“Over here!”
“Is he . . .?” Rachel couldn’t bring herself to ask.
Michelle got up from her chair and hugged her. “Doc Adams thinks he’s going to be alright. Pumping him full of blood and IV fluids right now.”
“Can I see him?”
“He’s out of it, Rachel. Maybe in the morning.”
“I meant the piece of shit who shot him.”
Michelle gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a shake. “That same piece of shit saved his life.”
She should have been there with him. She knew it, even if no one else was going to say it.
Reed joined them. “It was Ray. He could have run. He stayed and did what he could. Tom’s body was inside the church; Ray said he did that too.”
Rachel didn’t know what to say. Ray had been the outlier, the loner from the new group. None of them had thought he’d had it in for someone he’d been traveling with.
Michelle filled them both in on what Pro had reported to her before getting shot.
“Who the hell was Tom trying to contact?” Reed asked what they were all thinking.
“Why was Ray even there?” Rachel added.
Reed shook his head, “Daniel’s talking to him right now.”
*
Daniel had gotten Ray’s story, twice. It hadn’t changed one iota. The guy had a straightforward way about him that almost made him wonder if the man was capable of subterfuge. On the other hand, Ray had admitted to following Tom because he’d felt for some time that something “weird” was up between Carla and Tom.
Daniel reached for the bag he’d come in with and sat the remains of a shortwave radio on the tabletop between them. “You ever seen this before?”
“Never.”
“Tom was getting ready to use it when Pro shot it. We’re guessing that’s the first shot you heard.”
Ray shook his head. “No way they were traveling with that, I would have seen it.”
“They could have kept it hidden.”
Ray smiled and gave his head a shake. “Haven’t you ever traveled in a group? I mean been on the road, since the suck?”
“No,” he admitted. “I guess you could say I’m a local.”
“It isn’t easy. You spend half your time thanking God you’re in a group, praying it’s big enough to scare off scavengers. The other half of the time, you’re worried the people next to you are going to kill you in your sleep and steal your shit. The stuff people carry takes on value like you can’t imagine. You always know who’s carrying the most water, the most food, the lighter, whatever. Always,” Ray repeated. “Just in case.”
“In case you need to kill them?”
Ray just looked back at him without flinching. “It wasn’t like that tonight, but in simple terms, yes.”
Daniel was almost ashamed that what Ray was saying made sense.
“It had a car battery with it.” Daniel pointed at the radio.
“No way they traveled with that, or the radio.”
Which meant it had been there waiting for them to use, put there by someone else. Daniel chewed on that for the half second it took to realize the implications of that fact were far worse than the presence of the radio itself.
“What exactly did Tom say to you?”
“I’ve already told you.” Ray set his handcuffed hands on the tabletop. “It’s not going to make any more sense if I tell you again.”
“Try me.”
Ray’s story didn’t change.
“You hear him or any of the others in your group mention this New Republic before?”
“Never.” Ray shook his head. “Look, you have to understand, Tom doesn’t wipe his own ass without Carla’s say-so. If you can hide what happened with me and Pro tonight, just watch her close. She’ll be going apeshit wondering what happened to her puppet. Just get the boy away from her. Trust me, Sammy won’t mind a bit, and if Carla does; it’ll be an act.”
Nothing Ray had said made as much of an impact as his concern for Sammy had. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
“You said Pro’s going to make it?”
“So I’m told.”
“He’ll tell you what happened between us. Just let me go. Carla knows I’m headed to Georgia anyway.”
Daniel shook his head. “You can’t be gone the same night Tom disappeared.”
Ray rubbed at his face for a moment. “I can’t argue with that.”
“You’ll stay here, right here.” Daniel pointed at the table. “Until we get Pro’s story. If what you say checks out, and I have a feeling it will, I’ll ask you to stay on a week or so. I’ll have you set up with a motorcycle, and supplies. If you still want to head to Georgia, you can be on your way. For my part, if you are telling the truth, I hope you’ll stay.”
“I can’t stay. I just shot your people’s mascot.”
Daniel had to smile at Ray’s understanding of his situation. Pro was a mascot to many people. To others, he was a lot more. He could only imagine the fight he’d have with Michelle if he pushed for releasing Ray. Then again, it had been Michelle who had sent Pro to follow Tom in the first place. That wasn’t fair, he knew. Pro was the best scout they had, regardless of his age. It would have been safer to have Pro out there than anyone else, except Jason or maybe Reed. At the end of the day, Michelle had been right; something wasn’t right with this group. He just didn’t believe Ray was part of it.
Looking across the table, Ray seemed resigned to whatever fate had in store for him. For Daniel’s part, he couldn’t imagine a scenario in which Ray wasn’t telling the truth. The man had stayed and, in all likelihood, saved Pro’s life. He’d admitted to killing Tom. His story tracked with what Pro had reported over the radio.
“If you’re being honest, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Even her?”
“Her who?” Daniel followed Ray’s pointing chin and turned around to see Rachel watching them through the porthole window of the hotel kitchen’s door.
