The Long Dark by Billy Farmer (best books to read non fiction .TXT) 📕

He began to laugh. “All I had to do was hold five containers at the Patch for a few weeks. I’d get loans at rates men like me dream of, and money – a lot of money -- funneled in through back channels to discrete accounts on a certain small, Pacific island. It was perfect. I was going to ram a gigantic cock right up BP, Exxon, and any other fucker who got in my way. I was going to be on top for once.”

I knew exactly what containers he was talking about. "So the people who guarded those containers weren't government contractors? I guess you just figured us for morons, then?"

"I suppose since we're being honest here, that you're right. We all have to eat a little shit sometimes. I lied to you, and you knew better to question things."

“Jesus, Miley.”

“I don’t remember you ever calling me just Miley.”

“All kinds of firsts, I guess.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know what was in the containers, either. Just like you, I knew better to ask.”

“Bullshit. There’s a big damn difference between us.”

“I suppose you’re right. The result is the same, though. We both got fucked.”

“So, who attacked you?”

“The people I made the deal with, I’m assuming. Tie up all loose ends. If things were as successful elsewhere as they were here, I’m not sure why it mattered. I guess that’s just how they play.”

I stood up. It dawned on me that things were much worse than I ever imagined. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My mind raced. Thoughts spun around like they were in a centrifuge, only none separated into anything remotely discernible.

“What the hell do we do?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m leaving Barrow as soon as possible. I already have my things packed and ready to go. I knew you would show up, assuming nothing happened to you, and I wanted to do as best by you as I could… as best as I could before I left. There are supplies in the small conference room. I don’t have many weapons, but I gave you what I could spare. Whether you believe it or not…” He paused for a long moment. I thought maybe he was preparing another lie for consumption. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Does it really matter?”

“Probably not…” His hard features softened. With sadness in his voice I hadn’t heard since his brother died, he continued. “My girls are in Anchorage. I don’t know if they’re alive or not. I sent them messaged, but they never replied.”

“I hope they’re okay.”

Ignoring what I just said, he handed me a piece of paper. “I want to do this for you. Memorize it because I’m going to burn it before I leave. You were always my favorite, William. I saw you, whether you believe it or not, as almost a son that I never had. I fucked up… and I know this won’t fix things, but it’s all I can do.”

Chapter 10

Everything on Miley’s desk that meant something to him was thrown into a duffle bag. The only exception was the empty bottle of cognac – he planned on taking extra good care of that: right down his gullet. He pulled a drawer open and retrieved two handguns. He placed one of them in a holster on his side and gave me the other. "There’s ammunition for that in the supplies I'm leaving you." He then told me to follow him, except he didn't lead me through the door that led back into the interior. "Grab a blanket off the couch there and cover-up. It's cold where we're going."

In something right out of a spy novel, he opened the doors to a large cabinet at the back of the room. Instead of having any kind of office supplies, it opened to a hidden room that was barely big enough for a normal man to fit through, much less me.

After I squeezed through the door, he closed everything up. I followed him through another door that led to a spiral staircase. It wound the entirety of the three stories. Just off the staircase was another small, rectangular walkway that led to another door. He opened that door and lights automatically flickered on. We were in his personal garage. There was a van, a truck, and two large tracked vehicles inside. One of the tracked vehicles was running and ready to go. I wondered why we weren't asphyxiating, but then I noticed there were silent exhaust fans on the roof. He thought of everything.

He looked at me and smiled. “You can’t be in the business that I’m in, make the kinds of deals I’ve made, not to mention enemies, and not be a lot paranoid.”

“Yeah,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

He walked over to a large cabinet and retrieved a small backpack. "You'll need this. There's a working radio along with a few other things in there. There’s also a phone. Not that it’ll do you any good without service, but it’s in there."

“How?”

“I already told you, paranoia. Some people say preppers are crazy and that they don’t realize it. I suppose I’m the anomaly. I’m crazy, and I know it, but I’m crazy like a fox. I was prepared for this long before I helped cause it.”

Crazy like a fox, maybe, but he was definitely drunk as a skunk. He nearly tripped over his bag trying to pick it up and then stumbled trying to climb up the ladder to get into the cab of his vehicle. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he flipped the lights on. “Have you memorized the information on that piece of paper?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” He grabbed it out of my hand, pulled a lighter from his pocket and set it on fire. He let it burn all the way to his fingertips before blowing it out and crumbling the unburned piece of paper up and putting it