"They were never on any radar of mine. I hope you know that."
"I wouldn't have accepted this offer if I thought otherwise."
"I think I can work all that out. Your family is safe. You have my word."
"What's next?"
“Funny you should ask, on my way to meet you I got a message. I've got to go in for a briefing. Wheels up in two hours."
”Will you call me when you get back?”
"No. You're coming with me. We've got a rapidly evolving hostage situation."
"Nothing like hitting the ground running."
"We'll have to get you a change of clothes."
"Why's that?"
"We're going to Alaska."
Aftershock Chapter 3
Macintosh stood facing Walter Grizzly, Grizz, as he was known to most, a six foot-nine, three-hundred-eighty-pound behemoth. His muscle was only matched by his will. A thin layer of fat insulated his bulging muscles. It was bitter cold outside and not much better in the concrete shed they were standing in. Yet Grizz wore nothing but a sleeveless hooded black sweatshirt in lieu of a coat. He looked like a cross between Bill Belichick and Rumblebuffin, the fabled giant from CS Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia.
His body was covered in tattoos. The overlapping images coated his flesh and disappeared under the thick red of his beard. Grizz's head was shaved smooth. A solitary red triangle with a thick black W was tattooed on the back of his enormous head.
Grizz was the founding member of their Aryan brotherhood. Full membership could only be attained through the rite of passage. Full initiation meant the prospect had to commit murder. The red triangle pointing up was symbolic of The Way's belief structure. “Blood is the only path to purity. Blood is The Way.” Macintosh's tattoo was etched into the side of his neck using a prison made tattoo needle. A skin infection, a byproduct of the unsanitary process, left a section of the W blotched with scar tissue.
Macintosh earned his ink while at Stone Creek Correctional. He'd saved Ray Winslow, one of The Way's founding members, during a prison yard fight. Macintosh had seen the other inmate, a wild-eyed man by the name of Paul Banyan, make a move on Winslow with a shiv made out of a toothbrush handle. Macintosh had knocked the weapon out of Banyan's hand just before he would've struck paydirt in Winslow's jugular. Banyan died in the yard that day.
Although Banyan's death could not officially be laid at the feet of Macintosh, the State did find cause to extend his seven-year sentence for a failed armed robbery by three years. It’d also earned him a place among The Way.
The ankle holster concealed along the inside of Macintosh's left leg just above the ankle seemed heavier now, as if the gun itself was somehow rooted to the poured concrete floor Macintosh stood on. Deputy US Marshal Dawes was duct taped to a metal folding chair in the center of the room. Underneath was an eight-by-eight drop cloth.
Grizz towered over all the men in the room. But with Dawes seated before him, he looked even more menacing.
He said nothing, standing with arms folded behind the chair. He stared at the man between them who was groaning. His head was bobbing more steadily as he tried to bring it up. Macintosh looked at the man's eyes as they flooded open, and then saw the shock and horror of them when they recognized the man standing behind the chair. He twisted against the restraints, and only worked to kink up the tape, further cutting off his circulation. Dawes’ hands were a shade of dark purple, matching the bruising along the side of his beaten face. His eyes shot wildly around the room and locked with Macintosh's. He was begging. No discernable words penetrated the gag in his mouth. Tears started to stream down the man's blood-crusted face.
"US Marshal Dawes, do you know what this day is for you?" Grizz growled. "It's a reckoning. You think you can come to my home and take from me? Your laws don't apply to me. We are sovereign. You cannot impose your will on me."
Dawes whimpered.
"I am the only law that matters. The other three I killed should have served as a warning. But just like Waco, you government types can't seem to help yourselves.”
"Lank, it’s your time to earn your mark." Grizz continued.
The scrawny Lankowski straightened. He pulled out a small black revolver from his waistband and pointed it at the federal agent's head. "Just give me the word, Grizz. I'll put a bullet through his thick skull."
"Wait." Macintosh nearly choked on the word.
Grizz turned his emerald stare to Macintosh. His voice boomed like someone beating an empty barrel with a wooden mallet. "Did you just speak out of turn?"
"Killing him is a bad move."
Lank turned the gun toward Macintosh. "I told you there's somethin' off 'bout this one. He ain't right."
"You best be pointing that gun elsewhere." Macintosh squared himself to Lank. He thought of the ankle holster. No way he could get to his piece before Lank got a shot off.
"Let's see what he has to say." Grizz stepped forward and rested his beefy hands on the shoulders of Dawes. "Tell me why this man here deserves to live."
"They already tried to breach once. If you kill him, nothing will stop them from rolling a tank through the front gate. Keep him alive and you have leverage."
The big man stirred. He adjusted his forearms and returned them to their folded position across his barrel chest.
"It's how we survived the prison riot. We took a guard hostage. It became our saving grace. Plus, we got a lot of intel about how the other guards planned to stop us. It gave us the tactical advantage and enabled us to hold the prison for over ten days. Might be worth a shot to do the same thing here. But this isn't my show."
”You’re damn right it isn't!" Grizz’s cheeks reddened to the color of his beard. Then he let out a huge sigh. "But right is right. You may be onto something."
Lank still held the gun out and pointed in the direction of Macintosh.
"Put that thing away before you shoot yourself." Macintosh sneered.
Lank holstered his pistol. "So we just gonna take the newbie's word as gospel?"
"He's a marked member. You remember that next time you point that thing in his direction. I'll cut your throat myself."
Lank resumed his slouch.
"Since you’re full of ideas, what is it you suggest we do next?" Grizz redirected his attention to Macintosh.
"We need to establish communication with the feds, so we can keep them from assaulting the compound. At least buy us enough time to slip away."
A loud rumble rolled through from a distance. It shook the small building and nearly threw Macintosh on top of Dawes. The lights went out.
"What in the hell was that? The feds? It felt like an explosion." Lank shot a panicked look at the door.
Grizz's voice roared above the noise. "That's no explosion. That's a quake."
Pre-order your copy now:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08X93GBZ9