Chapter 27

The New America

After some discussion back at the lake, it was decided that Winona would drive Wade's vehicle with her dad and Davis back to Gayle's house, while Raylan drove his Lincoln directly to the hospital.

Art was the first to arrive at the hospital. Tim found his boss nervously pacing outside the Emergency Room entrance when he arrived.

As he walked up to him, Tim asked, "What's the latest, Chief? How's Rachel?"

"A bullet grazed her temple," Art answered. "She's stable. She was conscious when they brought her in. She has a concussion. They're running a CT scan on her now." The Chief paused for beat. "Rachel doesn't remember what happened, but she does remember that Anna was in the car with her."

"Maybe she was on her way back to Lexington," Tim suggested. "After dropping Anna off."

Art shook his head. "Raylan says he had voice mails from her fiancé overnight. They never made it to the hotel."

Tim shifted his weight. "Maybe I can talk to Rachel? See if I can help her remember something."

Then, Art informed him, "We can't see her, yet. Not until she's been moved to a room." Shaking his head, he continued with his update. "There's been no word on Anna, although the State Trooper who was first on the scene early this morning found a bullet hole in the windshield of Rachel's vehicle and some fresh tire tracks nearby. There's an APB out on Agent Rulé. In the meantime, Karen Goodall called in the Feebs to take the lead on this because Anna is one of theirs. Can't say I blame her. I'd insist on being the lead if one of mine was missing." Art let out a pent up sigh. "The State Trooper drove Agent Litchman from the Louisville Field Office out to the road off the Interstate where they found Rachel's vehicle to process the crime scene."

"Where is Rachel's rig?" Tim asked the next logical question.

"It's on a rural road off the 64 near the Licking River, between Moorhead and Mt. Sterling."

Not liking the sounds of Rachel and Anna being forced off the interstate to a rural road at all, Tim said under his breath, "Shit! I should've driven Anna to her hotel last night instead of being a dick."

"Why? So you'd be the one in there?" Art pointed to the hospital. "And Rachel would be standing where you are now, saying exactly the same thing you're saying to me? That she should have been the one who was injured?"

"I don't know, Chief," he tried to explain. "Maybe I could have done something."

"Tim." Art grabbed in younger marshal square by the shoulders. "Karen asked me to drive out there to the crime scene and join Agent Litchman. Can you stay and take care of things here? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Tim bucked up and nodded. "Where's Raylan?"

"Driving in from Nashville."

"Nashville?" Tim looked puzzled.

"Long story," Art offered. "Ask him when he gets here."

"Okay," Tim nodded. "And Assistant Director Goodall?"

Art shoved his hands in his pockets. "She flew back to DC for a meeting with Homeland Security on a different matter, first thing this morning . . . before we got word of this. She'll be checking in on a regular basis and get back here just as soon as she can." He pulled out his car keys. "I'll let you the minute you know something. Do the same for me, okay? I've heard there's no cell phone reception out there, but you can leave me a voice mail. And if it's urgent, call the Troopers. They can dispatch a message."

"Will do," Tim nodded. And Tim became the one who resumed Art's pacing outside the ER.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

An acrid smell brought Anna around, coughing and choking. Steel-toed boots filled her view, inches from her face. She closed her eyes and did a mental check of her body. Her head ached, the pain radiating from the right temple. She'd hit her head when the truck bounced off the road. There was a stinging sensation along her left arm and her right ankle throbbed. She hoped it was only sprained. One of the boots made contact with her shoulder and she opened her eyes.

"Get up," the boot said. Its wearer squatted in front of her. The bottom half of his face was obscured by a blue bandana and above it, he squinted at her, hard gray eyes under dark eyebrows. His head was shaved and there was a Celtic cross tattooed on his scalp. "I said 'get up' nigger." He nudged her again and Anna pushed to her knees. She hovered there for a moment before pain and nausea overwhelmed her and she threw up the remains of her Thai dinner all over the concrete floor.

He made a grunt of disgust and yanked her roughly to her feet, shoving her into a chair. Her arms were pulled behind her and secured with her own handcuffs. The man tossed the key to a companion in the shadows and stood in front of Anna, thumbing through her wallet.

"F-B-I," he gave a low chuckle. "They was bad enough before they started adding the likes of you to their ranks. That'll end soon enough." He tossed the ID onto the floor and pulled out her D.C. Driver's License. "Washington, D.C., the Heart of Darkness. Of course that's where you'd be from." The license joined her federal ID on the floor.

Next, he held up a photo of her and Adam between a thumb and forefinger. "This your man?" He waved it in front of her face and she felt an almost overwhelming need to feel Adam's arms around her, the way they were in the picture. She swallowed hard and willed herself not to cry.