He turned back around. “She’ll listen to what Pro says.” He said it with a lot more confidence than he felt. She sure as hell won’t listen to me.
Chapter 9
Charlottesville, Virginia, UVA Campus
“Kids! Today, we have a special guest. Our leader, Miss Cooper herself.”
Lisa watched the children’s reaction as she was introduced by name. The teacher had done a good job in getting the kids, orphans every one, ready for her. Hearing the introduction, she was forced to admit that Steven might be right; she needed an official title. Miss Cooper, or “Professor Cooper” as some of the general’s men called her, didn’t encompass what she was, and didn’t come close to describing or crediting her for what she’d managed to build. She’d have to admit he was right, accept his help. Maybe get him to start a grassroots movement in the ranks that would see her awarded a title commensurate with the power she wielded.
What would it be? “President” was overdone and just carried a shit ton of baggage she’d rather not have to deal with. “Commissar” or “General Secretary” would satisfy her personally, but either title would carry a negative connotation for many of the people under her sway, or at least for many of the soldiers she knew her control relied upon. She’d gone with the name New Republic for the same reason; it was new and could be as different as she needed it to be. It wasn’t going to be defined by the name—her title couldn’t be either.
“Thank you, Maggie,” she whispered to the retreating teacher amid the burst of applause from the children. She walked to the front of the classroom, aware that all of the kids looking at her, all between the ages of six and fourteen, had lost their real parents to the virus. That fact didn’t distinguish them from anyone left alive. They were all orphans. These kids, though, were two-time losers.
Each of these children had lost the adoptive adults they’d been found with. Either to the fight that had accompanied their joining the New Republic, or to the pigheaded inability of their
post-virus guardians to accept the hospitality with which they’d been welcomed. She had never held the illusion that her vision for the future wouldn’t need to be enforced from the top. The quiet, hidden graves behind the golf course were a testament to that fact. These two-time orphans would be the ones who could drive her dream from the bottom, from within the ranks and for years into the future. She’d gotten to them in time. She could see that in the way they looked at her.
“The New Republic provides.” She could feel the power in the words. “No more want, no more fear. We are all equal before our laws. We all have a responsibility to share what we have and the privilege to take what we need.”
The applause broke out spontaneously. She clasped her hands in front of her face and smiled back at them. She raised her voice. “Who do we help?”
“EVERYONE!” the class shouted back at her.
“Who can stop us?”
“NO ONE!”
She paused a moment to let the applause die down of its own accord.
“I’m so proud of all of you!” she beamed. “I understand I have some awards to hand out . . .”
*
Outskirts of Richmond, Virginia (the next day…)
“We’re ready.” Lisa didn’t think she’d seen this side of her general before. It was something like macho confidence with an edge of expectation, maybe even nervousness thrown in. Steven Marks had retired from the Army after twenty-two years as a major. He’d been the commanding officer of the ROTC detachment at Virginia Tech and had been leading a group of a hundred or so survivors when they’d found her and her group in Charlottesville.
She’d recognized straight away the opportunity and advantages Steven had offered her. Legitimacy from a dead world, paired with the ability to lead men and women in violent acts that, by then, she’d known would be a permanent fixture of the world going forward. Seducing him had been easy; she’d had professors in grad school who had been more of a challenge in that regard. Converting him to her vision of what they could build had taken more effort, but she’d succeeded there as well. “General” Steven Marks had received his stars from her.
“The advance team?” she asked, far more concerned about the survival of her group of spies that had infiltrated Richmond months ago than she was about the potential losses among her soldiers. Cannon fodder could be replaced. The spies were true believers, her people.
“They report they are ready. If they’re smart, they’ll hole up and wait for the shitstorm to pass.”
“They’ll do their duty.”
“They’ve done it,” Marks replied, waving at the map spread out on the table within the tent. “Time for intelligence collection has passed. We’re spread out on a rough semicircle from the northwest to the southeast, along the freeway and these secondary highways. We’re going to drive to the south and southwest, towards the river. They won’t have anywhere to go.”
“We’re starting so far away; won’t they hear and see us coming?”
“It’s a wider net than I’d use against a trained force. But these survivors? I’d love for them to get organized a bit before facing us. They probably won’t, but if we beat them en masse, they’ll throw down their guns that much quicker.”
“Our soldiers know we are here to help these people, right?”
“They do, but we both know that will have to come after they’re defeated.”
She knew that to be true. Even then, there’d be hard-core holdouts who would need to be dealt with later. There always were; there were two ways to leave the stadium.
“I’m not second-guessing you, General. I just worry for our soldiers.” She said the last loud enough that his people around him in the tent could hear. I’m also worried that you’re a little too excited to play soldier, and we both know you aren’t a real general.
Steven jerked his chin toward the back of the tent. “Here’s where I politely ask you to get in the truck and move back a few miles before we roll out.”
She couldn’t tell if his request indicated sincere concern for her safety or a desire to be left alone to do what needed doing. The only thing that mattered was the fact it had been a request. He was learning.
