A chill ran through Bobby. What if the order came to kill Yuri? Would he, Bobby, do it? No. But would Warren? He glanced across at the veteran as he poured the contents of the foil pack into his aluminum mess tin and stirred. Bobby had no doubt that, as a combat veteran who’d been stationed in Iraq and Helmand, Duarte was capable both physically and mentally of doing it, but he’d spent his entire career obeying a clear chain of command that now seemed to have fallen apart.
Bobby noticed that Yuri was watching Duarte, perhaps having the same thought. “The Chinese have built a base in Antarctica,” he said, putting his fork down. “Drilling for oil. Russia can’t stop them. I hope you can.”
Warren Duarte glanced up from his meal and nodded, but whatever he was about to say was lost in a sudden burst of static from the portable radio at his feet. He picked up the handset and put the telephone-style receiver to his ear, but the voice on the other end was clear to them all over the gentle crackle of the fire.
“Ragtown Alpha, this is Ragtown Central.”
“At last,” Duarte muttered, before switching to transmit. “Ragtown Central, this is Ragtown Alpha. Duarte receiving. Do you have orders for us?”
“You are to escort the package directly to LAS immediately.”
“Acknowledged,” Duarte said. “And then?”
“We have arranged a rescue party. You will transfer the package to them. Call sign Ragtown Omega.”
Duarte glanced at Bobby for a moment, then took in a deep breath. “Please confirm the authority for these orders.”
There was a noticeable pause before the response came. “Ragtown Alpha, your orders come from General Jacob Shapiro, commander of the Mountain States military forces. Please acknowledge.”
“Ragtown Alpha, acknowledged,” Duarte said with a sigh.
“Supplementary instructions. The imperative remains. Understood?”
Again, Duarte glanced at Bobby, before looking across at Yuri. “Understood.”
The Russian watched as Duarte put the radio down. “What does it mean? Imperative.”
“It means you must not fall into…other hands.”
Yuri thought about this for a moment and then nodded. “Understood.”
Then the shooting started.
Bobby fell to the ground, pulling the Beretta M9 out of its holster and sweeping left and right, searching out the gunfire. But it wasn’t aimed at them.
Duarte crawled over to Bobby as Yuri crawled over to the fire and scooped up the dusty dirt to extinguish the flames and plunging them all into darkness.
“It’s coming from nine o’clock,” Duarte hissed, as another volley echoed from the west.
“Could they have been listening in?”
“They got the same equipment we have. Waited to find out what our orders were and…”
“What do we do?”
“Follow our instructions. Get Sharipov to the Humvee.”
“But we don’t know how many of them there are!”
Bobby could hear the shrug.
“We’ve got no choice. It’s either make a run for it or wait for them to come for us here.”
“Running, no,” Yuri said, having pulled himself across the ground to where the others crouched. “Crawling, perhaps.”
The shooting, which had become increasingly sporadic, stopped entirely.
“Come on!” Duarte said, looping an arm under Sharipov’s armpit and pulling him onto his knees.
Bobby grabbed his other side and the three of them made their lumbering way across open ground, toward the Humvee.
Suddenly, Bobby felt the weight pull on this arm as Yuri dropped, Duarte pulling away, his hand pivoting around in the darkness.
“It’s okay, it’s me!”
“Carl! What happened?” Duarte barked.
They crouched on their knees as Carl panted beside them. “Came out of nowhere. Took Jam and Eddie out before we knew anything. Pinned me down till I made a break for it.”
“How many?”
“Can’t say. Four, five.”
“Vector?”
“Back thataway,” Carl said, pointing over his shoulder.
Duarte thought for a moment. “We make a break for the Humvee, that’s our best chance.”
“What if they’re there already?” Carl asked.
“Then bad luck for them. You help our guest.”
Bobby and Carl hauled Yuri to his feet as Duarte headed into the darkness.
“I sure hope you’re worth it,” Carl said. “Two good men died for you.”
“I hope also,” the cosmonaut muttered as he struggled along. “I am sorry for your friends, but your president must hear what I have to say.”