"So. He's a race-defiler?" Anna bit her lip as he tore the picture into tiny little pieces, tossing them on the floor at her feet. "There'll be no more of that in the New America. No more interracial marriage, no more biracial children runnin' around not knowin' where they belong. No more ho-mo-sexuality, either."

"No more Jews," added his companion.

"Or Muslims." A third voice.

Anna kept her head down, listening to them rant. This had to be Arndt's crew. Hell, one of the men she couldn't see might even be Arndt himself. She'd looked at his mug shots often enough that she was pretty sure she'd recognize him.

Bandana reached out and tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "What're you doin' here?"

"My name is Anna Rulé," she recited. "I'm an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

His fingers squeezed her jaw harder. He repeated, "Why. Are. You. Here?"

"My name is Anna Rulé," she began. "I am an agent . . ."

Bandana backhanded her across the face, leaving her stunned and gasping. Blood from her cheek filled her mouth.

He squatted again, putting them eye-to-eye. "You'd better start talkin', girly. It only gets worse from here."

Anna looked at him defiantly and spit her mouthful of blood into his face.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

Raylan raced into the main entrance of the University Hospital and asked the receptionist where he could find Rachel. After looking her name up on their systems, the receptionist directed him to their Trauma Center. He was told to follow the green line to the west side of the hospital and follow the signs. It was a long, twisted maze of hallways and turns and elevators. He had to stop several times to ask if he was going the right way.

It seemed like it was ten minutes later when he finally reached the correct area and asked the nurse's station for information on Rachel. This time, he was directed to a waiting room down the hall.

"Tim?" Raylan called upon seeing a familiar face.

"Hey, Raylan," Tim stood and stretched and let out a yawn.

Raylan asked, "Any news?"

"No," Tim answered. "I've just been sitting here waiting for an update. Feeling useless. Rachel's stable with a concussion, but that's all I know since we got the last update on her."

Raylan looked relieved to get at least that much information. "Where's Art?"

"He went out at the scene where they found Rachel's truck with the local Feebs. It's their case, Raylan," Tim informed his fellow marshal. "I thought I'd try and talk to Rachel. See if I can help her jog her memory . . . that is, as soon as they let me see her." Tim was clearly frustrated.

"Sounds like a plan," Raylan agreed, taking the seat next to Tim. "Any word on Anna?"

"Not since Art left here, a couple of hours ago."

Raylan remarked, "That's when I was last updated."

"I understand her fiancée had not been contacted? Art and I didn't know Adam's last name."

"It's Ralston. Adam Ralston," Raylan informed him. "I called him on the drive back from Nashville. I didn't do him much good because we can't tell him what happened."

"Art told me to ask you why you were in Nashville. Said it was a long story?" Tim asked.

"It is," Raylan confirmed. "Winona's daddy kinda flew the coup to make one last fishin' trip that was on his bucket list. He took off yesterday, down near Nashville. Problem is, he took his little grandson with him without askin' the boy's mama if it was okay. The man's not in good health and had no business makin' that kind of trip on his own. It was an emergency to find him and bring him and the boy on back to Kentucky. Winona texted me that they just arrived home."

It was about that time when a nurse approached them in the waiting area. "Marshal Gutterson? Ms. Brooks has been moved to a room up on the third floor. I can take you there if you'd like to follow me."

The two marshals followed her down a long hallway of patient rooms to a set of elevators, as they introduced her to Raylan. When they reached the third floor, they followed the nurse to the left, where they were led to another nurse's station and turned over to another nurse.

"You two can see her for just a little while," the charge nurse led them down another corridor.

"Can I ask you something before we go in?" Tim wanted to know. "Can you tell me the extent of her injuries?"

"Ms. Brooks has a concussion and abrasions caused by a bullet to the right temple," the nurse said. "She is one lucky lady. Her vitals have been stable, but we're going to keep her here for observation at least overnight."

The nurse tapped on the door and led Tim and Raylan in. Rachel was being checked onto the floor, having her vitals measured by another nurse. She had a bandage on her temple and an IV in her arm. The lights in the room were dimmed at Rachel's request, as her head was killing her.

"Hey, Rach," Tim smiled.

Raylan followed suit. "How are you doin'?"

"If my head would stop pounding, I'd be a whole lot better," she answered.

"Art was here earlier for quite a while, but he had to head out to the crime scene," Tim informed her. "Can you tell us what happened last night after you and Anna left the office?"

Rachel looked up to the ceiling. "I remember walking over to the Thai place for dinner. And we walked back after dinner to get my car. And we took off for Louisville. That's it. I've played it over and over again in my mind."

Tim pulled up a chair closer to the bed and Raylan stood behind him. "Art said they found your truck off the interstate, between Moorhead and Mt. Sterling. Do you remember having to pull off the interstate?"

