Skull's Shadows (Plague Wars Series), Page 2

  “No problem at all,” he answered with a smile, getting out and stepping aside.

  “Stand over there, please,” said the big cop, directing him near his partner.

  Skull kept a sharp eye on both without seeming to. His weapons and gear were hidden, but a careful search would probably find them.

  “Must get old sitting out here,” Skull said to the smaller cop, trying to distract him.

  “You ain’t lying,” he answered. “All the action is up on the highways, but the chief thought someone might try and sneak through out here.”

  “What exactly are you looking for?” asked Skull.

  The cop shrugged. “You know. The usual suspicious types. The recent attacks have got everyone on edge; this is all mainly just a show of force. Calm everyone down and make them feel safe.”

  Skull stiffened as he saw the older cop lift out a long black case. He laid it on the hood of the SUV and began to unzip it.

  “Mind if I take a piss over here,” asked Skull slipping behind the smaller cop and on the same side of the police car. “I drank at least four cups of coffee this morning.”

  “I hear ya,” answered the cop, his attention on his partner.

  Skull slipped behind the second man and off the side of the road to a slightly elevated position. He noted both men were wearing body armor under their uniforms.

  “What...the...hell?” said the big cop turning slowly. He was holding the detached heavy barrel of Skull’s Barrett sniper rifle in one hand, the stock in the other.

  Skull had already pulled the Glock from the small of his back. At first he’d thought to simply threaten and disarm the two, but a sick rage rose up in him plastered with a picture of Zeke’s head blown open like a melon.

  He shot the man in the face.

  The other policeman was so shocked he screamed and slid down to the ground to rest on his butt. He never even tried to reach for his weapon.

  Shaking like a puppy pooping a pine cone, Skull thought, remembering his old drill sergeant’s favorite expression. Skull couldn’t keep his lips from curling in an ugly sneer. Still, he felt a detachment different from servicing a target as a sniper. The rage, the fury coated everything he did, yet he didn’t feel it from the inside. Instead, it hazed his vision with crimson, as if a curtain hung between him and the world, insulating him from its pain.

  The remaining cop’s startled expression never changed even after Skull put a bullet into his eye. At some later, saner time he might regret the necessity of killing these duped Americans, but that didn’t slow him down. Death came to everyone eventually.

  Today, it had simply come a bit sooner to these men.

  Skull’s childhood priest had once told him that all had sinned and deserved eternal damnation; that only one man had ever been truly innocent, and for that embarrassing fact a stained and filthy world had nailed Him to a cross. If the priest was right, Skull was only speeding things up a bit.

  Maybe when he saw the cops in Hell, he’d apologize.

  Maybe.

  Looking around, it didn’t appear that anyone had witnessed the scene, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t come by. Skull first went to the cop cruiser dash cam. He was pleased to see it was simply a camera that recorded and was later downloaded, as opposed to one of the newer cameras that broadcast real-time back to headquarters. Skull pulled out the drive card and tossed it on the passenger seat of his SUV. He then retrieved the vehicle registration, insurance, and driver’s license for Victor Erickson. That identity was all blown now. He also placed them on the passenger seat. Checking the cruiser, he saw that it had a full gas tank.

  Resealing his sniper bag, Skull gathered his gear and carried it to the cop car, placing it in the back. He then dragged the smaller cop’s body to the trunk of the cruiser and lifted him in. Skull placed his pistol on the roof of the car along with everything in his pockets before stripping out of his clothes and putting them into one of his bags.

  The other cop was much heavier than Skull, but the same height, so he would do. He manhandled the dead man out of his uniform and donned it himself after cutting an extra notch in the utility belt. The clothes were baggy, but would likely pass in a pinch, especially if he didn’t have to exit the vehicle. He pulled the man’s cell phone out of the pants pocket and placed it on the seat. Then he went to the trunk to retrieve the partner’s cell and do the same.