Bobby hauled on Yuri’s arm, breathing heavily, but he could have sworn he heard Carl say, under his breath; “I never said they was my friends.”
They made it ten or fifteen yards when Bobby saw flashes from the right out of the corner of his eye. He threw Yuri down and fell beside him, sensing Carl to his other side.
“They must have infrared sights!” Carl hissed.
Ahead of them and to the left, single shots answered and Duarte’s voice called out, “Come on!”
Bobby and Carl hauled Yuri, half running, half crawling along the dirt toward the Humvee, before diving behind it.
“I’ll open the door,” Duarte said, his panting breath barely visible as fog in the chill air. “You pull him inside.”
Bobby held tight to Yuri’s arm as Duarte raised his pistol to his eyeline and fired off two shots before darting along the side of the vehicle. Answering fire flashed, one shot sparking off the flank of the Humvee as Duarte went for the door. Bobby fired into the darkness to give him some cover and, once Duarte had opened the door and jumped inside, he ran for the now-open passenger seat, climbing up and pulling the cosmonaut in beside him while Carl pushed.
“Is he okay?” Carl asked. “He ain’t dead is he, after all that?”
Bobby came close to Sharipov, trying to penetrate the blackness. He could hear the cosmonaut’s ragged breath and smell blood from somewhere on his face. “He’s alive, but unconscious.”
Duarte turned on the headlights and three figures appeared in the sudden light, all standing in front of the vehicle, assault rifles leveled.
“Now then, Warren. This ain’t no time to be a hero,” Carl said. Then Bobby saw that he was pressing the barrel of his pistol into the back of Duarte’s head.
“What the hell?” the sergeant said, then, a second later, the truth dawned just as it did for Bobby.
“You’re on their side!” Bobby said.
Carl chuckled. “Sure am. Born and raised in San Fran. And I know which way the tide is flowin’.”
“Jam and Eddie? They gone over too?” Warren Duarte said.
“No. Couldn’t persuade them. Pity, really. They could’ve been on the winnin’ side.”
Bobby went to move, but Carl swung the pistol around. “No, no. Reckon the governor ain’t too concerned about Chicanos, but I like you, Bobby, so keep your peace.”
“You killed them?” Duarte said, as the gun came back around to him.
“’Course not. My friends out there did it. Gave them a chance to surrender, too. Very civilized. Now, why don’t you throw your gun onto the other seat, Warren? You too, Bob. Then my friends can tidy things up.”
“What are they going to do with him?” Bobby asked after dropping his gun on the front seat.
Carl shrugged unconcernedly. “How should I know? Find out what he knows and then…” he said, bringing his spare hand around and mimicking an execution. “…pow!”
“You filthy traitor!” Duarte hissed as the figures in the headlights began to move toward the Humvee.
“Now, now,” Carl said, turning back to his former superior. “Let’s keep this polite and some of us may come out of this with our heads on our shoulders. Ah!!”
Yuri’s arm had flown up, grabbing the pistol as his other arm thumped into Carl’s face.
BANG!
Bobby felt something scrape his cheek as Carl fell back, Yuri on top of him. Then they all fell as Duarte put his foot down, the Humvee plowing into the soldiers outside and careened off, following a path between the rows of solar panels.
Climbing across Yuri, Bobby reached out and grabbed Carl by the shoulder, digging his fingers in and wrenching the cursing man upright as Yuri let go. He felt something metallic against his hand and took the pistol Duarte was passing backward.
Bobby pressed it against Carl’s forehead, and the weasel finally went still. “Okay, okay, I give up.”
“Shoot him, Bobby,” Duarte said. “He’s scum and we don’t have time for him.”
Bobby looked at Yuri, whose grimacing face was inches from his. He thought he saw the Russian shaking his head.
“Just let me get out!” Carl said, his terror giving his voice an almost comical timbre.
Duarte turned them around a corner as more shots fizzed past the Humvee. “See, there’s more of them. Kill him and we’ll dump his body later!”
