Oath of Office

CHAPTER 52

Lou could hear himself groaning, but did not have the strength to open his eyes. There was an intense throbbing from the back of his skull. Gradually, he was able to blink. His surroundings were blurred. The smell, a dusty, heavy farm odor, was much stronger than the one inside the boxcar where Cap and George were being held. Maybe some sort of grain car, he thought.

He brushed his hand over a huge knot on his scalp. Stupid! He had let one of Chester’s goons get behind him. Things came into focus and he rolled onto his side. The car’s interior was alarmingly dim.

Directly overhead, twenty feet or so, a round hatchway in the roof, not totally sealed, let in the only light. Lou pushed himself upright and walked his hands around the metal walls. No steps, no ladder. No way out. The rectangular space was not the full size of one of the cars. It was half as large, maybe a third-a full-sized car partitioned off, he guessed.

From nearby he heard moaning and crawled toward the noise, trying to ignore the shell bursts from the back of his head. As a doctor, he would often ask his patients to measure their discomfort on a scale of zero to ten, with zero being none and ten being the worst pain imaginable. Taken as individual injuries, his head and the bullet wound in his thigh hovered around a seven each. Bearable. When he finally located the source of the moaning, his own discomfort all but vanished.

Cap and George lay huddled together on the floor of the grain car, hidden by shadows and propped up against one of the walls.

“Hey, pal,” Cap said weakly. “You okay?”

Typical of the man.

Lou’s vision adjusted even more. Neither of the two was restrained-a bad sign.

He stood, shakily crossed to Cap, and gave him a hand up. Cap’s grip was all but gone. He had absorbed more beating. Aside from swollen eyes and a freshly split lip, Lou saw that he was also missing two front teeth.

“Oh, Cap…” Lou’s anguished whisper echoed in the empty chamber.

“Two on one, I’d bet on me any day. Four on one, it’s still gonna to be close. But five or six? Bad odds, brother.”

“You’re a lion, buddy,” Lou said. “They really did a number on you.”

Cap shrugged. “Hey, like they say after those horror stories at meetings, at least I’m sober.”

George had absorbed another pounding as well, but he actually seemed more conscious. He cried out when they tried to move him.

“I think they busted him up inside,” Cap said. “Maybe some ribs.”

Instinctively, Lou checked George over. He was battered, but his pulse was holding.

“We’ve got to find a way out of here,” Lou said. “There’s nothing resembling a ladder.”

“What about this hatch?” Cap asked, tapping his foot on a spot on the floor.

Lou felt around the edges of a square hatch in the floor, three by three, that lay directly beneath the round portal above them. He was looking for a handle or lever of some sort, but it appeared the hatch opened only from the outside.

“Fill from the top, empty from right here,” he said.

“A giant steel coffin,” Cap replied. “I think Chester’s not taking any chances.”

Lou sighed heavily. “I’m sorry about this, Cap. It’s my fault you’re here.”

“Nonsense, I don’t remember you forcing me into tailing those guys to Kings Ridge.”

“Thanks for saying that.”

“And don’t you start thinking you’re not going to see Emily again. Because that’s not going to happen. Not on my watch, it ain’t. We’ll think of something.”

Before Lou could respond, the portal above fully opened, and artificial light from the mammoth granary brightened the space.

“Well, hello, down there,” Chester called out.

Lou could see the man, backlit from above. “Let us go, Chester!” he yelled up to him. “It’s over.” Echoing in the chamber, Lou’s punchless order made him feel infinitesimally small.

“First things first, Doctor,” Chester replied. “Who knows?”

“Who knows what?”

“Don’t play me for the fool,” Chester said. “Who knows there might be trouble with our corn? Who have you told?”

“I haven’t told anyone,” Lou called out.

“That’s bullshit!”

Lou knew their situation was hopeless. Desperately, he searched his thoughts for something-anything-he could say to change matters.

“Okay,” he tried, “every major newspaper and network is going to run stories about you and Chester Enterprises mutating termites and engineering poisonous corn, and then shipping it off for sale before testing it properly. If I don’t get out of here to recant my story and explain that you aren’t responsible, you and your company are finished.”

“You did no such thing!” Chester yelled down. “I know precisely when you killed my son and when I text messaged you that photo of your friends, there. You didn’t have the time to do anything. Nice try, though.”

“I didn’t kill your son, Chester. Your flunky Gilbert Stone did. Edwin saved my life when Stone was trying to kill me. Now, what do you want?”