  Dragging the big cop’s corpse over and levering him into the trunk was difficult, but Skull finally managed it and slammed the lid closed. He looked around again. Almost there, he thought.

  Placing the Glock in the small of his back again, Skull returned all the items on the roof to his pockets. Pulling out the bigger man’s wallet, Skull saw he now wore the uniform of Police Officer Raymond Stark. He pulled out a family photo of the officer with a plump wife and three adorable girls, and then stamped down ruthlessly on a lingering twinge of guilt.

  Skull replaced the photo, removed a thermite grenade from his pack and returned to his SUV. Cranking it, he slowly drove the vehicle off the road and into a nearby gully. Once there, he pulled the pin on the incendiary device and set it carefully on top of the false identification documents and the hard drive from the cop’s dash cam. He then walked back to the cop cruiser. The grenade would melt and incinerate everything in the cab, destroying the vehicle beyond anything but robust forensic examination. Even then it would be tough.

  Skull had thought about putting the cops’ bodies in the burning SUV, but wanted to delay associating the killings with Victor Erickson as long as possible. The partner might have already called the SUV plate in as soon as they stopped him, but the vehicle was clean and not in any of the databases.

  Focus on the things you can control, Skull told himself. Everything else will work out or it won’t.

  The cop car had a GPS, but Skull took a moment to disable it, and double-checked that the cruiser had no other location device. Without his technological crutch, he consulted a map book and plotted a course using secondary roads headed east.

  A squawk of the police radio interrupted his thoughts. “Dispatch, this is Desert 48, checking in. We’ve completed our circuit of Route 3. Headed back to station now.”

  “Roger that, 48,” responded a female voice.

  That’s going to be a problem, thought Skull, but maybe not for a little while. Might be good to make some miles down the road.

  Once at highway speed, the day seemed just as beautiful as ever.

  Chapter 2

  Skull turned on a news radio station to help pass the time. He had been listening for over an hour to talking heads go around in circles, beefing up various conspiracy theories, when the narrator abruptly cut off his guests.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have breaking news,” said the man breathlessly. “We’ve just heard that the People’s Republic of China has launched a full-scale amphibious invasion of Taiwan as of an hour ago. The invasion was preceded by rocket and air attacks. We’re hearing that the Taiwanese are appealing to the U.S. for help. Although the White House has issued a statement saying that the United States is gravely concerned and strongly condemns the Chinese acts, in this time of insecurity in the homeland cannot commit any military assets. The President is quoted as saying, ‘Now is not the time for foreign adventures, not with all our military fully engaged in operations closer to home. Rest assured, we will defend America’s core interests, especially the security of its citizens.’”

  It’s all going to start coming apart, thought Skull. The careful international balance of power built over generations has been overturned in a few weeks. What will replace it?

  Skull wasn’t sure and admitted he didn’t care that much. He’d considered America the only country ever worth dying for, but had started having second thoughts about that even before Daniel Markis released the Eden Plague upon the world, what with all the punk-ass surrender monkeys that got elected unwilling to punish the enemies of liberty and justice around the world.

&nbs
p; The police radio squawked and the same female voice filled with static called out. “Desert 32, this is dispatch. Just checking in. Everything okay?”

  Lots of static. Must be getting outside of range, Skull realized. It would only be a matter of time before they missed the men and began a search and put out a “be on the lookout,” or BOLO, but the longer he could stall them and get some distance, the better.

  Skull cleared his voice and deepened it to match the big cop as closely as possible. “Dispatch, this is Desert 32. We’ve had some radio problems, but everything is okay.”

  “Now Raymond,” said the woman, “you know the protocol. If you have problems on the radio, you call and let me know on your cell. Besides which, best go ahead and do that. Sheriff wants to talk to you.”

  “About what?” asked Skull. He didn’t care, but thought this would be Raymond’s natural response.

  “Uh...your weight or your inability to show up on time for work or maybe the fact that he can smell alcohol on your breath sometimes,” she said. “Not really sure; could be a lot of things, you know.”