Bobby looked into Carl’s terrified eyes as the Humvee picked up speed toward the exit gate.
“Open the door,” Bobby said, keeping the pistol pressed against the man’s forehead. “We’ll let you out.”
The relief obvious, Carl reached around and pushed the door open a crack. “Okay, just slow down and I’ll get out. I promise you won’t hear from me again.”
Bobby winked at Yuri and, in one movement, they each grabbed one side of Carl’s body and shoved him squealing in terror out into the darkness before Bobby grabbed the door handle and, after two attempts, pulled it shut again.
“You should have shot him!” Duarte snapped from the front seat.
Bobby shouted, “You must be doing fifty. He’s either dead or badly injured.”
“If you find a rattlesnake in your pack, you kill it!”
They had just reached the gate when they heard a final shot from behind them.
“Looks like they’ve dealt with him for us,” Bobby said.
Duarte turned back onto the road outside the solar farm. “Good riddance.”
“What are you doing?” Bobby said as the sergeant crossed the highway, then brought the Humvee to a halt behind a truck that had veered off the road and turned off the headlights.
“I’m not leaving Eddie and Jam behind.”
Bobby didn’t want to say it, but he had to. “What about the mission? We’ve got to get Yuri to McCarran.”
Duarte swiveled around in the seat, looking from Bobby to the slumped figure of Sharipov. “Look, I’ve got to go look for my men. You’re safe here for now, but if you see anything that spooks you, head off. But look, Bob, don’t forget that scumbag heard the orders. Chances are his friends from the dark side know where we’re supposed to be heading and could ambush us along the way.”
“We’ve got a head start!”
“Maybe. But if they’re really Booker’s people, d’you think they won’t have birds ready to fly?”
“What are you suggesting?”
But Duarte was looking at Yuri. “Colonel—it is Colonel, isn’t it?”
Yuri nodded.
“Did you serve in the Russian Air Force as a pilot?”
“Da. Pilot-engineer. I flew MiG-29, Su-27. Many others.”
Duarte turned back to Bobby. “My advice is to head for Elko. There’s an airport there. Much smaller than McCarran, but it’ll have light aircraft. I suggest you get Yuri here to fly you to Denver.”
“How far is it to Elko?”
Duarte threw a wire-bound book at Bobby. “Four hundred miles or so. I don’t have time to draw you a picture. Wait for me unless you have to hightail it away before then. But be away before sunrise.”
“We’ll wait,” Bobby said.
“Only if it’s safe. You see any sign of the enemy—can’t believe I’m saying that about our own countrymen—and you get away. The mission is everything. And remember, don’t let them get their hands on Yuri.”
His eyes flitted to the cosmonaut.
“I understand,” Sharipov said. “I will not let it happen. If you give me weapon, I will defend myself or, if it becomes necessary, finish myself.”
“No way, Ivan!” Duarte said. “Bobby here’s in charge and if he’s got half the brains he was born with, he’ll keep the weapons to himself. You’re gonna have to trust to his care.”
Sharipov shrugged. “That is fine. I wish to see president. I do not wish to see this Booker. But hurry back and we do it in comfort in this Humvee. I never rode in one before. Quite Russian in design, I think.”
Duarte snorted, shook Bobby’s hand and slipped out. “Remember,” he said, tilting his head to where Yuri sat.
Chapter 10
Way out west
Ellie drove the battered Nissan west while Patrick snoozed in the passenger seat. Jodi sat in the back, her head out of the window, hair streaming in the wind. She’d somehow found a pair of stars and stripes sunglasses that were almost identical to the ones she’d been wearing when Ellie had first met her. That was back when she thought the girl was nothing more than yet another brattish child of a movie star. She’d learned her lesson, but wasn’t entirely sure she’d worked Jodi out yet.
It had been three days since she’d given up on finding Maria. If Bobby was at the Santa Clarita camp without her, then she must have been dead. He had many faults—including commitment issues—but he wouldn’t abandon his daughter, having gone to all that trouble to fool Ellie into having her.
