by Mark Goodwin
He bit his lower lip. He knew she was right, but he was in no way prepared to follow through with the next statement that he blurted out of his mouth. “Okay, we’ll go with her.”
“You mean it?” Courtney’s countenance changed in an instant.
Immediately, he regretted what he’d just said. “Sarah, can you give us a couple hours to pack some supplies?”
“Sure.” She ceased her activities.
Everett looked around the cave. “And we’ll have to take some more supplies over to Cotton’s mine than the ten buckets I’d originally intended. It looks like they’ll be keeping Sox and Danger permanently.”
“Whatever we do, it has to be done in one trip. The Jeep has less than an eighth of a tank of gas.” Courtney went through her belongings, selecting the few items she’d take on the journey.
Sarah unrolled her sleeping bag and sat back down on the floor. She turned the radio on and listened to it at a low volume.
Everett slowly began to pack his rucksack. Of all the supplies they had in the cave, he could only carry a few pounds worth. Everything in the cave was essential for survival. Choosing what to bring would be a monumental undertaking.
Sarah held up the radio. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but if you guys are coming with me, we’ve gotta be gone by this time tomorrow. According to the GR Press Secretary, Athaliah Jennings, Dragon will be back online in two days. We’ll only have one day to get out of the country.”
Everett grunted. The added pressure did not assist him in making the difficult decisions of what to bring and what to leave behind. “Did you have any idea how you’re going to get to Jerusalem?”
“No,” Sarah said plainly.
“Well, they’re not going to just let us walk onto a plane headed for the new GR capital.” Everett picked up his HK G36. The rifle was one item definitely on the take list.
“Maybe they will let us walk right on.” Courtney seemed to think it was a good plan. “We could just make a fake Mark with a Sharpie.”
Everett shook his head. “The Mark’s embedded pico projector actually elevates the skin on the back of your hand slightly.”
He paused for a moment. “Unless...”
“What?” Sarah let the radio rest on the ground while she waited for Everett to finish his sentence.
“Unless we actually implanted a deactivated pico projector in our hands. They had a mobile implant gun in the MRAP we took from the GR.”
Courtney dropped what she was doing. “Seriously? You’re considering taking the Mark?”
“It’s not the Mark. It’s just a small piece of equipment that isn’t activated. We wouldn’t be connected to Dragon, we wouldn’t have a GR number assignment, and most importantly, we wouldn’t be taking the pledge to Luz.”
“I’m not doing it. No way, no how. I don’t care if it is deactivated.” Courtney waved her hands in the air to express her adamant position on the matter.
Sarah said, “The pico projector is about the size of a piece of rice. Why couldn’t we just sterilize a piece of rice and stick it under our skin?”
“Maybe.” Everett considered the idea. “Perhaps if we were dressed as peacekeepers, the authorities would pay less attention to our Marks.”
“I don’t know about that.” Courtney frowned.
“We have the uniforms from the skirmish on the way to Tommy’s,” Everett said.
“Tommy has the uniforms,” Courtney clarified.
“He’ll let us use them if it’s for a good cause,” Everett rebutted.
Sarah looked at Courtney. “Everett’s right. We need a plan, and I can’t think of anything better.”
“Sounds risky.” Courtney’s brows pulled together.
“This whole quest is risky.” Everett laughed. “And if we get out of the country alive, we’ll have successfully made it out of the frying pan and straight into the fire. I hope you both realize the level of absolute peril we’re getting into here.”
Undeterred by the caveat, Courtney nodded. “Okay, we’ll pose as GR peacekeepers with grains of rice implanted under our skin.”
Sarah asked, “From where?”
“South Africa, mate.” Courtney did a phenomenal South African accent.
“Aw royt theen.” Sarah tried her hand at the cadence.
“That sounds a little more Australian than South African, but we can work with it.” Courtney chuckled.
Everett continued packing. “Hopefully, if we can pass as peacekeepers, our food and water will be supplied.”
