by Hunt, Jack
He said nothing but just walked around them, eyeing them up and down.
“Santiago?” Grady asked.
“Maybe. Who’s asking?”
“My name is Grady Sullivan. I was told you were offering a reward to anyone who gained intel on the whereabouts of the Hunter?”
He stood directly in front of him. His breath smelled like ass, his icy blue eyes empty of emotion. As his lips parted, Grady noted that one of his front teeth was gold. “That’s right.”
“Well, he knows,” Grady said pointing to Lucius.
“Is that so?”
“I couldn’t get him to tell me where the hunter is, but I figured you had ways of making people talk.”
Santiago smirked as he glanced at Lucius. He neither confirmed nor denied what Grady said, instead he stepped in front of Lucius, took out his handgun, and brought it up to his head. “That true?”
“No. I don’t know shit. I don’t know what the fuck this guy is talking about. I was just minding my own business when he dragged me in because I stole some food.”
“You work for the militia?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” Lucius replied.
Santiago chuckled. “Then you would know the whereabouts of Miles Arrington.”
“Miles who?”
“Oh don’t be coy. Anyone and everyone who runs with the militia knows who the Hunter is.”
“Then I guess I’m in the minority. Sure, I’ve heard rumors of some guy going on a rampage and wiping out the PLA but I figured it was a myth.”
“Chinese superstition?” Santiago asked.
Lucius nodded.
He nodded slowly. “You superstitious?” Santiago asked, still holding the gun.
“I don’t walk under ladders if that’s what you’re asking.”
He burst out laughing then placed his gun back into his holster. “What about your friends? Do they know the Hunter?”
Lucius shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them for some time. After our group was wiped out by troops, I’ve been laying low, taking care of myself.”
Santiago looked him up and down. “For how long?”
“Two years.”
His eyes narrowed. “For someone who has been taking care of himself for two years, you look extraordinarily well. How about you stop bullshitting me and you tell me the truth.”
“I have.”
Santiago had this wry smile on his face as he turned his attention back to Grady. “Are you wasting my time?”
“What benefit would there be in doing that?” Grady replied.
“He says he doesn’t know. I would imagine he said the same thing to you.”
“He’s lying,” Grady said.
Santiago shot back. “Who’s to say you’re not?”
Grady shook his head. “Look, maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. My source told me he does. Now either my source is wrong, or he lied to get food. Either way, I figured you’d be able to extract some information about the militia.”
Grady swallowed hard, he could tell Santiago wasn’t buying it.
Santiago sucked air between his teeth and walked a short distance away. “Whose crew are you running with?”
“The crew from St. Louis,” Grady replied.
“No, I meant who are you working under?”
This was it. The one thing he hadn’t factored in. Being questioned about whose leadership he fell under. He only knew about Yong, but it wasn’t just generals that oversaw the collaborators, it was often a city official, a mayor, the chief of police, and anyone truly working as a collaborator would know this. Unable to answer, he was about to accept the jig was up when Lucius chimed in. “That’s obvious, it’s Parker. Gordon Parker.”
As quick as a flash, Santiago glared at Lucius. “I didn’t ask you.”
“Does it matter?” Grady said. “That’s who it is. Everyone knows that.”
He had no idea who Parker was but even more puzzling was how Lucius did. Either way, his chiming in had saved his ass. Santiago looked back at Grady, then his eyes drifted over to Lucius. “Very well. You’ll be rewarded but only once he gives me the location and I have the Hunter. Too many folks like you stroll in here thinking they know shit. Can’t be too careful. I’m sure you understand.”
“Perfectly,” Grady replied. “And in the meantime?”
He waved his hand around. “Help yourself to food, make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you.” It wasn’t a situation where he could feel comfortable but it had worked, they were in. He glanced at Lucius as they led him away, his face a picture of fear, unsure of what they would do to him.
5
Wade Greene
PEOC, Washington DC
The Presidential Emergency Operations Center was buzzing with activity. Inside the underground bunker below the East Wing of the White House, Wade Greene sat at a long table inside the executive briefing room, getting an update from joint-service military officers and non-commissioned officers. “There is no news on your wife, but your daughter is safe. Operation Green Bird was a success.”
Wade closed his eyes and allowed the good news to sink in. “Good. How long until we can collect her?”
The chairman of the Joints Chiefs of Staff replied, “We already have a team of Marines on route.”
“And offshore?”
“We’re making progress. It’s slow but we are getting there.”
“How much longer until we can go topside?”
“No ETA on that but soon.”
“Barry, you said that a year ago.”
He shrugged.
“All right folks, get back to work.”
Wade smiled at his friend as he rose from his desk and headed to get a coffee. Since the attack on the country, they had been running operations from within the PEOC. It was a secure underground facility that had been used by previous presidents, including during the September 11 attacks, he just never thought he would be evacuated there or spend the amount of time he had.
There had been talk of getting him to a larger bunker inside Cheyenne Mountain but the attacks had occurred so quickly there was no time.
