by Hunt, Jack
While she’d been offered opportunities and perks that others hadn’t, in many ways her relationship with the PLA was born out of pain not choice. After the loss of her brother, she’d struggled to find meaning to go on. Trying to make sense of it all, and looking for someone to blame rather than carry the guilt, she’d directed her anger toward Gunnar and Arianna, the two people that had shown her nothing but love since her adoption.
The only way she could justify it now was that she had been young, stupid, and hadn’t allowed enough time to let her grief subside. Of course, the pain was still there but it no longer stung as it once did. Maybe it was the war, all the death that occurred around her, she wasn’t sure. What she did know was over the past year her curiosity regarding her parents’ whereabouts had increased as had her interest in the rumors that her father had assisted the Hunter.
August confirmed that.
Zhang Li fished into the drawers of the table, rifling through paperwork until she found a small bottle of vodka. She unscrewed the top and winced as she took a swig, then placed it back where she found it. She leaned forward and stared at the door, considering her place, her life, her parents, and the future of America.
She’d heard the reports throughout the Midwest, witnessed the acts of the Hunter. Things were changing. Hope was on the lips of America again and with it the beginnings of a revolution. If she hadn’t been privy to what Yong knew, she would have believed what Americans were being told — that China and Russia were gaining ground, but the truth was far from it. It all hinged on multiple things happening in Chicago and with the rescue of Jo Greene, that had thrown a wrench in the works.
The idea that America could climb out of the ashes had gotten her thinking about her future. She didn’t want to be imprisoned for war crimes or be executed alongside those who had aligned themselves with the PLA. It could happen just as it did in World War II.
The trouble was that even if she wanted out, she was so entrenched with them that any attempt at going against the grain would mean certain death. That’s why she’d volunteered to come here. It wasn’t just news of Morgan’s demise that had made its way north, it was a report that her mother was here. She had to see it for herself. What role was she playing? Better still, what game was she playing?
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Come in,” she answered.
A soldier peered in. “He’s here.”
Zhang gave a nod. “See him in.”
She breathed deeply and shook her head to push away that part of her that yearned to be free from the misery, the war, the guilt, and… her thought process was interrupted when Vargas entered with her mother. It had been a long time since she’d laid eyes on her.
“Close the door,” she said in an authoritative tone that was as much a part of her façade as the permanent scowl she wore. Zhang tucked a strand of long dark hair back behind her ear and rose, puffing out her chest.
Vargas smiled as he lowered his chin. “Zhang Li, what a pleasant surprise. Had we known you were coming we would have been here to greet you.”
She came around the table and walked in front of them, specifically eyeing Arianna. “We’ll get to why you weren’t here in a moment. What is more concerning to the general is the report of Mayor Jefferies’ death. Is it true?”
She stopped in front of her mother and looked her square in the eyes as if she was addressing her. She wasn’t. Most looked away under Zhang’s stare, Arianna didn’t.
“Unfortunately, it is,” Vargas replied.
Still addressing Vargas but looking at Arianna, she continued, “Was it the Hunter?”
“That’s right.”
“And the PLA. Where are they?”
“They were wiped out.”
Her eyebrows rose. “All of them?”
“At least those in this town.”
She turned her head sharply toward him. “And you didn’t think this was important to tell us?”
Vargas cleared his throat and dipped his chin out of respect for her. “Forgive me, but I was unsure of the general’s whereabouts. I’d heard reports that he was in Chicago, and then Jefferson City. I assumed eventually he would hear and send yourself or someone else back.”
Hands clasped behind her back, she turned and walked over to the window and looked out at the parking lot. She said nothing but regarded both of them in the reflection of the window, waiting for either one to react. Silence made people uncomfortable and she wanted them to feel uncomfortable. “And her involvement?” she asked without using Arianna’s name.
In the window, she saw him look at Arianna then back at her.
“She assisted in wiping out most of the local resistance.”
Zhang turned and looked at her. “Really? A woman who led the resistance turned on them? Um, interesting. Why the change of heart?”
She was eager to hear her voice if only to answer the question.
“It was the original plan I had made with Jefferies,” Arianna replied.
“Not according to Demar,” Zhang shot back.
Arianna cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure what he told you but my relationship with Jefferies was established long before Demar.”
“And where were you when this attack on the PLA occurred?”
“Out of town.”
Zhang gave a wry smile. “Convenient,” she replied. “Step out of the room.”
“Excuse me?” Arianna asked.
“Are you hard of hearing?”
She took a step forward. “Zhang.”
Zhang looked at her with disdain and met her gaze. “You will address me as Colonel Li.”
Arianna chuckled. “Colonel?”
Vargas was quick to put her back in her place. “Arianna. Enough.”
Zhang lifted a hand. “No, that’s fine. Actually, Vargas, why don’t you give us a few minutes of privacy?” she said. He stood there for a second as if slow of hearing or unsure before he turned and left the room. As soon as he was gone, Zhang came back around and stood inches from her mother. There had been many days after her brother’s death that she had faced her but never this close, never with the kind of power she now held. If she wanted her dead, all it would take was to have a guard come in and with a simple command, she’d be on the floor. Arianna knew that and yet she didn’t flinch.