Rachel thought for a moment. "No," she finally answered. "God. I wish I could remember something. Anything. But it's a blank."

"It's okay," Raylan reached down to tap her foot, covered with a blanket. "Your memory could come back to ya', any time now."

"Or as the doctor told me . . . It might not come back at all." Rachel sounded resigned.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

When Anna came to again, her second self-assessment turned up a chipped tooth, at least one broken rib, and more bruises than she could count. Bandana-man hadn't appreciated being spit on. She was still tied to the chair, her hands behind her. She kept her head down, trying to ascertain if she was alone. If the men were still here, they weren't making any noise. Slowly, she raised her head.

A boy was sitting in front of her, aiming a rifle at her chest. He was blond with freckles scattered over his nose and cheeks, not old enough to shave. He wore a white t-shirt with Barack Obama's picture on it. A red-and-white target was superimposed over the President's face. He slid a cell-phone out of his pocket without dropping the rifle. "She's awake." The phone went back into his pocket.

"What's your name?" Anna said, careful to keep her voice friendly, light, as if she was having this conversation in a park instead of a dank, smelly, concrete room handcuffed to a chair.

The boy didn't respond, just stared and twitched his finger on the trigger of the shotgun.

"I'm Anna," she tried again. "What's your name?"

"Shut up, bitch." The cruel words didn't fit his baby face, but his eyes were hard.

The door swung open, creaking on its hinges. Bandana barked at the boy, "Get on back to the house." The boy stood, leaning the shotgun against the chair. As he walked past Anna, he cleared his throat and spit. It landed in her hair and slid down the side of her face. With some effort, she shrugged, wiping it off on her sleeve.

"You feel more like talkin' now, missy?" He held out her cell phone. "What's the password?"

Her cell phone was her link to the world. Her email, texts, all her contacts; no way would she put those people in danger by allowing these assholes access to that information. She didn't answer.

"I want the fucking password," Bandana sneered. "And make no mistake about it. You're goin' to give it to me. Up to you whether you do it now, or after I've knocked out a few of your pretty teeth."

Under the threat of more torture that grew with each passing second, Anna carefully weighed her options. She could hold out longer. The Bureau had trained her well in case of torture. But why should she? There wasn't much these men could do with the information in her phone, at least not any time soon. And there was always the chance that the FBI or the Marshals could find their location by using the signal.

She looked directly at him. "NOLA82305." Her city and the date of the hurricane that destroyed it and brought her life there to an end.

"Good girl." He typed the code in, and the cell phone pinged in response.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

"He wants the surgery?" Gayle sat down at the table, folding her hands in front of her.

"That's what he said." Winona sat down across from her sister, Willa in her lap. They'd just finished dinner. Wade was upstairs, getting both boys ready for bed, and Davis and Margery were talking in the den, leaving the sisters alone in the kitchen.

"Ma-ma-ma-ma!" Willa gurgled happily, straightening her chubby little legs and pushing her feet against her mama's thighs. Winona took the baby's hands and helped her stand.

"I thought you'd be happy."

"I am," Gayle said. "But it's not going to solve the other problem."

"His memory seems to be a little better. Maybe the medicine is working."

"The new medicines always seem to work for a while, but then . . ." Gayle's words trailed off as their mother came back into the kitchen.

"Well, he's determined to have that surgery." She shook her head, smiling. "He always was a stubborn man. He wants to call that doctor tomorrow."

Winona's cell phone buzzed in her pocket and she glanced at the screen. "This is Raylan, I'd better take it." Margery held out her arms for Willa, and Winona handed her over and walked into the living room.

"Raylan," she said. "What's going on?"

"Anna's missing," he told her, filling her in on what he knew. "Have you heard from Adam? I talked to him earlier but couldn't tell him much. I just called his cell, and he doesn't answer."

"I'll keep trying," Winona said. "How's Rachel?"

"Shaken up and not much help. She can't remember anything after they had dinner in Lexington." He sighed. She could hear the weariness and worry in his voice when he continued. "Art's out at the site tryin' to gather any information he can. Either she's wandered off, maybe hurt, or someone grabbed her."

"What do you think?"

He paused.

"Raylan? You think someone took Anna?"

"This guy we've been after for weeks? The one behind the explosion? He's crazy enough. I dunno."

In that moment, Art arrived at the hospital and waved Raylan and Tim over.

"Art's back," Raylan relayed to Winona about what was happening. "I'd better go and find out if he found out anything new."

"Be careful, Raylan."

"I will. Give Willa a kiss for me. I'll call ya' as soon as we know anything."

Walking towards Art for his impromptu update, Raylan's Spidey senses were abuzz. It wasn't a good feeling.

(To be continued . . .)