by J. J. Holden
“Secondly, I don’t want to dump him off to die out there and pretend we didn’t murder him. I understand why Michael felt he had to capture this man, but when we did that, we made him our responsibility. If we kill him, we’ll do it with our own hands, not by sweeping him under the rug so we can sleep better at night.
“And thirdly. He’s not begging for his life, and the only thing that upset him as far as I could tell was that we were casually talking about killing him right in front of him. He seemed offended, not scared. Does that sound like an enemy? He sounds more like a philosopher or one of Ethan’s RPG mages to me.
“So, if anyone has an objection,” Cassy finished, “speak up now. Otherwise, I think we should take him in if he’ll have us. Probationary, let’s call it.”
Mandy spoke up. “First, dear, why not ask him what he’d like to do? That counts, too, or at least it should.”
Cassy looked to the others, each in turn, waiting for someone else to speak up. A compelling argument against letting him live could still sway her, and she was far from sure letting him stay was a brilliant idea, so it was important to let everyone be heard. But no one spoke against it. Michael looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t argue. So be it.
“Very well.” She focused in on the prisoner. “Grandma Mandy suggests we ask what you want to do, Chihun, and this is your chance. Anything you want to say?” Chihun smiled but shook his head. She continued, “Okay. By agreement of the Clan, Chihun, I invite you to stay with us here, at least for now. We’ll see how it works out, and revisit this down the road if we have to.” Chihun’s smile broadened, and he nodded. “Frank, will you please untie him, and set him up with a place to sleep and put him on a job? Thanks. I guess that’s all I have for now… Anyone else have something?” No one spoke.
Frank rose to untie the former prisoner and left with Chihun in tow, followed by Mandy and the others. Before Michael left, Cassy put her hand on his arm. “Hey, Michael. Can I get a word with you?”
Michael stopped and looked to the door, watching as the others left. Then he turned back to Cassy. “Yeah, shoot. What’s on your mind?”
“I know we decided to let the guy live, but I’m not one hundred percent that it was the right choice. I just don’t see an alternative I can live with, you know?”
Michael nodded. “Yeah, I get it. We all know you make decisions for the good of the Clan, even if it’s just because that’s the same thing as being good for your family. In all this shit coming down outside our farm, we all are the Clan, we have to be. And the Clan is us. Just how it has to be. I support your decision, Cassy. Even if I have my doubts, too.”
Cassy smiled at him. He was a good man, that was damn sure. Thank God they had a warrior like him, instead of some bullet-happy Rambo type. “Good to know. I appreciate the trust. But, I want you to make sure we keep an eye on this guy, too. If it looks like he’s going to make a break for it, or betray us in some way, your job is to protect the Clan. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Michael looked at her for a couple seconds, but she couldn’t read his face. Then he nodded. “Yeah, I was going to do that anyway. Keep an eye on him, that is. I can’t help it, but I don’t trust people who look like the enemy.”
Cassy shook his hand and thanked him, then watched him leave. She hoped she’d made the right choice. If Chihun really was one of the invaders, then the Clan now had a wolf among them. She expected that sleep would not come easily that night.
* * *
1200 HOURS - ZERO DAY +20
The New York cityscape rose up to either side, and Taggart was on high alert. His eyes darted to every corner, alley, car, and window they passed, looking for danger. “Eagan, get a status check on both our squads, then report back. We’re ten blocks from that camp, and I want us wired tight before we engage these cannibal bastards. This is their turf, and they probably know it well. We can expect harassment and ambush, if they see us coming because some Militiaman is out of place.”
Eagan nodded once and ran off leaving Taggart with his thoughts. Two of Black’s gangbangers had gone missing that morning, and the soldiers Taggart sent to find them reported back with gruesome news. They found the gangbangers’ bodies, or what was left of them. They’d been butchered, biggest chunks of meat cut away and missing, and their weapons had been taken too.
Worse, the scouts reported being ambushed by at least a dozen people, ragged and emaciated, who came at them with knives and didn’t slow down when the scouts shot two of them. Taggart’s people reported that they barely escaped and would never have evaded if the mob had guns.