“Now how about you tell me the real truth why you’re here,” Zhang said.
“I already have.”
“Bullshit!” she bellowed. “You were working for the militia. You were involved in the raid on the airport. I have enough dirt on you to have you arrested right now.”
“Then do it.”
Zhang eyed her with contempt. “You must think the general is a fool if you expect him to believe you had nothing to do with Morgan’s death. You arrive and he dies. Did the resistance put you up to this? Are you acting as the Trojan horse, is that why the fences are down, the checkpoints are gone and the troops have been wiped out?”
“These people know their boundaries, they no longer need them to be enforced.”
“Says who?”
“The people,” Arianna shot back.
“And when have they ever known what is right for them?”
In an attempt to sway the topic away from the matter at hand, Arianna blurted out, “Would you rather I be with Gunnar right now?”
“It might have been safer for you.”
“Safe? What, in Chicago?”
A frown formed on Zhang’s brow. “Chicago? What are you speaking of?”
There was a moment when Arianna studied her before she answered. “The PLA has him. Yong has your father. You knew this, right?”
A beat. Silence.
Zhang felt a pang in her chest as if someone had stabbed her. Up until this point her parents had been out of the picture, at least in every encounter with the resistance. She’d assumed they were off the grid, never the ones daring enough to venture into the heat of battle. She turned away to hide he
r shock.
“Zhang. You knew this, right?” Arianna repeated.
“I told you, you will address me as—”
“Colonel Li. Sure. I can do that.”
“And you will.”
“How long are you going to keep up this game?”
As quick as a flash, Zhang spun on her heels and closed the distance between them to the point she could feel her warm breath on her face. “The only game is the one you are playing and it’s a dangerous one. The general sent me here to see what kind of progress was being made and it’s clear the waters are murky and this town has fallen into the wrong hands. Perhaps I will alert him to this,” she said turning away.
“Or?” As if her mother knew her enough to know when she was providing an alternative.
“Or you can be truthful and tell me your involvement.”
“Would that change the fate of Gunnar?” she asked. Both of them were speaking in generalities, neither one ready to show their full hand. The fact was Zhang had been looking for a way out and expecting to create it herself, but maybe it had presented itself, a means of righting her wrongs.
“If I knew more, possibly,” Zhang replied.
As if decoding her reply Arianna took a step forward and touched her arm. If anyone else had done so, she would have struck them but she allowed it if only to feel her mother’s touch. Zhang cut a glance at her hand.
“He was taken to Chicago,” Arianna said.
“No. I would have learned about this.”
There was a long pause.
“If the general hasn’t told you about Gunnar, and you haven’t seen him, then they’ve taken him somewhere else. Zhang. I need to know where. I know I have made mistakes as a parent, as has Gunnar, and there is nothing we can ever say or do that will take away the pain of losing Chen, but know this, we are truly sorry, and have never stopped loving you.”
Her touch went from a warm welcome to an icy one. She pulled her arm away and turned, not allowing Arianna to see her emotions. For the longest time, she’d kept them buried, never revealing more than a hard exterior, but now that was crumbling, and as much as she tried, it was getting more difficult to hide what lay beneath.
Arianna repeated, “We love you.”
Reverting to the staunch, unforgiving person she had been to survive, she replied in a cold tone, “Well, I can’t say the same.” It was a lie but to say anything more would have caused the walls of her façade to burst. Before Arianna could say another word, Zhang dismissed her but not before telling her that whatever Gunnar’s fate was, it was deserved.
3
Santiago
St. Louis, Missouri
He drove balled hands into a horse trough of broken glass and slowly twisted. Multiple shards attached to lashings of glue spread across strips of cloth. They were wrapped around the back of his hands, wrists, and knuckles like a boxer.
Behind him, strenuous groans were followed by pitiful blubbering. They were all the same. Weak. Scared. Santiago Cruz squinted as smoke from the cigarette in the corner of his mouth spiraled up into his right eye.
“You know, some people like to do this after lunch or dinner, not me, I’ve always been a man to get things done before breakfast,” he said out the corner of his mouth as he straightened up from a stooped position. “Procrastination is a bitch. You give it an inch, it will take a mile.” He shook his head, his back still turned. “No. I say get it done before the brain has a chance to wake up.” A huge tattoo of a grim reaper on his back seemed to come alive as he pulled back his arms and released the tension. Santiago was built like a tank, with bulbous wiry veins visible on his thick arms. He cracked his head from side to side and turned toward what was left of a naked man tied to a chair. He looked as if he’d been in a car crash. Flesh was torn from every inch of his body.
Outside the graffiti-lined concrete walls of the tower stood several Death Dealers, mercenaries hidden behind long leather trench coats, faces covered with hockey masks.
