Myrmidon

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sporadic gunfire made Chapel jump as he was herded through the base. He didn’t know if the neo-Nazis were shooting at anyone or just firing their guns in celebration. They lacked the discipline of real soldiers, but Belcher didn’t seem to mind that they were wasting ammo and making way too much noise as they laughed and whooped with success. Maybe he figured they deserved to have a little fun since they were all going to die in an hour or so.

None of them looked scared. None of them showed even an iota of regret. “What about their families?” Chapel asked, when none of them were in earshot. No women had come along for this particular bloodbath. “What about their wives?”

“The women who were dumb enough to marry skinheads and white-power assholes?” Belcher asked, quietly. “They’re still back in Kendred, armed to the teeth. When the ATF or the army or whoever shows up to investigate, they’ll have a nasty surprise waiting for them. Those women are just as ready to die as their men.”

“What about all those kids you showed me?”

“They’re being herded into an underground bunker where they’ll be safe. Those kids still have a chance, if they can get away from their parents. The state will have to take care of ’em,” Belcher told him. “Find them nice new homes. Find them families who will teach them better than this lot could. Maybe they’ll grow up not hating anybody. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“You’re willing to sacrifice all these lives—including your own—just to make a point,” Chapel said, scarcely believing it. “You care to tell me what the point actually is? Beyond just how much you hate everyone?”

“Isn’t that enough?” Belcher asked, then he laughed. “You’ve got me all wrong, Agent. You think I’m trying to send a message, here? That’s a common misconception about terrorists.”

“So you admit that’s what you are? A terrorist?”

“As in someone who uses fear as a weapon? Yeah, I accept that label. Your lot, the media, the vast majority of people in this country, they’ve got the wrong idea about terror, though. They think your suicide bombers, your hijackers, your abductors are political dissidents. That they’re using TV and the newspapers to get their cause some attention. But you actually talk to real terrorists, that’s not the word they use for themselves. They call themselves soldiers. I’m not here to tell America that white supremacy is bad. If they can’t figure that out for themselves, they’re too fucking stupid to understand anyway. No, I’m here to punish.”

“Punish? Punish who?” Chapel asked.

“The white-power movement. The US Army. Everyone who ever wronged me. I don’t claim to be a deep man, Agent. I live by a very simple code. You blacken my eye, I break your neck. My father’s fans are going to die here today. The men who threw me in jail for beating up my CO will die here today.”

“That’s it? That’s all this is about?” Chapel asked. “You’re just working out your daddy issues, and all these people have to die for—”

Belcher’s arm flashed forward, the butt of his pistol coming right at Chapel’s mouth. Chapel had time to roll his jaw to one side, but nothing more, so the impact just tore open his cheek instead of breaking half his teeth. He staggered backward, trying not to fall down. It was tough with his arms tied, but, somehow, he managed. He turned to face Belcher again as blood dripped onto his shirt.

“I think I warned you about making speeches. If you try it again, I’ll have you gagged,” Belcher told him. “Now. Let’s get to the igloos. We’re burning daylight.”