Black Flagged Apex

Chapter 12





11:14 PM

Wayne County

Pennsylvania



Julius Grimes had long ago lost track of where his van was headed. They had turned off Interstate 87, headed west on I-84 in Pennsylvania. The van had exited the interstate deep in the Pocono Mountains region, taking several obscure paved roads that eventually led to unmarked gravel roads travelling deep into the rolling foothills. He had been told by the driver of the van that they were headed to one of True America's most closely guarded sites, which added to his already highly elevated anxiety level.

He knew that he'd seriously f*cked up at the target site. He hadn't taken his mask off on purpose, but it didn't matter to his team leader, Kathy Nadeau. She didn't say a word until they were several miles away from the scene. Even then, she simply turned in the front passenger seat of the car and suddenly extended the business end of her silenced pistol against his forehead. He had carefully weighed his options in the milliseconds that followed.

He could have slammed her hand against the headrest, likely dislocating her elbow and disarming her, but that would have put him in an even worse situation. Instead of becoming a fugitive from both the U.S. government and the most powerfully connected shadow network in America, he did nothing as Nadeau hissed a few berating words and removed the pistol from his face. She placed a quick phone call and announced that he would have to go into hiding until they could determine the extent of the damage he had caused. She never looked at him again, which gave him an uneasy feeling about his future in True America.

His fears were somewhat eased early the next morning in one of True America's tri-state area safe houses. He received instructions to await pickup by one of the delivery vans that would deliver a consolidated shipment of canisters to a secret location out of state. He was told to take a few days off from work, while senior leadership decided how to handle his situation. They made it clear that he couldn't contact his family, since his identity might be compromised. He felt terrible as he thought he might have possibly dragged his family into a potential nightmare by his carelessness. However, the risks had always been clear to Julius. He had made a conscious decision to play a critical role in reshaping America, understanding that revolution often came with a hefty price tag.

He just hadn't expected to start paying so early. He'd made an adrenaline-filled, rookie error back at the target site. The mask he had been given for the operation had been a few sizes too small, squeezing his head and causing him to sweat profusely. Stepping back into the cool night air, his first instinct had been to get the damn ski mask off his head. The cocktail of natural stimulants flowing through his system had dampened his common sense. One little mistake and his life had been permanently changed. In the grand scheme of things, it wouldn't matter. He was part of a more important change, and when the transformation was complete, he would be rewarded. He had been assured of this.

The van bumped along a pitch-black road, eventually stopping at a large, neglected wooden gate placed across the road. In the harsh glare of the van's headlights, the gate looked ancient, yet formidable. Rising six feet high and joining the thick forest on either side of the van, the fence looked out of place for such a remote location. A simple fence would have drawn less attention, but Julius had to remind himself that it would be highly unlikely for anyone to stumble on this location by accident.

The driver lowered his window and turned on the interior lights. Julius glanced back at their precious cargo. Twenty canisters, seated in two specially designed crates, were hidden in compartments nestled underneath several pallets of bottled water. He felt exposed in the light, presuming that a camera was confirming their identities at this very moment. Several seconds later, the rickety barrier in front of the van started to slide out of the way. He suspected that there was more to the fence than rotten wood. His nervousness started to give way to excitement at the prospect of being exposed to more of True America's plan for "The Rising."

The van's rough transit smoothed out just past the gate, and they travelled for several minutes until Julius could see lights ahead. He leaned forward and watched as they approached a long, one-story, flat-roofed structure. From what he could tell, this was the only structure within sight. The sheer darkness surrounding the building swallowed up the meager glow cast by a small light fixture to the right of a single loading bay. The van pulled up to a point roughly ten feet from the building. When it stopped, the loading bay door rolled open, exposing the inside of the facility.

Through the window, Julius could see several hundred pallets of water bottles stacked inside the bay, which appeared much deeper than he had initially estimated. Based on what he saw, the building must extend at least a hundred feet back. A few men appeared in the bay and hopped down from the concrete loading platform. He could barely believe he was now a part of an even more secretive arm of True America.

"Everyone out. They'll take over from here," the driver said.