She ground her teeth. Trouble with long road trips was that they were, well, long. There wasn’t much traffic on the roads as the gas shortage was really beginning to bite, so there was little to do other than watch the landscape drift by and think.
But she kept her mind away from the topic of Maria as much as she could. Commitment issues. Yeah. Pot, kettle, Bobby, Ellie. Poor kid had drawn the short straw there. Two parents who could barely be trusted to look after a puppy, let alone a child. After countless hours of trying to figure him out over the years—clouded, admittedly, by the rage of betrayal—she’d come to the conclusion that Bobby feared being trapped by commitment. Having Maria was like, as Patrick put it, the “hair of the dog”—a probably subconscious attempt to cure his commitment issues by taking on a commitment that then couldn’t be backed out of.
Ellie, on the other hand, simply didn’t trust herself to look after a child. It was as simple as that. Really, it was.
“Roll up the window, will you?” she said, when she couldn’t bear the silence any longer. “It’s freezing in here.”
With a restrained harrumph, Jodi pulled herself back inside. Ellie glanced in the rearview mirror, to see Jodi warming her face with her hands. “Welcome to weird world,” she said.
Outside, the desert slipped by under a blue sky, but in the shadows beneath the rocks, she could see where the frost hadn’t melted. She’d noticed, as they went west, that the temperature had gotten less arctic, even though their latitude had changed only a little. It was as if the cold was spreading from east to west, following them along the highway.
Right now, they were heading along US-6, driving through Utah. The mainly flat terrain with bumpy outcrops of rock gave the part of the state they were driving through an otherworldly feeling, more moonscape than landscape. And yet, buried within the sedimentary rocks cut through by the highway was evidence of some of the earliest life on the planet. She wondered, as they passed by, whether their geological era would be readable in a few million years, or whether the flood would have wiped all evidence of humanity from the face of the planet.
“How are you feeling about seeing your dad again?” Ellie asked.
“It’s legit mental. But I mean, who wouldn’t be stoked if their old man came back from the dead? Not like a zombie, obvs.”
Ellie chuckled. She’d noticed that Jodi slipped into her surfer alter ego whenever she talked about Joel.
“If my father miraculously reappeared in
my life, he’d soon regret it.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. He left me and my mom to look after ourselves, then my mom lost it. Not much of a childhood after that.”
Jodi nodded vigorously, her necklace tinkling. “I get what you mean.”
“Oh, do you? Learn a lot about poverty from your Beverly Hills mansion?”
“Hey! No need to be heavy. I had plenty of money, for sure, but I barely knew my dad. He was generous enough when he could be bothered to pay me attention, but most of the time he was shooting a movie, promoting it, or partying. I cramped his style.”
Patrick gave a theatrical yawn. “Don’t be unfair, Jode. Your dad loved you. Loves you. He set up that little boat trip so you could be safe. And without that, we’d never have met Ellie, now would we?”
“Almost makes you glad for the end of the world,” Ellie snapped.
“Easy, love. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I was just trying to lighten the mood. I lost as much as anyone.”
Ellie zipped her mouth. She knew well enough that her self-indulgent streak would likely end up with them comparing who’d had the toughest time since the flood. Jodi had discovered her father was still alive—though she hadn’t said anything about her mother. Ellie knew that Patrick was struggling with the loss of his son and ex-wife, but she would trump that with the almost-certainty that Maria was dead. But what would it achieve to—what did Patrick call it?—air their dirty laundry? Nothing, other than to open up wounds that had barely begun to heal.
She caught him watching her as she glanced over. He had this creepy knack of knowing what she was thinking at all times. Creepy? No, that was the wrong word. Intuitive? Yes, better. She put out her hand and wrapped her fingers around his. There, perhaps she was learning a little. Not everything had to be the Ellie show.
“Well, I’m happy he’s alive, though he’d better have a bloody good explanation for why he stayed hidden for all these months,” Patrick continued, looking into the back. “Hold on, what’s that? Are they catching up with us?”
Ice: Deluge Book 4: (A Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story) Page 8