Pouring coffee from a decanter, he was joined by the secretary of state, Jillian Matthews. In the years following the collapse of the United States, they’d grown close, closer than they should have. They were both married but the situation they found themselves in had changed the dynamics of their relationship. They figured being below ground would only last a few weeks, maybe two months before they would emerge and return to their roles in rebuilding the country. That timeline was soon extended to one year, then two and after that, well, they’d stopped counting.
“That’s good news, right?” she said, leaning against the doorway. She was wearing that pencil dress that he liked, tight, black, her long legs leading down to black high heels. She turned and looked out and then closed the door behind her and locked it. They’d done it many times before and on any other day he might have been inclined to embrace the moment as she unbuttoned her top, except this wasn’t any other day.
He turned with a mug of hot coffee in hand. “Not right now, Jillian.”
“What?”
He leaned up against the counter, crossing his legs, sipping his coffee, and drumming out a beat with his other hand. He hadn’t felt this nervous since the first few months after the attack. “She’s still out there.”
“Yes. But she’s safe,” Jillian said, striding over and placing a caring hand on his face. He turned his cheek away.
“What is it?”
He shook his head, lost in thought. “Before today I had accepted that they were dead. Five years, Jillian. That’s a long time to believe that your wife and child are dead. Then we learn a month ago about their whereabouts, and they’re still alive.” He blew out his cheeks.
“Hey, Wade. They’ll bring them back.”
“It’s not that. It’s this. Us. This whole thing. You know, we’ve spent years down here. We’re not the same people who
entered, and outside is not the same country. If things go to plan and offshore troops manage to drive the enemy out, we have a huge task ahead of us, and…” He trailed off, blowing out his cheeks.
“You will have our assistance. You’re not in this alone.”
“I know that but…”
“You’re worried about what will come of it all?”
“Yeah, I’m worried about everything. My daughter. What happened to my wife. This country. You and me.”
Neither of them was the cheating type but under these conditions, there was no telling if they would live through what was happening above them. In the first year after the attack he believed they would perish, then word came in of militia throughout the Midwest fighting back, then it went quiet. No updates. No news. A breakdown of communication had led them to believe that the country had been taken.
Then, as if the pulse of the country began to beat again, news started to roll in of U.S. forces and allies steadily making progress offshore. Through Liberty Radio, a non-official source, they’d heard of an uprising led by a man known as Miles Arrington. What caught them by surprise was reports that he wasn’t ex-military as they initially thought but just a common man.
Jillian touched his arm.
“Wade, whatever happens, happens. It won’t take away what we’ve had here.”
He nodded and took another sip of his drink. “What will you do?”
She drew in a sharp breath. “Richard is still alive. If you’d asked me two years ago I would have known. Now I don’t know.” She looked at him in a way that not even his wife did. They’d shared something special, bonded over their similar predicament — a family torn apart, a lack of answers, and a mutual attraction to one another. Now that he could see a light at the end of the tunnel, a time when they might go topside, he wasn’t sure he was ready for what life would look like. Everyone down here knew about his relationship with Jillian. It wasn’t like it was a mystery. Others had formed their own connections, settling into a daily routine of stealing intimate moments to fill the hours.
Wade slumped into a chair and set his mug on a round brown table. Jillian joined him. “What is it?” she asked.
“Everything. I don’t feel ready.”
“You don’t need to. That’s what we’re here for.”
“No, I mean being a father again, a husband.”
“Your wife could still be out there.”
“Even if she was, Jillian, do you think I could honestly continue on the way things were after everything that’s happened here? After all this time? I couldn’t look her in the eyes and lie. No, I would have to tell the truth just as I will tell Jo the truth.”
Jillian nodded and fiddled with her ring finger, turning the band.
The truth was neither of them had given much thought to it. Their minds had been consumed with status updates, news, reports, giving directions, making the hard decisions while the military fought back. That soon gave way to long stretches of silence, ups and downs as America suffered defeats on the ground, in the air, and at sea. Eventually, they’d stopped thinking about emerging from the bunker and had formed their own tight-knit community. Now that was all about to change.
He took another sip of his drink. “What do we know about this militia?”
“Not a lot.”
“Exactly. I mean some of these groups were labeled domestic terrorists before the attack. The thought that one of them has my daughter — after hearing what the PLA’s plans were for her — it doesn’t exactly give me confidence.’
“She’s no longer in their hands. That’s got to give you some relief.”
“It doesn’t. It won’t. Not until I see her. For all we know this could be a means of luring us out.”
“Wade, it came from a reliable source this time. Someone close to Arrington.”
“And what of this Arrington fella? What do we really know about him?”
“Not a lot but if the broadcast over the radio is to be believed, he was the one responsible for getting Jo back. That’s got to mean something.”
“Once I have her back. Yeah. Maybe. Until then we are not out of the woods.”