“You’ve got the wrong person,” the man spat.
“That’s what they all say,” Santiago replied as he delivered another hard blow to the man’s swollen and bloody face. “Now tell me. How did that one feel?” he asked, genuinely curious about what it felt like. Teetering on the edge of middle age, Santiago had yet to understand what it was like to be a victim. He’d never once played that card, nor had he suffered at the hands of the enemy throughout his years in service. Some might have called him lucky, the religious would have been inclined to say the hand of God was on him. Not him. He believed he was different, untouchable, made for this kind of work. How else could one explain his ability to survive multiple tours in the Middle East, a vicious battle on American soil, and now attacks by militia?
“Now, tell me where the militia are or we can do this all day.”
Out of breath, gagging on his blood, the man spat three teeth in front of Santiago’s boot, his head hanging low as globs of red dripped from his ripped lips. “If I knew that, don’t you think I would have told you by now?”
“Tell me your story again.”
“I already told you four times.”
“Humor me.”
The man wailed. Having to repeat himself only to suffer another ass whooping was just another form of torture. If he hadn’t been involved in extracting information from ISIS members, he might have been inclined to believe this man. However, he understood the value of not breaking. It was a rite of passage, a means of working your way up the chain of command. Wounds healed, cowardice didn’t.
Besides, those who lied rarely could keep their story straight when asked to tell it multiple times. Anyone in law enforcement and military knew that. That’s why interrogations were as much about physical torture as they were mental.
Still, Santiago had to give it to this straggly fellow, he sure had a high pain tolerance. He was tiptoeing on death’s doorstep and still clinging to life. He had a good mind to have him work for him, he needed a few more lapdogs. As the stranger told his story again, Aaron interrupted the fun. “Santiago.”
“What is it?”
“Come see for yourself.”
He scowled at the man. “This isn’t over. Don’t go anywhere.”
As if he could. His ankles and wrists were secured to a steel chair that was bolted into concrete. As he stepped outside, one of his guys handed him a towel and he wiped the blood from his chest. “What is it?”
“A message from the Hunter.”
“The Hunter?” He smiled, looking out across a courtyard overgrown with thick vegetation. Vines concealed walls, trees blocked archways and the ground was hidden below weeds and wildflowers.
At the center was Gunnar Nelson, his body bound to a large game show-style wheel, his head hanging low, his body untouched. Oh, he’d wanted to inflict more damage on him but he knew a man like that wouldn’t break. It would have been a useless endeavor. No, instead he’d opted to keep him out in the open and use drugs to play with his mind. As he wrestled with hallucinations, they would amp up his fear in various ways. They would bring snakes and spiders near him or cover his body in cockroaches. Then, every few nights they would mess with him and spin the wheel, and take turns tossing knives inches from his body.
There were several reasons why he was out in the open. First, it prevented an attack from above. The militia had been known to use quadcopter drones in towns and cities to drop grenades on troops. It was an old tactic used by ISIS. No, if they wanted him alive there was no chance in hell they would do that, just like the US military wouldn’t attack Chicago if they’d had the president’s daughter. The very thought of it angered him. That had been a complete screw-up of epic proportions, a miscalculation of timing, she was meant to have been out of Branson a day earlier and she would have if it hadn’t been for that idiot Morgan Jefferies.
Santiago followed a rusty spiral staircase down to the ground and made his way over to a group of his men. Since leaving Branson, they’d taken in as many collaborators
and willing sympathizers of the PLA as they could. He’d returned to his home city of St. Louis, Missouri with one purpose in mind — to draw out the Hunter.
With the help of August, he’d come to learn Gunnar was closest to the Hunter. From there it was a matter of getting their hands on him.
He believed that others had failed to catch the Hunter because they were using the wrong bait. To catch a mouse, you didn’t tear apart a house, you simply left out the right bait and waited for them to show up. And show up he had, maybe not in the way he’d hoped, but a message from him was better than nothing. That meant he knew where they were. Now it was just a matter of waiting for him to show.
“What have you got?” he asked.
They pointed to a six-rotor, monster-sized drone, the kind of quadcopter that could hold up to ten pounds of weight and was often used in dumping explosives. Except this didn’t have anything dangerous attached to it.
“Who found it?”
“Hargrave did.”
Santiago turned to him but before he could question why he hadn’t raised the alarm, he responded. “It wasn’t in the air. Not even close. We were coming in off Riverview, returning from a run, when we saw it in the middle of the road. Figured they wanted to make sure it never got shot down.” Santiago nodded, looking down at it. “It had this attached,” Hargrave continued, handing over a cell phone with a piece of paper attached on the front. Scrawled on it were the words: PLAY ME.
He powered it on and waited for the screen to light up. While there was still no communication, that didn’t mean cell phones weren’t being used for delivering video footage, taking photos, and reconnaissance missions. Any that had survived in Faraday cages when the EMP had hit were still in operation. After the screen blinked to life he upped the volume. At first, the footage was dark then it went bright until it pulled into focus.