  Skull froze. He wasn’t sure how to respond. Was this casual light banter between the two, or serious? Was the proper response simply screw you, that’s none of your business, or good one, you old bitch. There was no sure right answer; he simply didn’t have enough info. Besides, they would know something was wrong soon when he didn’t call the sheriff on the phone or answer the cell.

  Ignoring her further calls and conversation, he let her assume he had more radio problems or that maybe Raymond was pouting.

  Pulling out the map, he flipped pages until he found an area to the east that might be good to hide out in. The Painted Desert. Skull had never been there, but he liked deserts and had seen lots of pictures of this place. It was somewhere he had longed to visit anyway.

  “No time like the present,” he said aloud and grinned.

  Although there was a gated entrance to the Painted Desert with a booth for visitors to pay for entering, the girl there just waved him through. Skull figured the squad car did it.

  He thought a park map would be useful, but that would involve going into the welcome center and Skull didn’t want to talk to anyone while wearing the dead cop’s uniform if he could help it.

  Spotting a large map on a board, Skull drove nearby and looked it over, identifying the access road that seemed most promising for taking him deepest into the Painted Desert while still heading east. With a snap of his fingers, he reached back into one of the bags behind him and pulled out a digital camera. Setting it on the highest resolution possible, he took several pictures of the map. This would give him something to consult, although he certainly didn’t plan on getting lost.

  No one plans on getting lost, he thought.

  Skull turned the wheel and circled around behind the welcome center, finding a sign stating, ACCESS ROAD 3E - PARK PERSONNEL ONLY. Hopefully no one would pay too much attention to a police car headed down the trail. Or at least if they did, they wouldn’t interfere or report him.

  That’s a whole lot of ifs, Skull thought. This mission is already FUBARed, Marine. Might be a good idea to get while the getting is good.

  Skull kept driving. He wanted to make the most of the mobility and gas he had. Once he ditched the vehicle it would be slow going on foot, although he would certainly draw less attention.

  Making his way carefully and slowly on rock-strewn and precarious roads, Skull was nevertheless amazed by the beauty of the place. Giant rock formations highlighted by a kaleidoscope of colors made him want to stop and gaze upon them like a brilliant work of art. In the setting sun, the effects were even more awe-inspiring.

  Setting sun. Need to ditch the vehicle and be on my way by nightfall. Will potentially attract too much attention driving around out here at night.

  After a quarter of an hour Skull found what he was looking for. He pulled the cruiser up into a small narrow draw filled with low, thin trees. Skull exited the vehicle and stripped out of the dead cop’s uniform, keeping the two men’s .40 Smith & Wesson pistols, all their ammo and both pairs of handcuffs. He was already set for weapons, but he knew you can never have enough and pistols are relatively light, taking up little space. The riot gun and body armor were another matter; they’d have to stay. If his load got too heavy, he’d drop some items.

  Opening the cruiser hood, he popped the radiator fill cap off. First smelling, and then tasting it confirmed what he had hoped. In an area where it rarely dropped below freezing, it made no sense to spend money on antifreeze when water did just as well and was free.

  Skull gathered several empty water and drink bottles from the vehicle’s untidy interior, and then poked a small hole in the bottom of the radiator with his knife. It took several minutes to fill the bottles with dirty water. It certainly wouldn’t taste good, but he was getting ready to walk into the desert and it might prove useful to augment his supply.

  Skull loaded up his gear into his large rucksack. He debated carrying the MP5 submachine gun, but instead shoved it back into the pack, and then assembled his sniper rifle, a modified Barrett .50 caliber he’d carried throughout his career and managed to get a waiver to keep after he retired. The open spaces were more conducive to longer shots and he could put the scope to good use. Besides, if confronted, maybe he could pass himself off as a hunter if someone didn’t look too close at his weapon.

