Steven Konkoly - Event Horizon

He meant what he said. The underground chamber had been designed as a hide site and couldn’t be locked from the outside, which presented a risk. Then again, the trapdoor weighed at least fifty pounds, which made it nearly impossible to open with hands zip-tied behind your back. Eli had kind of hoped to hear some faint knocking at some point in the afternoon. The thought of her ramming that ugly face pointlessly against the impenetrable slab made him smile. Some people have the good sense to know when they’re beat. Maybe she wasn’t as dumb as she looked.

“Up the stairs. You try to run and I’ll kill your sister, her family, your brother, parents—everyone. You got me?”

She nodded repeatedly, and he pushed her up into the musty barn.

“Now, I’m gonna take this tape off your mouth, but you don’t say a word, or your husband-to-be is going to lose something important for your wedding night.”

She nodded again, and he went to work on the tape, which proved to be difficult to remove without taking a little skin along with it. She cried and whimpered, but kept quiet.

“Very good girl.”

“Mary, is that you?” said Hatfield, straining his head to see around the square beam.

“Shhhh,” said Eli, walking her right behind him, keeping her out of view.

He slipped a combat knife out of a leather sheath attached to his belt and spun her around, jamming the seven-inch marine KA-BAR blade to the hilt inside her stomach. His stabbing hand mechanically forced the razor-sharp knife in and out of her abdomen several more times while his left hand pulled her tightly against him. She dropped to the ground without making a sound. He nudged her onto her side with his foot, surprised to see her eyes wide open, staring lifelessly at his legs.

“You were supposed to scream like a stuck pig!”

“Mary? Mary! ”

“Mary’s gone,” he said, stepping in front of the post.

Hatfield’s bloated, black and blue eyes fixated on Eli’s gore-covered knife and hand.

“You promised not to kill her!” he managed to choke out.

“No, I promised not to gut her in front of you,” Eli said, reversing the grip on the sticky knife handle. “I politely did it out of sight.”

“Why?”

“Because you told her the wrong version of what happened at the bridge,” he said.

“No. No. I told her the same thing I told you!”

Eli buried the knife in the right side of Hatfield’s throat, stepping left to avoid the bulk of his pulsing arterial spray. “Exactly.”

The side door sprang open, revealing a wiry, red-haired man holding a short-barreled AR. Eli’s second in command stepped through the opening.

“Clean up in aisle one,” said Eli.

“Shit. Both of them?” he said, closing the door and latching it behind him.

“Unfortunately, it came to that,” said Eli, wiping his blade clean on Hatfield’s pants. “We’ve got a problem.”

“We can get these two buried where nobody’ll find ’em,” said McCulver.

“I’m not worried about that. Hatfield confirmed what I more or less already knew. He said a black Jeep Wrangler with Maine plates approached the eastern bridge at Milton Mills right before all hell broke loose. Possibly fired point blank into the three men. It’s the only way they could have killed them that quickly. Jimmy reported the Jeep over the handheld and heightened their security posture, but the fight on the eastern bridge was over before it started. The guys on the western bridge loaded up and raced over, but were caught in the ambush. This turd never got out of his vehicle. Turned tail and left his buddies behind.”

“Is it possible that he was captured and released? Maybe to lead the hit team here? Finding them seemed a little too easy,” said McCulver.

“No. Those two have the combined brainpower of a trash bag, plus I worked them over hard enough to get the truth out. That’s why she had to go,” he said, pointing his knife at the bloody heap behind Hatfield. “I had to be sure.”

“Should I get some guys to clean this up?”

“I want to leave Hatfield up for everyone to see. This is what happens to traitors.”

“The girl?” said McCulver.

“String her up behind Hatfield. I want the message to be clear. You die with your brothers, or you die with your loved ones. The men we have now will form the essential core of the Maine Liberty Militia. They have to serve as an example for the new recruits. We need committed, disciplined patriots for the fight ahead.”

“There’s a balance, Eli. I trust your judgment with my life, but remember that there’s a line. If you go too far over, you run the risk of losing people.”

Spoken by anyone but McCulver, the words would have resulted in an immediate, excruciating death.

“That’s why I keep you close by. To reel me in when my temper gets the best of me,” he said, patting him on the shoulder. “You and I go way back.”

“I think we might want to bury the woman and limit Hatfield’s viewing to current members.”

Eli fought the urge to pummel McCulver with the base of his knife. “All right. Let’s get her out of here. When we’re done, we need to start looking for that Jeep. Maine plates? Either the Special Forces team is using local government sympathizers, or they’ve been here all along.”

“Like a sleeper cell?” said McCulver.

“I caught something about it on the internet. Part of that Wikileaks thing. Domestic Indigenous Response Team. It was stripped off the web almost as soon as it went up, which tells you something,” lied Eli.

“DIRT?”

“Yeah. They ain’t very creative with their acronyms.”

EVENT +64:59

Limerick, Maine

Alex scanned the road ahead through the AN/PVS-15 Generation IV night vision goggles (NVG) generously provided by 1 stBattalion’s supply chief. He held them like binoculars, instead of attaching them to the ballistic helmet at his feet. Battalion supply offered him a full set of “battle rattle,” which he had graciously accepted, despite the unlikelihood of ever using any of the gear. You could never predict when a second set of Dragon Skin armor might be useful.

“The turn is coming up on the right,” said Alex, lowering the NVGs.

“Striker escort turning right in five-zero meters,” said the driver into his headset.

“Almost home,” Alex said to the pitch-black cabin behind him, eliciting a few exhausted comments.

The marines drove without lights for most of the trip beyond the New Hampshire/Maine border. Human traffic disappeared after the state police checkpoint, making it safe to open up the convoy’s speed. All standard operating procedure designed to minimize the risk of ambush. What seemed a little overcautious thirty minutes ago, felt reasonable now that they were close to Gelder Pond. The less attention they drew to the compound, the better.

Alex dialed the ruggedized MSAT as the tactical vehicle eased right onto an inky stretch of packed-gravel road.

“Where are you?” said Kate.

“Turning into Gelder Pond. We should be at the gate in a minute or two. What’s for dinner?”

“Dinner? Didn’t they give you a few MREs for the trip?”

“Road snacks didn’t make the list.”

“Your mother just volunteered soup and sandwiches,” said Kate. “We’re trying to unload the fridge.”

“Good thing my mom’s on the scene.”

“We’ll see how long that attitude lasts. Meet you in front of the garage,” she said.

“Make that the barn. I want to keep the Jeep out of sight. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The Matvee veered left onto the eastern side of the Gelder Pond loop, eventually straightening on a rutted dirt road. A sudden jolt reminded Alex that not everything had improved since the Humvee.