The Russian Tigr turned onto I-75 South and cruised as quickly as possible without drawing attention to its mission.
Gables
Winston watched the three Russian soldiers make their way out the front gate and toward what he expected was the “broken down” Russian Tigr parked under the overpass. He checked his watch and thought about the last thing May had said to him, nine pies, and turned it over and over in his mind. What did she mean? He looked around the dark room. It was peculiar to him how well he could see in a room that had no windows, but he and May were now so accustomed to the darkness that she could almost read her books in it.
The clock, Mayor Wellbeloved’s photo, the aluminum ladder, several of May’s favorite paintings, jackets, the .22 rifle, and a calendar that still read September when Winston knew that it was October… these were the items around the apartment, but none of them gave any meaning to nine pies. Then he recalled seeing “𝜋” scrawled in blood in the torn book pages that he threw out with the bloodied bandages. He rifled through the trash, found the pages, and searched for some sort of meaning, but he came up empty. He didn’t understand what 𝜋 meant, other than pi, the number, which he often used in his engineering work.
Minutes later, Winston watched the Russian soldiers return and shut off the bright spotlights. Two of the soldiers stayed at the front gate while one approached Dong-joo, passing the twelve drones still lined up in the driveway. Winston shifted his position to hear them talk.
“What was that all about?” Dong-joo asked.
“American hillbillies shot up a Tigr. They came looking for our mechanic. Does your jacket fit good? You look like you’re hot.”
“Fuck you. I could kill you all right now.”
The Russian laughed, “I don’t think so, my friend,” he turned and motioned to the kitchen window where Captain Jennings sat at the kitchen table, his head buried in a laptop and the master controller by his side. “He can stop the countdown. I must go. In a few hours, America will be ours.”
Winston stroked May’s hair and spoke softly into her deaf ears, on one knee in front of her as if he were going to propose. “I don’ know if we gon’ get outta this, but if we don’t, I think I’m happy you won’t be awake for it. I want ya ta know that I love ya May, with all this big, stubborn heart a mine. I’m sorry I made you come out here an’ live like an animal. I hope you can forgive me. Jes’ stay with me a little bit longer. I gotta do a little thing here.” He kissed her on the head and lingered to take in her scent. A moment later, he was at the barn door, standing a foot behind Dong-joo, armed with only his two knives and a roll of medical tape from the first aid kit. He set all of the items on the crate. At 3:59 a.m. he watched the last minute tick away, second by second, until the last ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, he wrapped his fingers around the door handle, four, three, two, one…
He turned the knob and opened the door just as a brilliant flash of bright red blood sprayed from the right side of Dong-joo’s head. Winston heard no gunshot. As the life force left Dong-joo’s body and he began to crumble, Winston wrapped his arms around the North Korean soldier, recalling that Sergeant Duffy said it was the right finger that was wedged inside the Tabari. He caught Dong-joo’s right arm and held it in place while his left arm found stability under the nuke, and he dragged the lifeless form into the barn, setting it down as quietly as he could. He closed the door, hoping he hadn’t been seen, but just in case, he pulled the sidearm from Dong-joo’s holster and took a defensive stance behind the door, anticipating an enemy offensive. He waited thirty seconds, and went to work on the finger. He pushed the scabbard knife’s razor-sharp blade into the joint between the proximal phalanx and metacarpal bone, and the finger easily separated from the hand, which fell to the floor. He reached up for the medical tape, tore several lengths off, and secured the finger inside the Tabari.
Now to the nuke itself. Winston ran his blade along the thin edge of the strapping that held the nuke to Dong-joo’s torso, but the damned thing wouldn’t cut. Winston was perplexed. He held his body above Dong-joo and thrust the knife into the strap with all of his weight, but the strap didn’t give at all.
Suddenly, the bright lights in the driveway flickered to life and the barn door flew opened. Winston knew it was over. He dropped the knife and slowly put his hands over his head.
“What the hell is this? Who are you?”
Winston turned to see Captain Jennings and two Russian soldiers with their weapons trained on him.
“Hi. I’m Winston Sparrow. I live here.”
The Russian soldiers barged inside, strong-armed Winston into custody, and took him outside to a waiting Major Chaek. Captain Jennings carefully surveyed the barn.
“Hold his arms,” Major Chaek barked. He withdrew his Kizlyar blade from its sheath, the same blade that had ended so many of Winston’s friends, but if this was the way he was meant to die, then he was honored to be killed by the same hand.
As the Major drew the blade across Winston’s neck, Captain Jennings yelled, “STOP!” from inside the barn. A moment later, he emerged holding the empty black army-issued first aid kit backpack and the Tabari backpack from Dong-joo. “He has the Tabaris!”
“What do you mean?” asked Major Chaek, whose blade trickled with a drop of blood from Winston’s neck.
“This man has somehow stolen the Tabaris. The crate is empty.”
“I swear — I just came back for some personal things, like my shovel. Check my wallet!”
Major Chaek shrieked, “defensive positions!”
The encampment’s thirty soldiers scrambled around the Sparrows’ property — behind the fortifications at the top of the driveway and at the edge of the lake, behind the barn, house, and Winston’s flattened truck — wherever there was suitable cover, there was a PLA soldier armed with a weapon.
Major Chaek pulled the wallet from Winston’s back pocket, and the driver’s license from it. He read it and turned his head to confirm both the number on the house and the face on the card. The man was telling the truth, and Major Chaek turned and looked toward Medusa’s stump.
“The man from the tree…”
“Yep, that me. You should also recognize my friend Ben and a few others. You killed them.”
Winston didn’t know whether the U.S. Army was still out there or if they had abandoned him or if they had successfully driven the nukes to a safe distance or if Johnsonville was going to be sacrificed.
Major Chaek punched Winston in the gut, “where are my nuclear weapons, Mr. Sparrow?”
Winston coughed and choked, still being held up by the two Russian soldiers.
“I don’ know what you’re talkin’ about.”