Julius opened the van door and was immediately greeted by an intense glaring Caucasian man he had never seen before. In the faded light, he could see that the man had a military-style tattoo on his right bicep, partially visible underneath a black polo-style shirt.

"Mr. Grimes, my name is Michael Brooks. Head of security. Your identity has been compromised, so it looks like you'll be joining us here. This site will be extremely busy over the next few weeks, and we can use another set of hands."

"How long will I have to stay? I was told that my family might be able to join me; I didn't really have this in mind," Julius said.

He was starting to feel like more of a prisoner than an elite member of True America's militant arm. He could be stuck here indefinitely without seeing his family.

"We know that your family is under surveillance. Since the FBI hasn't approached them, we can only assume that they are waiting for you. We suspect that you may be their only lead at this point. Consider yourself lucky."

"Lucky? To be imprisoned here indefinitely?"

"To be alive. Work hard, and keep your mouth shut here. You won't be given another warning. Understood?"

Julius thought about the pistol he still had tucked into his jeans. Nobody had suggested that he surrender the Beretta, so he'd kept it near him at all times. He wasn't sure what he'd do if they asked for it.

"Understood. Where exactly am I?"

"At our lab, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Let's head inside and get you situated."

Julius followed Brooks to a door on the right side of the loading bay. Two more men jumped down onto a concrete strip below the bay's lip. The security man opened the windowless door, exposing a well-lit room. He gestured for Julius to enter and stood back a few feet. A small set of concrete stairs led Julius to the door and into the room. When he saw his team leader standing inside the empty space, his heart sank. He knew exactly why they had brought him to the middle of nowhere. He remembered back to the beginning. One of True America's key tenets was "we take care of our own." The saying had more than one meaning. He had been constantly reminded of this in the early phase of his recruitment, when the question of his loyalty had yet to be fully answered.

He turned and leapt out of the doorway, landing on the moist, root-infested dirt with two feet. He reached for the Beretta secured against the small of his back and started sprinting toward the darkness. If he could make it to the woods, he could hide until he figured out his next move. His only thought at the moment was to just survive. He cursed himself for not trusting his earlier instincts.

Looking around as he ran, Julius extended the pistol toward Brooks and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He faltered in his run, pulling the pistol's slide back to chamber another round. He did this flawlessly, watching the unfired bullet eject from the pistol before he depressed the trigger again. Brooks stared at him and shook his head. Julius stopped running in the middle of the dirt field. He repeated the process, aiming at Karen Nadeau, who had appeared in the doorway, blocking most of the light from inside. The hammer fell, but the pistol failed to discharge.

"We took the liberty of replacing your Beretta while you were deep in a drug-induced sleep at the safe house!" Brooks yelled.

Julius tried one more time, aiming at Brook's head. He wasn't sure how they drugged him, but sleep had come easily enough. He had no reason to doubt what the man had said, so he tossed the pistol to the ground.

"This is your version of gratitude, Mr. Grimes? F*ck up one of the most important jobs we can give you and shoot your way free when the terms of your punishment aren't acceptable?" Brooks said.

"Should I have dug my own grave for you too? Or is a pre-dug hole part of the 'we take care of our own' motto."

"Grave? Kathy's not here to kill you, Grimes. I took your entire team out of circulation to minimize the damage. Ward Young is here as well. I can't take the risk of the possible connections."

Both of his teammates stepped down from the building and stood near Brooks. He whispered something to them, and they started walking over to the loading bay. Julius stood there, stunned by the revelation.

"Now I have a real problem, Julius. I can't trust anyone on this team anymore."

Kathy Nadeau and Ward Young stopped in their tracks and turned their heads toward Brooks. Before either of them could protest, suppressed automatic weapons fire erupted from the loading bay and smaller doorway, puncturing their bodies and dropping them to the recently cleared forest floor. Aerosolized blood mist from their exit wounds lingered in the air above them, illuminated by the door's light fixture.

"Go f*ck yourself. I get the distinct feeling nobody is going to leave this compound alive. Good luck to the rest of you! This is how True America rewards loyalt—"

A single gunshot passed through his head, putting an end to a line of reasoning that Michael Brooks didn't want him to continue in front of too many people.