Thank the Almighty, however, the scouts also reported that, as they fled, they saw a filthy, makeshift camp in a dark alley. They were positive it belonged to their attackers, and it looked like it contained a lot more space than a dozen people would need. Taggart wasn’t sure why they were so certain it was the raiders’, or saw it as a camp for many more than a dozen, but he trusted their instincts. They were Rangers, those two, with six years’ fighting in the Sandbox between them. They had even been in Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan at the same time he had, once, but they hadn’t crossed paths there.
Taggart did one last mental check of his battle plan—based off crude maps his scouts had drawn—when noise to his rear seized his attention. He spun on his heels and brought his rifle to bear, but stopped before pulling the trigger. It was only Mr. Black and a dozen gangbangers, half a block away still and making more noise than seemed possible from so far away and moving over a paved surface. Fucking civilians. If they screwed up this Op, Black better hope Eagan was around to talk Taggart out of just shooting him on the spot.
Finally, Black got within a dozen yards, and Taggart went to intercept him. Better to talk to them back there, where they couldn’t gum up the works with his squads as they got ready to push forward. Taggart came to a stop, drew himself up to his full height, and looked Black in the eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Taggart’s tone was the one he used when giving commands, very different from how he’d spoken to Black thus far.
Black’s eyes were narrowed in anger, and Taggart saw that his men were tense, ready. Their body language was not promising. Black said, “Those were my homies who got killed, yo. That shit was messed up, homie. And you left without sayin’ shit about where you were headed. That ain’t right.”
There were murmurs of agreement from the gangbangers at Black’s back. One of them took a step forward to stand beside Black in solidarity. This could get ugly. Taggart read the situation and made a quick decision. The conversation would go better if he had it in private, to keep Black’s pride out of it. “Black, will you come with me? I want to talk to you in private so we can work this out. Like a briefing.” Like hell.
Black paused, glanced at his homeboys, and stood up tall, chin up. “Yo, lead the way, soulja boy. Yeah, we can talk. Don’t wanna embarrass you in front of my homies.”
Taggart didn’t reply, but walked away from the group. Let him have his pride, it wouldn’t change Taggart’s decision. Black followed, swaggering. They got out of earshot, and Taggart stopped and turned to face Black.
“What up, puto? You can’t take off without me like that, yo. This whole thing is my posse, my set, my dead homies. I saved your life, and you need my four-one-one. So you better recognize, and lay down before you stay down.” Black’s face was red, and the left side of his mouth twitched.
Taggart kept his face stoney, unreadable. “I have no idea what the fuck you just said, civilian. I respect what you’ve done, setting up a Resistance cell and saving lives where you could. That makes you a hero in my book, but make no mistake, Black. We are under Martial Law, and we are at war. You are under my command. The only reason I haven’t drafted your men is that they respect you, they follow and listen to you, and we’re on the same side. If they were under my direct command, their bullshit gangster crap would force me to deal with them like insubordinate shitbirds, and ‘we ain’t got no prisons
,’ as you once said. So, now, do you feel me?”
Taggart paused to let that sink in. When Black’s face contorted in angry shock, he continued, interrupting whatever gibberish Black was about to spout. “Don’t get me wrong, Black. You’re a good leader, but you aren’t a soldier. You don’t have that training. You also aren’t in the chain of command, so I can’t allow my unit to take orders from you. What I can do, the best I can do, is leave you in charge of your men. But you might have fucked up my operation with all the noise your guys made coming in. If I lose people because you let the entire damn neighborhood know we’re here with your civilian bullshit swagger, I’m going to hold you personally responsible. I promise you won’t like that. And think carefully before you speak. I will take what you say seriously, and act accordingly. What do you have to say, and what do you intend, civilian?”
Black glared at Taggart, red-faced, but Taggart neither flinched nor looked away. After a long, tense moment, Black’s shoulders slumped slightly, and he broke eye contact. His fists came unclenched, and then he let out a long breath. “Taggart, I get what you’re sayin’. And I know that we didn’t have this talk sooner just because your mission was easier if you went along with the program, but then Spyder took my turf. Things are different now, yeah. But I gotta save face, homie. Those bastards out there, they butchered my homies like they was pigs. I’ll get pushed out if I let that go unanswered, yo, especially after losing my turf. I’m on the ropes, man. It don’t help none of us if I catch a nine to the head by one of my men lookin’ to move up.”
Taggart nodded, slowly. “I hear you, Black. Leading your men is your concern, so long as you follow my orders in my operations. Your operations are your own affair, if they don’t interfere with us. We’ll help if we can. And I’d much rather deal with you than with one of them, so what can I do to help?”
