Last Man Standing

46

When they got back to East Winds, Web called Claire on her cell phone, but she didn’t answer. He tried her at work and got no answer. Web called the hotel where she was staying. No luck there either. He put the phone down, not liking any of that one bit. He mulled whether to go to the hotel or not. She might simply be in the shower. He decided to try later.

The next thing he and Romano did was something neither of them could avoid: They grabbed a few hours of sleep. After that they drove up to the main house and relieved the agents patrolling there. Gwen met them at the door, her face pale.

“We’ve seen the news,” she said. She led them inside to a sitting room off the main hallway.

“Where’s Billy?” asked Web.

“Upstairs. He’s just been lying in the bed. He hadn’t seen that tape in years. I didn’t even know it was on the damn shelf.” Web could see that her face was damp with tears.

“It was my fault, Gwen, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, playing that tape in your house.”

“It didn’t matter, Web, it was bound to happen sometime.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“You’ve damn well done enough.”

They all turned and looked at the doorway, where Billy stood in old jeans, bare feet, with his shirttail hanging out. His hair was in disarray and he basically looked like hell, observed Web. Billy lit up a cigarette and cupped his hand for an ashtray as he came forward. Web noted that Gwen made no move to stop him from smoking.

He sat down across from the two men, his piercing eyes watching them from behind the drifts of smoke. Web could smell the alcohol from where he stood and assumed Gwen could too. She rose from her chair to go to her husband, but he motioned her back down.

“We saw the TV,” said Billy.

“That’s what Gwen said,” replied Web.

Billy squinted at him, as though he were having trouble seeing over the one foot that separated them. “You killed them all?”

“Not all. Most.” Web kept his gaze on the man. Part of him thought Billy might toast the demise of the Frees, and part of him thought the man might throw him and Romano out for leaving any of them alive.

“How’d it feel?”

“Billy!” said Gwen. “You have no right to ask that. We’re talking about people being killed.”

“I know all about people being killed, honey,” said Billy as he shot her a smile that had nothing in it. He looked back at Web, awaiting an answer.

“It felt like shit. It always feels like shit. Most of them were high school age or grandfathers.”

“My son was ten.” He said this without emotion, just stating it as a clear, indisputable fact.

“I know that.”

“But I hear what you’re saying. It ain’t easy killing somebody, unless you’re way screwed up to begin with. It’s only hard for the good guys.” He pointed at Web and then at Romano. “For men like you.”

Gwen swiftly went to her husband before he could stop her again. She put an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

Billy ignored her. “TV says old Ernest B. Free wasn’t among the dead. That right?”

Web nodded and Billy smiled. “Sumbitch’s luck just keeps holding, doesn’t it?”

“Looks that way. But if he was planning to come home to his little group, he’ll have to find somewhere else to live.”

Billy considered this. “Well, that’s something.” He looked at Gwen. “Where’s Strait?”

Gwen seemed very relieved by the change in subject. “On his way back from the sale. He’ll be here tonight. He called from the road. It went really well. Every yearling sold and we got the price we wanted on every one.”

“Well, damn, that’s something to celebrate.” He eyed Web and Romano. “You fellows want to celebrate? I tell you what, we’ll wait until old Nemo gets back tonight and then we’ll have us a little party right here. What do you say?”

“I doubt that they feel much like celebrating, Billy,” said Gwen. “Well, I sure as hell do. We got yearlings sold, Frees dead and we got to give Web and Paul here a going-away party, ’cause with those boys dead, we don’t need protection anymore, do we? Y’all can pack up and get out right now,” he said in a loud voice.

“Billy, please,” said Gwen.

Web was about to say that the jury was still out on Gwen and Billy being safe, but he stopped himself. “I tell you what, Billy, you let us stay on a couple more days and we’ll come to your party tonight.”

Gwen looked at him in astonishment while Billy merely nodded and grinned, sucking down the rest of his cigarette with a long pull. He put it out in his leathery palm without even wincing. Web noted the man’s hands for the first time. They were large, muscular and stained with what looked to be acid or something like it. Then he recalled the taxidermy workshop. Killing and stuffing.

“See you tonight, gents,” said Billy.

Gwen led them out and told Web in a low voice that he didn’t have to do this.

“I’ll see you tonight, Gwen,” was all he said in response, and she closed the door slowly after them.

What the hell was all that about?” said Romano. “I mean, talk about your freaky shit.”

Before Web could answer, his phone rang. He whipped it out, hoping it was Claire, but it was Bates.

“I guess it’s time to pull the pole on the East Winds tent,” Bates said.

“You can call your guys off, but the Canfields have asked Romano and me to stay.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, and I think it’s a good idea, actually. The Frees who were at that compound are gone, but who’s to say they don’t have more members out there? And Ernie’s still at large.”

“That’s true. Okay, look, you hang there, but let me know if anything goes down, and I mean the second it happens, not Web London time.”

