Zero Day (John Puller, #1)(2)

Come on, it’s hot as hell and the Dollar Bar is calling my name.

He glanced at the package label and called out, “Mr. Halverson?”

Reed didn’t know the man but did recognize the name from previous deliveries. Some mailmen in rural areas became friendly with their customers. Reed had never been that kind of mailman. He wanted his beer, not a conversation.

He rang again and then knocked on the glass, two sharp raps with his knuckles. He swiped at a bead of sweat that trickled down the back of his burnt red neck, an occupational hazard from sitting next to an open car window all day with the sun beating down on him. His armpits were oozing sweat, staining his shirt. He wasn’t running his car AC with the window down. Gas was expensive enough without wasting it.

He raised his voice: “Hello, it’s the mailman. Need a signature. If it goes back you probably won’t see it again.” He could see shimmers of heat in the air. He felt slightly dizzy. He was getting too old for this.

He aimed his gaze at the two cars. Had to be somebody home. He stepped away from the door and tilted his head back. There was no one peering at him from the dormer windows. One was open, making them look like mismatched eyeballs. He rapped again.

Finally, he heard someone approaching. He noted that the wooden door was cracked open a few inches. The sounds grew nearer and then stopped. Reed was hard of hearing or he would’ve noticed the odd sound of the footfalls.

“Mailman, need a signature,” he called out.

He licked his dry lips. He could see the quarter beer in his hand. Taste it.

Open the damn door.

He said, “Do you want your package?”

I could give a rat’s ass. I could just chuck it down a ravine, like I’ve done before.

The door finally inched open. Reed tugged back the glass portal, his hand extended, the package in it. “You got a pen?” he asked.

When the door opened more, he blinked. There was no one there. The door had opened all by itself. Then he glanced down. A miniature collie looked back up at him, its long snout and furry hindquarters swaying from side to side. It had obviously nosed the door open.

Reed was not the stereotypical mailman. He loved dogs, had two of his own.

“Hey there, buddy.” He knelt down. “Hey there.” He scratched the dog’s ears. “Anybody home? You want to sign for this package?”

When Reed’s hand hit the wetness in the animal’s fur he at first thought it was dog pee and he jerked back. When he looked down at his palm he saw the red, sticky substance that had been transferred from the collie.

Blood.

“You hurt, boy?”

He examined the dog. More blood, but no wound that he could see.

“What the hell?” Reed muttered.

He stood, one hand on the knob. “Hello? Anybody here? Hello?”

He looked behind him, unsure of what to do. He glanced down at the dog; it was staring up at him, its features now seemed melancholy. And something else was strange. The dog hadn’t barked once. His two mutts would raise the roof if someone came to his door.

“Shit,” Reed said under his breath. “Hello?” he said in a loud voice. “Everybody okay?” He edged inside the house. It was warm. His nose wrinkled at the unpleasant smell. If his head hadn’t been stuffed with allergies, the odor would have been far more unpleasant.

“Hello. Your dog has blood on him. Everything okay?”

He took a few more steps forward, cleared the small vestibule, and peered around the corner into the tiny living room set off the hall.

An instant later the wooden front door was thrown back, the knob punching a crater in the drywall. The glass door was kicked open so hard that it hit the metal banister on the left side of the porch, shattering the glass. Howard Reed jumped from the top step to the dirt. His heels dug in, he gave one shudder, sank to his knees, and threw up what little was in his stomach. Then he rose and stumbled to his truck, coughing, retching, and yelling in terror like a man suddenly deranged.

And he was.

Reed Howard would not make it to the Dollar Bar today.

CHAPTER

2


JOHN PULLER STARED out the window at the great state of Kansas a few thousand feet below. He leaned closer to the plane’s window and looked straight down. The flight path into KCI airport took them over Missouri and west into Kansas. The pilot would do a protracted series of banks and head back to the Show-Me State to land. The jet was now flying over federal property. In this case that federal property was a prison, or rather several of them, both federal and military. Down there several thousand inmates sat in their cells and brooded over having lost their liberty, many of them forever.

He squinted, putting up one hand to block the glare from the sun. They were passing over the old USDB, or United States Disciplinary Barracks, also known as the Castle. For over a hundred years it had housed the worst of the armed forces’ lawbreakers. Whereas the old Castle looked like a medieval fortress made of stone and brick, the new USDB looked like a community college. That is, until you noted the twin fourteen-foot fences that ringed the facility.

Leavenworth Federal Prison for civilians was four miles to the south.

Only men were incarcerated at USDB. Female military prisoners were housed in the San Diego naval brig. The inmates here had been convicted at court-martial of violations of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. USDB only housed prisoners who were sentenced to five years or more or those convicted of national security offenses.