There was a knock at the door and Jillian bounced to her feet while buttoning up her top. She unlocked it and Barry, the U.S. Army major, stepped in. “Sorry to interrupt but we’ve received an update that the rail system is nearly in working order and the PLA are transporting heavy cargo along the Amtrak rail system from the west to Chicago. It’s been confirmed that the train is carrying an anti-missile defense system and additional weapons.”
He nodded. “And if it reaches Chicago…?”
“We can kiss goodbye any chance of holding on to the Midwest,” Barry replied.
“So take them out.”
“Our air defense is maxed out. It’s busy protecting vessels and attacking troops on the coast. It’s not ready.”
“Then get it ready.”
He gave a grim look. “Sir. We are making progress but we are limited.”
Wade groaned, rising from his seat and pacing, trying to think. Up until this point, there had been very little communication between them and those on the ground, the militia or Arrington. Any information that had come out of the Midwest had been delivered by Liberty Radio.
“Barry, is there any way of getting a message to the militia or Liberty Radio?”
“What did you have in mind?”
He laid out a plan.
“Leave it to me.” Barry glanced at Jillian and backed out, closing the door behind him.
As the sun began to wane behind the unfinished cement factory, Grady had located Gunnar in a courtyard several buildings away. Standing three floors above him, hidden in the shadows, he peered down at his old friend as soldiers took turns throwing knives, each one landing dangerously close to his legs and arms. Every few minutes a soldier would spin the wheel he was attached to and they would begin again, placing bets on who could get the closest without hitting him. More gold was made by those who could get a knife inches from his chest. It was clear they didn’t care whether he lived or died, the purpose of holding him was to lure Miles out.
As for Gunnar, he looked unresponsive, doped up, maybe even unconscious.
Standing at the opening, thirty feet above, he pondered the challenge.
How can I get him out without anyone seeing? He was beginning to understand why Jacob didn’t return. Even if he’d infiltrated the group, he would have seen this as he did — an impossibility. He cast a glance over his shoulder at some of the soldiers, collaborators, and Death Dealers. Not all of them were two sheets to the wind from drinking moonshine all day.
That was a problem.
He remained there until the sun went down, and until those throwing knives got bored and headed back into the main factory to eat, leaving Gunnar alone. His heart started pounding in his chest as his eyes roamed the grounds. Although he knew the danger, and there was a good chance he would get caught, he had to try. Grady made his way down to the ground and slipped into the courtyard through weeds growing as tall as his chest. No cameras. No guards focusing in on him. Those that he could see were either talking with one another or in the main dining area.
His mind kept telling him that it was a trap and to wait until dark but maybe it wasn’t, maybe they had been lulled into a false sense of security having experienced no attacks, no one attempting to take him out. Maybe they thought no one would get this close. Grady darted out across the cobbled yard, yanked one of the knives free from the circular prison, and sliced through Gunnar’s ankle restraints. He then stretched up and cut his right wrist free. “Hey. Gunnar. Gunnar.”
Gunnar groaned, his eyes blinked for a second but he was in no condition to know where or even who he was. Not wasting any time, he unlatched him from the last binding and his body fell on top of Grady. “Hey, hey, wake up.”
Nothing but low groaning came back. They’d doped him up for a good reason. This was why there was no one watching him. Even if someone co
uld get to him, they wouldn’t stand a chance of dragging his ass out of there. He was at least two hundred pounds, and with the lack of movement in his legs, and after seeing the color of his hands, it was obvious he’d been hanging on that wheel for days.
A bolt of determination shot through Grady, mixed with fear as he began dragging him out, away from the courtyard through thick brush. He’d only made it forty, maybe sixty yards when he heard clapping. Grady lifted his eyes to find himself surrounded. Santiago was leaning against a wall, clapping. “Well Aaron, I told you. That’s a bar of gold you owe me now.”
“Shit,” Aaron spat.
“I’m pretty sure he got a least twenty yards further than that last asshole they sent in.”
Jacob, Grady thought.
With his arms under Gunnar’s, he lowered him to the ground as he watched Santiago stride out onto a metal bridge that was slung over a spillway. “You must have thought we were stupid,” he said hopping down to the ground, holding an apple in his hand. He took a large bite and then shook it at him. “Did you really think we’d made it this easy? Of course, that’s why we placed him in the open. Mice like yourself just can’t resist a nibble, but here’s the thing… when you waltz into a place like this pretending to be a collaborator, you really should know who is in charge of those in St. Louis. Forget Parker. I’m in charge. That’s who is in charge. And believe me, I know every single collaborator in this city by name.”
Santiago knew from the moment they walked in that he was with the militia but instead of killing them outright, he’d toyed with him, let him eat, walk around, find Gunnar and attempt to drag him out.
Santiago took another bite, then tossed the apple into a thicket of trees nearby. He took out a large knife from a sheath on his leg and waved it in Grady’s face. “So I’m going to give you the same chance that Jacob had.” He tossed the knife on the ground in front of him, it clattered against the stone. “Go on… pick it up.”