Sarah looked at Everett’s rifle. “If we’re going as South Africans, we’ll have to use those Vektors Tommy salvaged from Winchester. That means your G36 will have to stay here.”
Everett collapsed the stock of the HK rifle and stowed it in his backpack. “No one will ever know it’s here.”
“Careful you don’t let that gun turn into a security blanket like Moses’ staff. I’d hate to see it get you in trouble.” Courtney chided him.
“I think we’re all in more danger from that rod than this rifle.” He looked up and glared at the smoothly carved piece of wood. “It was that stupid stick that started all of this business about going to Jerusalem.”
CHAPTER 8
Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder: the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet.
Psalm 91: 13
Everett examined the smoothly cut stones poured out on the coffee table. Some were small, a quarter carat or less. Most seemed to be between a half and one carat. One was easily over two, while several others were well above a full carat. He counted them as he placed them one by one back into the small black velvet pouch. “Fifty. It seems like an awful lot of diamonds for the supplies left in the cave.”
Tommy sat back in his easy chair. “250 million Americans have died in the last four years. Half of them were women. Most of them had at least one diamond. The market isn’t what it used to be. On the other hand, ammo, solar panels, weapons, and dry goods are getting tough to come by. Access to a freshwater supply alone is worth a fist full of diamonds.”
“If I’d had any idea that you were going to be so generous, we’d have carted the supplies over to your house.” Everett pulled the string to the pouch and tied it securely.
Tommy put his arm around his wife, Daisy. “We won’t even go get it unless we have to abandon our place or we get robbed. I’m thinking of it as an insurance policy. And like I said. I’m only laying claim to half of it. The rest still belongs to you. Won’t nobody else ever know the whereabouts of your little cavern ‘cept me and Daisy here.”
Courtney had been hypnotized by the glittering jewels. Now that Everett had put them away, she returned to the land of the living. “That’s very kind of you, Tommy. But I seriously doubt we’ll ever make it back.”
“I know. But if you do, you’ve got a place to hang your hat.” His entire beard seemed to smile. “We’ll miss your friendship. We’ve had some good times together, and we’ve been there for each other when things got rough.”
Sarah finished blousing her trousers over her boots to make sure the black, Global Republic peacekeeper uniform looked as proper as possible. “Yeah, we’ve been blessed to know you. And I really appreciate all you’ve done for us.”
Tommy kissed Daisy on the lips. “I’m gonna walk ‘em out to the truck. I’ll be right back.”
“Y’all be safe.” Daisy waved as Everett, Courtney, and Sarah walked out the front door.
Each of them bade her farewell as they proceeded to the MRAP.
With God’s providence and a little planning, Tommy had managed to save his home from the Wormwood debris field. With a front-end loader, he’d piled up earth on the sides and rear of the house. He reinforced his roof and covered it with several inches of dirt as well. None of it would have mattered if the roof had taken a direct hit by any meteors larger than a basketball, but God had spared him from those.
Everett examined the stitching on the front of his black GR uniform s
hirt where a bullet hole had once been. “Thank Daisy for us again. She did a great job getting these clothes cleaned up.”
“She was glad to do it. She likes to stay occupied.” Tommy nodded. “You’ll tell Elijah I said hello when you see him.”
Courtney smiled as she stepped up into the giant armored vehicle. “Of course we will.”
Everett waved as he fired up the engine. He was sad to be saying goodbye to yet another friend.
As they made their way down the road, Everett glanced down at the red patch on his arm. “Anyone know what rank we are?”
Courtney looked at her own name and rank patches. “Bekker. The rank patches look like they’re loosely based on the old UN insignia. “I think I’m a corporal.” She looked back at Sarah. “That’s a sergeant, maybe.” Courtney studied Everett’s name and rank patches. “I’m not sure what you are, Mr. Smith, but you outrank us both.”
The Typhoon had roughly a quarter tank. Everett was sure this would not be enough to get them to DC. The team would be relying on motor oil drained from abandoned vehicles to supplement the diesel fuel.
