “Find Private Everex and have him report here at once.”

  The man on the steps nodded again, and Blackwood closed the door. Several minutes later, he heard another knock and opened it a couple feet.

  “You wanted to see me, Colonel?” Private John Everex asked. He’d seen Major Conrad enter the Colonel’s quarters and heard the gunshot several minutes later, and thought it odd when he’d heard that an experienced army colonel would accidentally discharge a firearm.

  Blackwood nodded and stepped aside, indicating Everex should step in. When the door closed behind him, Everex turned and stared at the blood on the door, the dark stain spreading in the center of the throw rug. From the look in Blackwood’s eyes, he realized the Colonel intended for him to see the carnage.

  Everex followed the streak of blood into the bathroom and looked down at Conrad’s body. His suspicions confirmed, he turned around and grinned sadistically at Blackwood. “It seems you’re in need of a new second in command, Colonel.”

  Blackwood studied the man standing before him. Everex was short, but muscular. He might have been good-looking at one time, but several thick facial scars had taken that away, and the crooked nose showed evidence of being broken several times. The eyes told Blackwood what he suspected about Everex. They were nearly black, and as cold and evil as he’d ever seen.

  Blackwood nodded. “That’s right. And someone to dispose of the Major.”

  Everex leaned casually against the door jam. The Colonel needed someone to get him out of this situation, he thought, and decided to see how desperate he would be. “What’s in it for me?”

  Blackwood stiffened. He hadn’t expected Everex to want something in return. “A promotion to sergeant.”

  “Ha!” Everex laughed sarcastically. “Sorry, Colonel. You’ll have to do better than that.”

  Blackwood’s face flushed red with rage. “How dare you, you little son of a bitch! One word from me and you’re out of this army, mister!”

&nb
sp; “And one word from me and you’re whole damn army would lose their respect for you, Colonel.”

  Blackwood clenched his fists. This wasn’t going the way he’d planned, but he needed someone to get him out of the situation. “What do you want?” he said through clenched teeth.

  Everex grinned evilly, and nodded down at Conrad. “I want his job,” Everex watched Blackwood’s eyes flash his anger and decided to push him to the limit. “And two friends of mine to be promoted to sergeant major.”

  Blackwood’s eyes blazed with bitterness as he stared at Everex. He shifted his gaze to Conrad’s body for a moment, then back to Everex. If he didn’t agree to Everex’s terms, he’d have to kill him, too, he thought. Could he find someone else willing to get rid of two bodies? What about the raid on the truckers? He needed someone who wasn’t afraid to get his hands bloody. Someone who could kill without remorse. Everex definitely fit the bill.

  His rage slowly faded, like the red flush on his face, and Blackwood nodded to Everex. “All right, but under two conditions,” he said and waited to see if Everex would back down, but the man stared back almost mockingly. “First, get rid of Conrad’s body so no one will find it, and clean up this mess.” Everex nodded assent. “And second, you follow my orders to the letter, no matter what. Understood?”

  Everex remembered what he’d learned in the Marine Corps before being dishonorably discharged. Always agree to a direct order, and then do what you want and plead you must have misunderstood. He grinned at Blackwood and nodded agreement. “Whatever you say, Colonel.” He straightened from the door jam and walked toward the door. “Be back in a few minutes.”

  Blackwood was sitting at his desk when the cabin door suddenly opened without a knock. He hadn’t even heard a footstep. He jumped out of the chair and spun around, ready to chew somebody’s butt, and saw Everex grin at him as he stepped inside, a green duffel bag draped over his shoulder. Two men followed him in, both looking nearly as nasty as Everex. One carrying a mop bucket, the other a mop.