Rebellion: After It Happened Book 6

by Devon Ford

  When they had both moved out of line of sight to the intruders, they straightened and Sabine found Leo staring intently at her.

  “We take them anyway,” he said. “I haven’t had a good hunt in weeks.”

  ~

  All thoughts of self-preservation evaporated in the excitement that they may have, impossibly, caught up with their friends. Lexi repeated her thoughts that the military vehicle was exactly the kind of thing Dan would go for.

  Driving straight up to the low buildings, she stopped the Land Rover and got out.

  “Dan,” she yelled, “Leah.”

  Simon shushed her, his face betraying his sudden fears growing in a knot in his stomach and replacing the infectious excitement he had felt moments before. Lexi’s first instinct was to ignore him, but something inside her too felt wrong.

  In unspoken unison, the four of them turned to get back in their vehicle and create space between the buildings and themselves; some instinctive feeling of distance meaning safety, like a height advantage.

  Paul was behind her when she turned, so when he turned too he blocked her view. Looking worriedly over her shoulder she didn’t see him stop, and collided heavily into his back. Before she could ask why, she saw his hands open and move slowly away from his weapons. Stepping to the side of him, she too froze.

  Armed men were fanning out from behind their Land Rover, whilst two remained static using the big truck as cover over which to aim their weapons at them.

  Not a word was spoken as their weapons were stripped from them, their every movement subject to scrutiny by men with fingers on triggers.

  Still, the bearded, rough men said nothing to them but exchanged looks with one another to communicate. Paul watched as Lexi’s arms were pulled behind her back and a zip-tie was pulled tight over her wrists. Her body arched with pain as the plastic bit into her skin, prompting Paul to step forward to intervene through instinctive protectiveness.

  A rifle butt hit him in the head from behind. A short, sharp, professional jab designed more as a reminder than with the intention of doing any real damage. When he looked back to Lexi he saw the man who had cuffed her kick the backs of her knees and force her to the ground. He yanked her hair back and drew a dull, black pistol from his waist. Placing the barrel against her head, he looked Paul directly in the eyes and smiled. Shaking his head slowly, his point made, he looked down at his captive and smiled again.

  RELUCTANCE TO CHANGE

  By the time Leah, Mitch and Ash traipsed back in from their supply run the sun was beginning to sink below the hilltops. Dan met them at the gate having seen their approach; he was beginning to feel like a spare part as Marie was becoming annoyed at his fussing and frustration. He knew he was acting out because he was restless, now that the bubble of safety was becoming more transparent. His other option for company was to dictate his thoughts and knowledge to the annoying little wizard in his tower who believed that some notes on farming and survival would mean a damn thing when a raider came for his head with a machete.

  The solitary sentry guarding the gate broke away from the constantly sullen look he gave Dan and spoke in French with the man leading the cart. Ash loped in as the heavy, foot-thick wood creaked apart, with his tongue lolling from one side of his mouth. He stopped panting as he looked up at Dan before flopping to the floor. Glancing up at Leah and forgetting to even welcome her back or ask a dozen other questions he had ready, he said, “What the fuck have you done to my dog?”

  Leah blushed, much to his surprise, and Mitch’s laughter made him turn to the soldier.

  “The bugger got his end away the second we turned our backs,” he said through laughter, which didn’t seem like it had subsided much.

  Looking down at his dog, who he suspected may already be asleep or close to it, he pushed that unexpected piece of information aside for now.

  “Dirty bastard,” he muttered before stepping around him.

  He stepped closer to his two human friends and began to discuss what they had seen as the heavy creaking noise indicated the return of the doors to the securely locked position. The guard came to stand behind the returning escort and stared at them. Dan acted as though he hadn’t noticed the man’s presence and continued to speak, which irked him even more and made him shuffle his feet impatiently.

  He didn’t realise how much, until that moment, the man who lived on this gate annoyed him. He was short, not massively below average height but small enough for Dan to call him short, and his face seemed to constantly show a life of disappointing people. He disappointed Dan then by loudly clearing his throat.

  As one, the three of them stopped speaking and turned to regard him coldly; this trio was not used to being interrupted.

  To his small credit, the guard didn’t waver under their combined gaze. That, Dan thought, was either foolish ignorance or bravery. He suspected the former.

  “Guns,” he demanded petulantly. Leah sighed and began to unsling her M4 until Dan held up a hand to stop her.

  “You think you can hold back an attack with that piece of crap?” Dan asked quietly, pointing at his poorly maintained rifle slung on his shoulder. “No spare ammunition, just you with one gun? Is it even loaded?” he asked, the volume of his voice raising as he spoke. Stepping through the small gap between Leah and Mitch he took a step towards the smaller man to demonstrate his height advantage.

  He knew it was petty of him to act the alpha male, and he recognised it was through frustration and inactivity, but he was on a roll now and if he was honest with himself, the guard had been pissing him off for some time. He would have noticed this sooner if he hadn’t buried his head in the sand for a time after finding safety.

  “They’ll be keeping their weapons,” he said with finality, and walked away. Leah and Mitch followed.