“I’d like to remain here with you, if you’ll allow it.” Part of her wished she could be riding in the tank that she knew was going to play a central role in the attack. She’d be as safe as could be and would be able to claim she’d shared the risks with her people. Steven had shot down that idea earlier the same morning, and she hadn’t been able to sway him.
“As you wish.” He nodded back at her, speaking loudly enough that his people could hear him clearly. “When I go forward, you’ll remain here?” He waved an arm, taking in the rest of the command tent. “You’ve got the map and the radio people here. You’ll be able to monitor everything.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed. She had no desire to steal any of his glory. She knew that like most men in her life, he needed a bone thrown his way from time to time. As long as he never came to doubt who was doing the throwing.
She watched him as he bent over the map yet again before turning to the three radio operators behind him. “All units ready?”
The two women and man gave thumbs-ups from their seats next to their radios. Steven picked up his own radio. “All units, all units . . . Execute go, repeat, execute go.”
*
“Go get the colonel.” Marine Private First-Class Cameron Park was flying the drone from a ruggedized laptop and shouted at the person nearest him.
It happened to be his fellow Marine, Private Elliot.
“What’s up, Poy?” Elliot just stared back at him.
“Elliot, why you always gotta do that? Go! Get! The colonel!”
Park made sure Elliot was moving before looking back at his controls and making a few adjustments. He’d always been good at video games, and the collection of gaming platforms and virtual reality training suites in The Hole had helped keep him sane during the months underground—that and the endless supply of food. He’d always been a big guy, but there was no denying that he’d ballooned in the last ten months. The guys had given him a hard time, but they were easy to ignore.
It wasn’t like they didn’t all have some crutch that they’d used to stay sane. Nathans had his old-time ’90s grunge music and that creepy Nordic heavy metal. Gunny had his stupid books. Farmer had the weight room. Uwasi had his Bible. Tommy had his drawing. He had to smile at that thought. If anyone with “real” authority ever made it to lower levels of The Hole, they’d be met with some of Salguero’s artwork on the walls and probably start looking for the Section Eight paperwork.
Then there was Elliot; in his opinion, his fellow private was too stupid to have needed a diversion. Mama Park’s eldest boy of Hilo, Hawaii, had survived, even if he knew he’d probably come dangerously close to eating himself to death. He could see himself reflected in the looks the colonel’s people threw his way. They’d all known people who had starved to death, and here he was sporting 80 pounds he hadn’t had when he’d gone down The Hole.
Captain Naylor had asked him to “volunteer” for extra physical training since being released from their underground post, and he had. It had been a week, and he was already seeing results. The downside was that he was so sore, he could hardly move. It was the main reason he’d volunteered to fly the drone, with a laptop controller, from a camp chair in the shade. Take away the scenery, add a bowl of rice, some Spam, and a soda, and it wouldn’t have been much different than how he’d spent the last ten months.
They had set up what the colonel referred to as an armed gypsy camp in the woods, less than a mile from the quarry that held the entrance to The Hole. Skirjanek had directed them to pull some hardware out of The Hole, and a small part of that had been the kitchen-table-sized tactical drone that he’d been flying all morning, looking for what the colonel had referred to as “anything that looks like it could hurt us.”
If the stories of Cuba, Miami, Hampton Roads, and Norfolk com
ing out of Skirjanek’s people were real, and he had no reason to believe they weren’t, he didn’t figure on seeing anyone who would be dumb enough to mess with the unit Skirjanek was putting together—and for the first few hours of his flight, he hadn’t.
There had been nothing to see in the immediate area beyond a seemingly endless expanse of overgrown, abandoned green fields going to weeds and corrals full of dead farm animals that had starved long ago. The whole area, from the perspective of the drone’s camera, was laced with secondary state roads connecting empty houses, quiet residential subdivisions with an occasional school or strip mall characterized by empty parking lots. Some of those lots had been used to collect the dead before nearly everyone had died.
Even from his high altitude, he could see the burial mounds were a gathering place of sorts for the local wildlife that seemed to have been taken over by rats, wild dogs, and carrion birds. Once he’d been certain there wasn’t any enemy force close by, he’d climbed higher and flown the drone westward for twelve miles towards the I-95/I-64 corridor. A black column of smoke coming from the northern edge of Richmond had stood out, and he’d climbed again to the bottom of the low-lying cloud cover at about three thousand feet and moved the drone in for a closer look.
He’d had a lot of practice with the drone while in The Hole; they all had. The drone training simulator, complete with 3D headsets, had been one of the most popular “games” down there; an endless panorama, open horizons, and most importantly, no off-yellow paint on the walls or dark green floors. Controlling the actual bird was easier than the simulator, and much more boring. This actual drone wasn’t capable of carrying any weapons. It did have a good camera with an even better telephoto lens.
At the moment, he had no problem making out the line of vehicles, supported by hundreds of infantry on the northern outskirts of Richmond. Just before yelling for the colonel, he’d spotted two Bradley infantry fighting vehicles in the line, slowly encircling the city.
Seasons of Man | Book 2 | Reap What You Sow Page 7