“I told you,” Chester said. “I want to know who you’ve told.”

“Nobody, that’s the truth.”

“You’re lying.”

Lou hesitated. “You’re right,” he said. “I did tell somebody. Somebody very important, who will destroy you. Agree to let us go, and I’ll tell you everything.”

“No,” Chester said. “Let me show you what I’m going to do if you continue to mess with me.”

He reached beside him. A mechanical whirring heralded a grain chute being lowered into the mouth of the porthole.

“Chester, don’t do this!” Lou screamed.

“Tell me who you told.”

Chester pulled on a lever next to his shoulder. There was a thunderous whoosh accompanying a storm of corn kernels. Instantly, dust filled the compartment, blocking out much of the light and sucking up nearly all the air. Lou managed a small breath and then held it. The dust thickened as corn continuing pouring down. Lou had rafted the powerful New and Gauley rivers in southern West Virginia. The roar of the corn was like riding down a Class V rapid. The kernels struck like BBs.

All at once the rush of corn seed stopped. Lou and the others were gagging and coughing. For a few moments, it seemed as if George had stopped breathing altogether. Lou’s eyes were afire. Dust continued billowing, filling the steel coffin, which now seemed oppressively small. Some of the dust, but not nearly enough, swirled upward and flowed through the open portal. Like an emphysemic, Lou put his hands on his knees to assist his breathing. Dust covered his face and hair. The back of his throat felt raw and dry. In what seemed no time, the level of corn had already reached his ankles.

“Cap,” he wheezed, “we’ve got to get George.”

The two men stumbled and slipped as they worked over to where George lay in half a foot of kernels. On three, they hoisted him to his feet. George cried out in pain.

“Who did you tell?” Chester called down again.

The three prisoners were standing on the hatch-George, unable to lift his head; Lou and Cap, peering up at Chester’s silhouette. The swirling dust made the man appear to be hovering within a cloud.

“The president,” Lou said. “President Mallory knows, but I don’t think he believes me. You have my word. Let us go and I’ll tell him I was wrong.”

Chester jeered. “Of course the president knows,” he said. “This is his corn as much as it is mine.”

Lou and Cap exchanged bewildered looks.

“Chester,” Lou called up, trying another tack. “You don’t want to do this. This isn’t what Edwin would have wanted.”

“You have no right even speaking my son’s name,” Chester said, spitting in disgust.

“I told you, I didn’t kill him. Stone did.”

“Bullshit! You know what? I really don’t care who you told. You killed my son. That’s enough.”

“Your son was trying to stop you from sending this shipment. He was trying to get Russell Evans reinstated and have him make you test this poison more carefully.”

The seed baron’s silence brought Lou a jet of hope.

Then, without warning, Chester pulled the lever again.

More deafening noise, more spattering corn, more dust, more choking, more stinging. Breathing again became virtually impossible. Lou’s chest constricted. His throat closed altogether. They were suffocating-drowning in dust. Together, he and Cap were forced to their knees. They sucked air through their dust-coated shirts, but the maneuver was of little help.

Then, again, as quickly as it began, the rush of corn ceased.

The two of them coughed and gagged. Probably mercifully, George had again drifted into unconsciousness. Somehow, Lou and Cap had managed to hold on to him. Now, they hoisted him upright between them.

The corn was above their knees.

“Had enough?” Chester yelled down. “I’ll give you one last chance to tell me the truth and make me believe you. Who else did you tell about my corn?”

“Nobody knows about it,” Lou replied with no force behind the words.

Chester waved down to them. “This is it,” he said.

“It’s the truth,” Lou managed. “You’ve got to believe me.”

He could see Chester reaching again for the lever. But there was no noise, no waterfall of corn and dust. No suffocating air.

Instead, there was what sounded like the crackling of gunfire.

Lots of gunfire.

Lou closed his eyes, flinching with each crack, in anticipation of being shot. The gunfire continued in rapid spurts, but to Lou’s growing surprise, no bullets struck the inside of the grain car.

“What’s happening?” Cap shouted to Lou.

“I don’t know. Someone’s shooting. I thought they were shooting at us-some sort of a revenge game.”

More gunfire erupted, followed by explosions that shook the train.

Then there were helicopters swooping overhead. One of them hovered above the portal. Men, caught in the spotlights from the silos, seemed to be fast-roping down toward them.

More gunfire. More explosions.