The highways were littered with vehicles which had run out of gas. They made their first stop at a deserted pickup truck outside of Berryville, then the second stop at a Toyota just west of Arcadia Farm. Courtney stood guard while Everett drained the oil and Sarah poured it into the fuel tank. The next vehicle was on the shoulder of the road near Leesburg on State Road 7. The cars were spread out, and each one yielded roughly a gallon and a half of fuel. It added up quickly.
“We’ve still got a quarter tank and we’re just a couple miles from Dulles.” Everett breathed easy. “Makes me feel better than rolling up on an unpredictable situation sitting on empty.”
“It’s good to have options,” Sarah added.
Everett drove up to the gate which was manned by a squad of twelve GR peacekeepers. His heartbeat quickened as he rolled down his window. He offered only a nod, waiting for the guard to speak first. If the man sounded like he was from South Africa, Everett wasn’t about to test out his fake accent on a native.
“Got papers?” The man sounded Canadian. He was the first GR troop Everett had encountered from North America.
“Who's got papers? We’ve been relying on this confounded device.” Everett flicked his wrist as if trying to activate the interface on his Mark implant.
The guard rolled his eyes. “Where you coming from, aye?”
“Harrisonburg. We were reassigned to Jerusalem.”
“Like everyone else from around here. Where’s the rest of your platoon?”
“We had an uprising when the system went down. Everyone else was killed. We didn’t leave many survivors though.”
The guard looked in at Courtney and Sarah, then gave the vehicle a quick once-over. “Follow this road to the old parking garage. The garage is no longer operational as it was hit by a large meteor, but the south end is undamaged, and they’re using it as offices for issuing temporary papers.”
“The system is supposed to be back online tomorrow. Why bother?” Everett kept up his accent.
The guard looked at him as if he were crazy. “Tomorrow? That’s propaganda. Dragon won’t be back online for weeks.”
“Rubbish!” Everett feigned exasperation over the inconvenience. “Do you know if any planes are leaving today?”
“No. We’ve got no planes here. Supposedly more C-130s are coming in tomorrow, but they’ll be landing at Reagan if they show up at all. We don’t have any runways in good enough condition to land large cargo planes. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s starting to look like we might be left behind. All the brass was shipped out weeks ago, and they seem less and less worried about getting us grunts out of this cursed location.”
“Yes, well, we’ll be on our way then. Thanks for your help.” Everett pulled through the gate and proceeded to the location he’d been told.
Once at the temporary papers office, he cut the engine, and the three of them got out of the vehicle.
Sarah led the way to the desk. A pile of papers sat atop the desk, but no one was around. She looked the papers over without touching them. “Follow my lead,” she whispered softly to Everett and Courtney as a young woman wearing the traditional black uniform of the Global Republic approached the desk.
“You all just keep tricklin’ in, don’t you?” She sounded British, and she sounded annoyed. She picked up a small passbook and a pen. “Regiment, battalion, company, rank, name.”
“South African Regiment, 3rd Battalion, Foxtrot, Sergeant, Sarah Fourie.”
“Sergeant Major.” She glanced up at Sarah.
Everett slowly slid his hand down to his side arm. If the woman went for a radio, he’d have to put her down fast.
“Be specific about rank while you’re on the Dulles airbase. It might not matter at the whistle stop outpost where you’ve been, but it does here.” The woman looked back down at her desk and continued to write. “Fourie, that’s French, isn’t it?”
“Lots of South African names are,” Sarah said plainly.
“Yes, the Huguenots. I suppose they are, aren’t they?” The woman stamped the passbook with the seal of a blood red dragon which had seven heads. “Some of your countrymen were through here yesterday. Bravo Company, I believe.” She looked up with a sour grin and handed the booklet to Sarah. “But I guess we’re all countrymen now, aren’t we?”
Everett stepped forward. “South African . . .”