  The guard took a step to follow them and opened his mouth to protest, but his path was blocked by a huge dog who had silently woken up and rose to face him. Ash merely cocked his head and regarded the man with curious intensity – like he was wondering what he tasted like – which was enough to dissuade him from pressing the matter any further.

  The self-appointed guard was named Olivier, and proudly boasted that he had been a soldier in the 35th Régiment d’Infanterie. He had served with the French army that much was true, however, he chose not to mention that he was a junior non-commissioned officer in charge of a small catering unit and had spent his short career in the French armed forces on safe bases in his own country. He judged that this fact was irrelevant to his current standing as Maréchal de Sanctuaire, a title only he knew of.

  These newcomers frightened him. They were not French to begin with, but the fact that their equipment and skills made his own seem paltry simultaneously offended and terrified him. They were treated well by Polly and the others, and only Olivier spoke ill of their arrival.

  He spoke enough English to know for certain that Dan had just refused his rightful orders to relinquish weapons to his control, and had marched off blatantly flouting his authority.

  Full of indignation and damaged pride he bustled off to find Polly and inform her of the actions of these dangerous interlopers.

  ~

  Dan was filled in about the outlying farm, and specifically how vulnerable it was, and a more in-depth description was given about Ash’s passionate tryst with one of the locals.

  Still armed and armoured, they sat together and ate as they talked. They drew only a handful of curious glances, but most people saw nothing wrong with their appearance.

  Others of their group drifted in after the bell had sounded in the tower, indicating that the evening meal was ready. Neil sat next to Dan heavily, intentionally bumping into him as he beamed a smile at the group.

  “Alright, dickheads?!” he asked loudly. His sleeves were rolled up despite the low temperature and biting wind, and oil stains on his hands and arms were evident. Neil had been in heaven since they had arrived at Sanctuary, happily handing in his weapons and looking for fo
od and a comfortable bed. He had established himself in a small apartment above a bar on the other side of the quay to the main central fort, and revelled in telling stories to his multinational audience in the evenings. His days were spent fixing things; from boat engines to his most recent project of helping a local man to fix the ailing waterwheel which rested in the fast-flowing stream coming down from the mountains.

  “Neil,” Dan said formally before turning back to the others. His attempt at keeping a straight face lasted mere seconds before his friends tickled his ribs to make his face crack. Shrieking like a child, Dan relented and greeted him more warmly before catching them all up on the events of the day.

  It felt good for them to be together again. Even better to see some new faces join their group which was clearly having more fun than the majority of the population. A large contingent of the fishermen, and women, came in and the man at the front of their group nodded a fond greeting before sitting close by.

  Dan’s happy smile faded a little in worry. He suddenly saw himself from the outside perspective, and he looked like he was trying to take over. Just as this dawned on him, he saw Polly threading her way through the tables to catch his eye. He met hers, and she jerked her head to indicate that she wanted to talk in private. He rose, giving his excuses and asking Mitch to fill the others in on Ash’s first girlfriend as he left the room.

  He wasn’t sure what he expected, other than to be berated for undermining the authority placed in the man given guard duty.

  He wasn’t expecting her to be smiling.

  “Olivier came to me today with the most grievous of accusations,” she said through her smirk. Dan said nothing. “He tells me that you threatened him, and took weapons into the town without his authority.”

  Dan snapped.

  “His authority?” Dan scoffed. “Four children using bad language could get past him!”

  Polly held up a hand to stop him. “Olivier is very proud of his military achievements, and not too long ago he was sat as you were in there with others crowding around him to hear stories of the wars he had been in. He did many brave things during the Balkans war, you know?”

  Dan opened his mouth to respond, but his brain moved quicker than his tongue for once. Olivier, as he now realised the man called, must be either very young looking for his age or was a good five years younger than him. Dan served with the United Nations at the very end of the Balkans conflict when he was young, and he saw contact only once there.

  “How old is Olivier?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Polly answered, “maybe thirty?”

  Dan thought for a second to be sure; certain in the knowledge that mathematics had never been a subject he excelled in.

  “So he would have been born in the mid-to-late-eighties,” he said, “and the fighting was over in Bosnia, other than a peacekeeping force which saw very little action, by about 2001. So Olivier claims he was at war when he was, what, fifteen or sixteen? Not even the French would send kids on a UN deployment!”

  Polly’s face dropped as she contemplated the basic facts. It didn’t occur to most people to check these facts, but Dan could smell bullshit from a distance.

  “What’s the French for Walter Mitty?” he asked, earning a confused look from her.

  “He’s lying. He can’t have been in contact in the Balkans because he would have been too young to be sent there, if he was even in the armed forces that is,” Dan finished.

  “That’s not the reason I wanted to talk to you,” Polly said, hurriedly changing the subject. “Although I want to explore that a little more another time. I have spoken with Pietro and I’d like you and Leah to meet with me.”

  Now Dan knew the reason for her seeking him out, and a flutter of excitement burst inside him. Pietro had told him of a military base in the mountains which sparked his shopping instincts. On any other day he wouldn’t have known how to raise the subject, but after Polly’s questions about protecting Sanctuary coupled with the town’s only ‘soldier’ making a fool of himself, he saw their opportunity to ensure their safe haven remained that way.