“You got it. Anything from Cove?”

“Nothing. It’s like he’s disappeared from the face of the earth.” Web thought about Claire. “Yeah, I got one of those too.”

About the time that Web was wiping out the Free Society in southern Virginia, Claire Daniels sat blindfolded with a gag stuffed painfully in her mouth. She could hear men in the background discussing, or rather arguing, presumably about her. She recognized Ed O’Bannon’s voice and she bristled each time she heard it. The bastard had kept the gun on her all the way down to the parking garage and then duct-taped her arms and legs and thrown her in his trunk. She had no idea where she was. As she blinked back tears, she still couldn’t believe she had worked next to the man all this time and never suspected what was going on.

The voices stopped and she felt people moving toward her. All she could think was that another pistol was going to be placed against her head, and this time the person would surely fire and kill her. Claire was suddenly pulled up so roughly she thought they had popped her arm out of place. She felt herself being lifted up and put over a shoulder. Whoever was carrying her was strong; the man wasn’t even breathing hard, and where her stomach was pressing against him, he felt hard as iron.

A few minutes went by and she was laid down and then she felt the plink of metal against metal. Another car trunk. Blindfolded and shuttled from place to place, Claire had lost her sense of balance and also felt nauseous. The car started and they were soon on the move. She tried listening for sounds that would provide some clue as to where they were, but she soon gave up, there were just too many confusing noises, and they were all muffled. She judged they had been driving for about an hour when the movement of the car seemed to indicate that they had gone from straight, level roads to winding, rolling ones. Had they gone into the country? Were they driving her to some isolated wooded area to kill her and leave her body for the animals, insects and elements to slowly destroy? In her work with law enforcement, Claire had seen the remains of a woman who had been raped and murdered and left in the forest for two weeks. Other than bone, there was virtually nothing left of her. She had become sick at the sight of it. Was that how she would be found?

The car slowed and then she felt a sharp turn and then it decreased its speed again. Now they were going over rough dirt roads and she was pitched around in the trunk, hitting her head twice, once hard enough to bring tears. The car stopped again and then she heard the engine cut off and the doors open. She braced herself. She heard footsteps moving to the rear. She tensed even more, the feeling of despair and helplessness far worse than she had ever endured before. What did it feel like to die? A bullet to the head, would there be any sensation of pain? Web had been shot, twice. He knew what it was like to think he was dying. He had survived, though, because he was a survivor. He had it much tougher in life than she had. She counseled folks over their troubles, and except for a divorce that was fairly amicable, Claire had had no significant disruptions in her own life. For the first time ever, she wondered what gave her the right, other than her fancy degrees, to tell people how to get through their issues. Yes, Web had survived much; Claire didn’t think she was that strong. She took a deep breath as the trunk was opened and strong hands closed around her and lifted her up. It wasn’t O’Bannon. Claire knew he was a man of very little physical strength. From all around she heard the sounds of the forest and animals that lived there, predators that might soon be visiting her remains. She initially fought back the tears and then just decided to let them go. These people wouldn’t care.

She felt the man moving over uneven ground, stumbling a few times but then righting himself. His feet went from dirt to something else, wood, brick, or perhaps stone, she wasn’t sure, but she had heard the change in sounds, and then a door was unlocked and opened. This surprised her because she had assumed they were in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps it was a cabin, but then she heard noises of machinery going and what she thought was the flow of water. Were they near a stream or river? Was there a dam nearby or a water treatment plant? Was that where her body was going to end up? Then she had a sense of either going up or down, she wasn’t sure about that either, for with her ruined sense of balance she had also lost her sense of direction. In fact, she thought she might be sick, and her stomach pushing into the man’s hard, bony shoulder didn’t help much. And there was also a strong chemical odor that seemed familiar but that she couldn’t quite identify, so out of whack were all her senses. For an instant she thought that vomiting on him would give her some small sense of pleasure, of triumph, but it also might prompt him to accelerate the timing of her death.

Another door opened and they passed through, presumably into another room. He squatted and laid her down on something soft, perhaps a bed. Her skirt had risen up embarrassingly high while she’d been riding on the man’s shoulders, and with her hands bound she had no way to pull it down. She tensed when she felt his hands go up her legs to a point where she thought he was going to pull down her underpants and add rape to his list of felonies. However, all he did was tug her skirt down to its normal position.

The next thing he did was pull her bound hands over her head and the clink of metal made her think that he had handcuffed her hands to something, perhaps the bed or a ring bolted to the wall. As soon as he moved away, she tried to pull her hands down, but couldn’t budge them. Whatever she was handcuffed to, she wouldn’t be able to escape it.

“You’ll get some food and water later. For now, just try to relax.” She didn’t recognize the voice. The man didn’t laugh at his insane words, but Claire could easily sense the mirth behind them.

The door closed and she was once again alone. Alone, that is, until she sensed movement from across the room.

“You okay, lady?” asked Kevin Westbrook.