“Soon or a later, the bad boys will come back to town. We need to get out into the corn and start walking north.”
“I agree.” Brenda scanned the street again and then joined Mack at the counter. “Josh, we need to move.”
Josh scrambled to his feet. “Where to?” he asked, shoving a chocolate donut into his mouth. “Boy, Mr. Frinton is going to be mad. These are his donuts. Momma says no one can have donuts except for him.”
Mack walked behind the front counter and pushed open the swinging doors. “We're moving into the cornfield, son. Let's go.”
Josh turned into concrete. “No way!” he cried and began backing away from Mack and Brenda. “People die when they go into the corn! My daddy went into the corn and never came out… so has a lot of other guys!”
Mack was about to speak when a slew of bullets began flying through the front door. Broken glass sprayed the diner. “Down!” Mack grabbed Josh and yanked the boy down just as a bullet tore past his right shoulder, ripping through his trench coat and grazing his skin.
Brenda hit the deck, moved to the end of the counter, and looked out the front door. A farm truck was parked in the middle of the street. Two men in black robes with black hoods attached were firing military-grade rifles at the diner.
Those aren't your everyday farming rifles, Brenda thought. She returned fire, carefully focusing on one single target at time.
Mack crawled to the opposite end of the counter, spotted the farm truck, and fired off four clear rounds, aiming at the driver while Brenda focused on the shooters. The man in the driver’s seat felt two bullets tear into the side of his head like sizzling daggers. Two more bullets shattered his rib cage. He didn't have time to even wince in pain. He was dead before his body slumped over and struck the passenger door.
“George, Reed's down!” A large man hollered as he emptied out a full clip. “I'm out of here!” He turned to jump out of the bed of the truck. As he did, Brenda put a bullet through his shoulder blades. His body was thrown forward and smacked onto the hot, dry pavement like a bag of sand.
George dived out of the bed of the truck, hit the pavement, and began crawling toward the general store across the street. The farm truck parked in the street blocked Mack and Brenda from getting a good shot. George crawled to the front door of the general store, burst inside, and sat behind the wall to catch his breath. He grabbed the black walkie-talkie from a deep pocket in his black robe. “Prophet Frinton,” George yelled, ”it's George… the stranger shot my friends dead… all three…”
Adam Frinton heard George's frantic voice. His dark face snarled into furious rage. He turned to the four men standing around him in an open circle of corn that had been carved out to look like some type of strange worship area. “Get into town and kill them!” he yelled. “Now! I want them killed and their bodies brought to me!”
The rest of the men all donned their black robes and hoods. “You can depend on us, Prophet Frinton,” Ken promised as he snatched open a wooden gun box. The gun box was deep, holding a stack of illegal M-16's. Ken handed each of his friends an M-16 and a series of extra clips. “Let's go, boys.”
After his puppets left the corn, Adam reached into the black robe he was wearing and retrieved a satellite phone that his brother had issued him. “Bruce, we have a problem. Two cops showed up in town. I sent three men to kill them. George Payne called in and reported that the cops killed two of the men.”
Bruce raised a hard hand and struck an expensive desk in his office at the top of the 'Collington Pharmaceutical' building in downtown Omaha. “Adam, we're on the verge of becoming one of the most powerful pharmaceutical companies in the world!” he hollered.
Adam saw the face of a cold blooded killer appear in his mind. Bruce was a power-hungry, soulless killer who was determined to become the world leader in pharmaceuticals. Pharmaceuticals created power and money—and power and money created control. Absolute control. “Send in a team, Bruce.”
“Not yet,” Bruce responded through gritted teeth. He marched to a row of long windows and looked down on a bright, busy street. “I sent you to Green Ridge to brainwash the locals and steal their land. We need the corn!” Bruce looked down at his fancy gray suit and tried to calm down. “The chemical is almost finished developing. We can start spraying the corn with the cancer soon. Do you not understand how much money we can make by selling the cure? We can’t have this operation fail because you can’t keep some scrawny cops out of my corn. So you listen to me and listen carefully. Kill them, is that clear?”
“Bruce, the morons I'm dealing with aren't skilled—”
“You are trained,” Bruce snapped at Adam. “Don't call me until the cops are dead! If you fail me, you're dead.”
Adam knew Bruce meant his words. “Consider it done,” he said and slapped the phone back into the pocket of his black robe. “Someday I'm going to kill you with my own hands. In the meantime, I have work to do.” Adam retrieved an M-16 along with four extra clips and headed out of the corn. “George, this is Prophet Frinton, where are you?” he asked in a diseased voice.
“Across the street from the diner. In the general store,” George's voice shook.
“Stay there. I have men on the way.” Adam walked a quarter of a mile and then stepped out of the corn and entered the dry backyard of an abandoned farm house. A powerful black four-wheel-drive truck was parked in the yard. Adam jumped in behind the wheel and started the truck, speeding out into a sunburned road, calling in more back up as he sped toward Green Ridge.
Mack and Brenda remained hunkered down behind the front counter, waiting. When no further bullets entered the diner, Mack beckoned Brenda to check the back door. “We have to get in the corn to hide—”
“I'm on it.” Brenda crawled through the double wooden doors, shot to her feet, and ran to the back door.
Just as she reached the back door, she heard a man whispering: “Burt, we'll cover the back. Cody and Ken have the front. The cops aren't going anywhere. They're as good as dead.”
Brenda listened to Burt whisper back: “Okay, you kick open the back door, Bob, and I'll start shooting.”
Yeah, kick open the back door and I'll be waiting, Brenda thought, moving quietly toward the walk-in cooler. For the second time today, she was glad she’d worn her walking shoes. I'll be waiting.
Chapter 3
Mack caught movement out front. Two men wearing black robes ran down the sidewalk holding rifles. Before Mack could get a clear shot, the two men dashed through the front door of the general store and vanished out of sight. Mack considered the situation for a few seconds, glanced down into the scared face of a frail child, and then stuck his head through the kitchen door just in time to see Brenda ease open the door to the walk-in cooler and take a defensive position.
“How many?” he called out in a low whisper. Brenda held up two fingers and then pointed at the back door. Mack nodded his head. Adam Frinton wasn't going to let him or Brenda leave Green Ridge alive.