“Yes, yes, 3rd, Foxtrot, Second Lieutenant. I’m not stupid. Just your name.” She didn’t look up.
“Everett Smith.”
“Ahh, Smith. That’s English.” She glanced up and looked Everett over. She offered him a warmer smile and bit her lower lip. “A fine English name, Lieutenant.”
Everett returned the smile as he took the booklet. “Second Lieutenant.”
Courtney’s jaw was clinched. Almost too tightly for her fake accent. “Courtney . . . Bekker.”
Everett fought back a chuckle. He could see that it was eating her up. He knew just how badly she wanted the woman to know that while it might not be Smith, she had the same fine last name as Everett.
“Do you know if we can get a transport to Jerusalem?” Sarah inquired.
“I just fill out the papers. I’m surprised they trust me with that.” She stamped Courtney’s passbook with a great deal of animosity.
Sarah tilted her head and pursed her lips as she looked at Everett.
He picked up the clue. Sarah was recommending that he might get more flies with honey.
Everett said, “Have you heard anything? Will there be more planes?”
She crossed her arms gingerly on the desk. “I’ve not seen much activity. A convoy of thirty or forty trucks left out of here yesterday. It looked like they were hauling supplies somewhere. The trailers were all those metal containers, like they load on a ship. I suppose they were heading to the port.”
“Norfolk?” Everett quizzed.
The British woman shrugged. “I suppose. The acting commandant of the Dulles airbase has his office set up in the first office building west of the terminal. You could file a transport request to the port, perhaps you can be included in the next convoy. But then again, he might transfer you here permanently.” She batted her eyelashes. “And wouldn’t that be a shame?”
“Our orders are from Jerusalem.” Everett clarified.
“The commandant can override them.” She leaned forward.
Everett paused as if he were considering it. “And what is the good commandant's name?”
“Miller.”
“Thanks, you’ve been very helpful.” Everett smiled and turned to join the girls.
“See you around,” the woman said.
Courtney mocked the GR clerk silently as she bobbed her head and mouthed the words see you around, under her breath.
Once back in the MRAP, Everett started the engine.
Courtney crossed her arms and looked out the window. “So, are
we off to the commandant’s so we can get reassigned here permanently?”
Everett bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “No, but I thought it might come in handy to have a name to drop if we ask for fuel. We’ll never make it to Norfolk on a quarter tank. And we can’t keep adding motor oil unless we get some diesel.”
Everett continued around to the terminal. He waved down two peacekeepers crossing the road. “Pardon me, but can you direct me to the quartermaster.”
The first looked at the other like Everett was some kind of a hick. He reluctantly turned to Everett. “What is it you need?”
“Diesel.”
The other man shook his head vehemently. “There’s no diesel on the base.” He pointed at the MRAP. “You’d best make whatever you have last.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Everett offered a flippant wave and a smirk, and carried on.
“Now what?” Courtney asked.
“Drive around to the runway. This thing will run on jet fuel,” Sarah instructed from the rear.
Everett found his way to the tarmac. He located a refueling truck and barreled toward it. Once there, he rolled down the window. “Hey, buddy. Think you can fill me up?”
The driver, who had been sleeping, lifted his ball cap. “How much fuel is your requisition form for?”
“Commandant Miller sent us here personally. We have orders to get to Norfolk, double time.”
The driver sat up straight and repositioned his hat. “I don’t care if your orders came from his Most High and Prepotent Majesty himself. No form, no fuel.”
“I’ll make sure the commandant understands your adherence to protocol. Hopefully, he’ll be impressed rather than upset that you’re delaying his personal commands,” Everett grunted. “We just got here. Can you tell us where to get the requisition form?”
The man seemed to be in no hurry to show up on the commandant’s radar. He lost his disdainful look and his tone became more considerate. “Typically, you’d have to go to the energy quartermaster’s office by the main fuel tanks, but I have a couple of blank forms in the truck.” He exited the vehicle and handed a piece of paper up to Everett’s window.