Through the din, Lou heard Chester cry out. The silhouette above Lou clutched his shoulder and pitched forward, still holding the lever on the chute. Again, the corn kernels and dust poured down, but this time, William Chester became part of the deadly cataract, twisting in the air as he fell. He landed heavily on his back, not five feet away from where Lou and the others were struggling to stay upright and breathe.

Corn pelted Chester’s body and face. He struggled to sit up, but his efforts only drove him deeper into the feather bed of kernels.

The man’s mouth contorted in a silent scream.

Within seconds, corn had completely buried him. Briefly, Chester worked his head free and craned his nose and mouth toward the portal, but the level continued to rise.

With the corn already at Lou’s chest, there was no way he could even move.

“Help me!” he thought he heard over the rush of seeds. “Help me!”

Corn had covered Chester’s nose and eyes. His mouth seemed to suck in one final breath. A moment later, he vanished.

The flow of corn was nearing Lou’s shoulders. The pressure against his body was enormous, and he reflexively began reviewing the physiology of crush injuries. Muscle death, swelling, loss of function, renal shutdown, and all sorts of cardiac and pulmonary problems.

How would dying that way compare to suffocating in corn?

The horrible din was diminishing as well. Lou no longer heard what he thought was gunfire. Maybe the noise had been something mechanical? He looked over at Cap. The rising corn was at the level of the man’s upper chest. George, wedged between them, mumbled incoherently. He was buried to his throat. Lou tried to reach over for Cap’s hand, but was immobilized within a cocoon of kernels. Still, through the intense dust, they could see each other well enough to exchange looks of helplessness.

“Got any ideas?” Lou asked, surprised at how calm he was feeling next to the man who had been such a perfect friend.

“Yeah,” Cap said, “the Serenity Prayer.”

“This is going to be tough on Emily.”

“She’s a strong girl, Lou. She’ll be all right.”

Lou lifted his chin. No use. The corn was already nearing his mouth. His ears and nose were filled with dust. Kernels continued to sting them like angry hornets.

“I wish you had my two inches,” Cap said, noting Lou’s struggles to keep his head up.

Lou, spitting corn seed out of his mouth, glanced glassy-eyed over at his friend.

He could read Cap’s lips: … The courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Lou said the last words out loud, clenched his jaws, closed his eyes tightly, and inhaled one deep, final time.

Corn slid up and over his mouth. There was no way he could hold his breath any longer.

I love you, Em. I love you.

Her beautiful face was there with him, smiling.

All became silent.

Then, with another rush of sound and a sense of movement, the darkness turned to a dim light.

“I’m looking for Dr. Lou Welcome. Is Dr. Lou Welcome here?”

Disoriented and confused, Lou opened his eyes. He was on his back alongside the track. Spotlights were shining down on him from the Chester Enterprises silos. He had an oxygen mask on. Everyplace around him was corn-piles and piles of golden kernels. Frankencorn. Sitting beside him, brushing dirt and corn from his face, was Cap.

“Hey, there, boss,” Cap said. “Welcome to the land of the living. There’s a guy calling out your name. I think he wants to talk with you.”

Lou pulled the oxygen off. He had to clear his throat and spit out a gob of thick mud in order to speak. “George?”

“Medics took him away,” Cap said. “One of them gave me a thumbs-up, so I think he’s not in any big trouble.”

“Medics?”

Lou’s head cleared rapidly. He rolled over onto his side, gagging and coughing. Then, with Cap’s help, he sat up and looked around. In every direction were crumpled-up parachutes. There were dead bodies, too-a row of them, being dragged away from the train and lined up by soldiers in black greasepaint. Lou recognized Chester’s man, Dolph, as two soldiers set his body down next to the others. He was bloodied, and it appeared he had been shot many times. The landscape was complete and total carnage.

To Lou’s left was the grain car. Its hatch was open, and the contents of the bin had been emptied out onto the ground.

“Chester?”

“The medics took him, too. I’m no expert on dead, but he sure looked it to me.

A soldier approached, his face also blackened. “Lieutenant Brad Taylor, United States Army, Second Ranger Battalion. Are either of you Dr. Lou Welcome?”

“I am,” Lou responded weakly.

“Do you need your oxygen mask, sir?”

“If I have trouble breathing, I’ll put it back on.”

“Very well. I’m glad you’re okay, sir. I have been instructed to tell you that President and Mrs. Mallory send their regards.”