  Thinking of burning the vehicle and destroying any potential evidence, Skull decided he dared not risk the smoke from a fire. Hopefully Vinny Nguyen, Spooky’s hacker nephew, had deleted all their personnel data and fingerprints from as many federal databases as possible before he was killed. Besides, it was likely too late to worry about forensic evidence.

  Using the scope, Skull checked the surrounding area. A little to the south he spotted a large rock formation that appeared to have several indentations along its sides large enough for him to sleep in. He started walking, intent on making the most of the remaining daylight.

  Skull crossed the open space between the rock formation and the ravine where he’d hid the police vehicle. Unconsciously, he increased his pace, feeling exposed out in the open. Dark shadows covered the entire area and only the glow of the setting sun could be seen in the sky. Very soon this world would become the hunting grounds of the owl, bat, and fox. He wished them the best and climbed steadily up the side of the rock formation.

  Several hundred feet up the giant red sandstone structure, he found a narrow but deep indentation. Poking around with the barrel of his rifle to test for rattlers, he heard no response and climbed inside. After eating a little jerky and drinking some water, he laid out his sleeping bag before climbing inside. Scanning the area with his rifle, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He watched a giant eagle soar on the last rays of the sun and heated thermals before he fell asleep, exhausted.

  ***

  In his dream, Skull is the eagle. He is strong and fast, flying over the earth wherever he chooses. He is above regrets and concerns over what might have been. He is free and so very alive.

  A desert mouse scurries a world below him. Skull’s extraordinary eyes zoom in and mark every detail of the small furry creature. He can even see the drumbeat of its heart through its brown skin.

  A second mouse appears. The two dance around a dead coyote, making an odd whump whump whump noise. Skull sees the sky grow darker and the wind more fierce. He wants to soar higher above all of this, but feels something important is here to be seen, some danger that he can’t identify.

  Whump whump whump comes in faster and faster rhythms. Maybe he should kill the mice simply to shut them up.

  Whump whump whump WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP.

  Skull awoke to darkness and the sound of helicopters. He could see two of them circling the park, searching, and lights on the ground near the ravine where he had hidden the police cruiser.

  “Damn,” he whispered. He’d hoped for more time. Now the chase would truly begin, and he would be the mouse...at least f
or a while. Cops didn’t take well to the murder of two of their own even in the best of times. With tensions running high, there was no predicting what lengths they would go to in order to capture or punish him. Maybe he should have tried to merely wound and disable them.

  Burnt bridges. Nothing to be done about them now.

  Skull vowed, as he had before with every enemy he’d faced, that they would not take him.

  Summoning the spirits of his Apache ancestors who had astonished their horse-borne enemies by covering up to a hundred miles a day on foot, Skull began to run.

  Chapter 3

  Skull decided he’d been wrong. The desert was not beautiful. It was not a place of peace and tranquility and a gateway to enlightenment. The desert was death.

  In modern vernacular: it sucked, big time.

  He’d been running for three days now. They hadn’t exactly found him yet, but his hunters stayed close enough he couldn’t really catch his breath.

  Sunburned and dehydrated, he’d finished off the last of the delicious radiator water an hour ago. Worse yet, he’d slipped and fallen down a crevice, leaving the tibia in his right leg at least fractured. He hoped it wasn’t a severe break, and stayed off it as much as possible. Still, he needed rest to let it heal.

  The ambushes Skull laid for his pursuers had served to slow them down. He was fairly sure he had killed at least three of those after him, maybe more. He felt another slight twinge of guilt at killing the policemen, but wasn’t certain if the emotion was genuine or merely indicated he knew that he should feel bad and felt guilty because it didn’t bother him.

  “Forget it,” Skull croaked under his breath. So fatigued that it was a constant effort for him to focus, he knew this was likely the end. He just didn’t want them to take him alive. The busted leg meant he could no longer move fast enough to elude them.

  Besides, sunstroke was near. He could feel it sneaking up on him like a hungry puma.