  He tried to imagine how that would play out. Most people would not raise any objections as far as he could guess, as they mostly went about their daily business with a smile of satisfaction. He would need to recruit more people to keep watch, would need to train them with guns, would need to organize a proper defence and guard rotas on top of training the whole town on what to do if the alarm was raised, but he was confident. Only a few flies would look to get in his ointment, but they could be easily persuaded otherwise.

  He hoped. First, he had to do the mother of all resupply runs.

  THE THREAT WITHIN

  Richards was not a patient man, in spite of the fact that he believed he radiated an aura of calm competence. Every day his desk was growing more and more littered with reports of overheard conversations, suspected gatherings and rumours. Most were pathetic and pointless, submitted by low-level guards looking for a rise in status by getting their names noticed, but he couldn’t decipher the rest; or at least he couldn’t be bothered to. He muttered to himself about sorting the wheat from the chaff, earning an unsolicited response from his assistant who was sat nervously opposite him having brought the compiled reports.

  “What? Oh, nothing,” Richards replied absent-mindedly. “What do you make of this rubbish, Max?” he asked, tossing the papers in his hand onto the desk.

  Max was as anxious as ever in the presence of the man in charge, who he felt, with utter certainty, was insane. It was not only his dictator-like attitude towards the cogs in his machine – the little people – but his personal fixation with him. He had to be at his desk seven days a week, and could only go back to his private quarters in the guard barracks when Richards dismissed him, often late into the evenings.

  His elevated status offered perks; he had good food, he had no manual labour, and he was able to shower with hot water every day. Richards insisted on that fact, which caused him concern, and he was well-dressed in freshly pressed, fashionable shirts every morning.

  He wouldn’t see these perks as a cause for concern, if it weren’t for the fact that his duties weren’t exactly strenuous and he had no former qualifications or experience which singled him out as worthy to be the personal assistant of the commander. He was picked out of the crowd one day and elevated to his position of authority and privilege seemingly on his appearance alone.

  Max knew he was a good looking young man. He was just coming up to twenty-three years old, and having been a keen sportsman from when he could walk, he was fit and slim. His dusty blonde hair was always roguishly perfect, even when he first woke, and his casually impressive appearance had always made other people jealous. Just another winner of the genetic lottery, he guessed, even though his mother used to embarrass him by saying how beautiful he was.

  Now he was worried. Of late he had seen Richards’s calm exterior cracking, and the stress pouring out from underneath like a volcano. Max had himself written the retrospective order for Richards to sign for the summary execution of a guard accused of assaulting a woman, and the cold fury he had experienced when it was dictated to him sunk deep into his bones.

  No doubt about it, he was the personal assistant to a madman. Clearing his throat, he tried to answer in a non-specific way so as not to suffer the wrath of the man in front of him, and hopefully not to give an opinion which could result in the deaths of ‘the little people’ as Richards called the general population of survivors.

  “I think most of it is probably just unsubstantiated rumours,” he started in small voice, earning a snap from Richards to speak up. “Rumours,” he said again, more loudly this time. “Gossip overheard and guards adding two and two to make six, sir,” he said, trying to placate the rising anger in the man opposite him. A tense moment of silence hung heavily in the air between them until Richards snapped forward and stood.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” he said, “but still, I want you to sort throug
h all this rubbish and bring me anything I need to know. This is your highest responsibility now.” He paused to fix him with an intense gaze, eyes boring through the younger man. “I’m relying on you, Max. You are my rock amongst this sea of inadequacy,” he finished with a wistful gesture towards the world outside his office.

  Fighting down the urge to shudder, Max responded,

  “Yes, sir. I will.”

  ~

  Max sat at his desk for hours, well into the evening, sorting the papers into separate piles relating to their subjects. He kept notes on the sources of information in order to track the reliability, seeing if anything was corroborated by another person which would upgrade their reliability score.

  By the end of his first day as an impromptu intelligence analyst, he had created the beginnings of a web with links between suspicious people and reliable guard information. Suddenly realising that his work could be instrumental in not just the subjugation of the others living there, but could be used to justify more executions, he stopped working. Slowly tidying away all the papers and burying his web chart at the bottom of a drawer at his desk, he racked his brains about what to do next.

  Mere minutes later, Richards emerged from his office and looked around, seeing Max still working away. Max slid a piece of paper under a loosely stacked sheaf to keep unreasonable eyes from detecting it.

  “Got anything for me yet?” Richards asked hopefully

  Leaning back with a feigned stretch of exhaustion, Max answered him tiredly, “No Sir. Mostly low-level gossip from guards looking for advancement is my guess. A lot of them are telling tales on each other for what they think is leniency on workers.”

  Richards seemed satisfied with that. Scornful, but satisfied all the same.

  “Well resume tomorrow,” he said. “Join me for a drink?” he said and walked back towards his office without waiting for a response. It was an order, delivered as a question out of well-bred manners. But an order all the same.