Black looked back into Taggart’s eyes, but this time there was no rage, no threat behind the look. “Listen, Taggart, I’m a criminal. All I know is pullin’ work for my set, and reppin’. But this is my country too, and fuck those invaders, and fuck that traitor, Spyder. That’s why I tried to help people, yo. It was, like, my duty. And it’s why I set up to be Resistance—I was the only one in my turf who could set that up. They’re bleeding my country, man. I didn’t know I even cared, until the ragheads started kickin’ in doors. It put things clear for me. So, I’ll go with the flow. You the man, now, El Jeffe. But if you want my set to do work, I need to be the one in charge of them, not some other esse. So, keep lettin’ me front like I’m the top man, at least as far as the gangsters go. And, you gotta figure out how to let us get some fuckin’ blood-red payback for the shit those pendejos did to my people.”
Taggart paused, then allowed a slow grin to spread across his face. “Black, I respect you now more than ever. I’m reconsidering my decision to put a bullet in your head when this is all over with. Okay, so go tell your boys they get to have their payback. I need to think of a way to use them that won’t fuck up the Op. We need to coordinate.”
Black shook his hand, probably for the benefit of his gangbangers, and strode back toward them with what Taggart thought was a ridiculous swagger. He could only imagine the yarn Black would spin to his men about this.
Then Taggart saw Eagan running toward him from Team Bravo’s position and awaited the report. Afterward, he’d figure out how best to use Black’s team. Maybe Eagan would have an idea.
* * *
Dean Jepson looked up from the tractor and said, “Well, Frank, there’s no way we’ll get this workin’ again. Not without parts we don’t have. But I reckon we can still use the trailer.”
Frank shrugged. “How? The horses don’t have built-in trailer hitches. Maybe you have an idea how to get around that?”
“It turns out I do,” said Dean. “The trailer’s damn light, for being steel. I figure I can hack off this hitch end and work up some leather that’ll act like a pulley, or a suspension. A come-along. If we attach that to a harness, two horses could easily pull it out loaded without hurting themselves. Then just pulling it without a come-along would be easy for a couple of horses. The same kind of rig would work for pulling stumps and rocks, too, and horses can pull a plow if we can beat one into shape somehow. Got a sword?”
Frank grinned. “Now Dean, I know I told you Cassy won’t let us plow. ‘No-plow farming,’ she calls it. Not really a creative name, but not a lot of wiggle room either. And you can’t have my sword, if I had a sword.”
Dean grinned back and shrugged. “Not my call. But I figure we’ll have to plow some of that soil we’re taking over from the neighbors. A lot of it never did see a plow. It’ll be too stony to dig in.”
“Just do as she says. She got this place up and running, right? From what I see, she’s got twice the output of any farm in these parts,with none of the inputs. No fertilizer, no chemicals. Which is kind of handy these days, seeing as there isn’t a lot of that stuff to go around.”
Dean shrugged again. “Yep. Just as you say, Frank.” It was obvious he still felt skeptical but, if Cassy didn’t want plowing, well that was her call. Her house, her rules. Maybe she’d show him something new. It wouldn’t be the first new thing he’d seen in the short time he and Monique had been at the Clan’s farm.
Giggling nearby caught Dean’s attention. He watched as the kids ran around with faces beaming in joy, playing tag. His own son, Tyler, was just about the same age as Cassy’s kid. Tyler and Aidan always did get along, even if their parents didn’t always see eye to eye. The sight warmed him, and a smile crept over his face.
As if reading his mind, Frank said, “I reckon if they can get along, we can too. You know, that idea about the wagon was just like something Jed might’ve said. He was a redneck engineer, that’s what I called it. He could figure out just about anything. Y’all aren’t too different, ’least on the inside. Alright, let’s figure out how to reinforce the stress points we’ll have when we hitch it up.”
Dean nodded and looked to the wagon, but he was thinking more about Monique and Cassy than about the job at hand. Maybe it was time to put that whole mess of women-in-conflict behind him. New world, new start, new friends. He’d have to talk to his wife about that later, when the day’s work was done.
* * *
The shirtless man squatted, peering at the small homestead with so many meals walking around inside it. Over his head, he wore a red t-shirt, tied up like a shemagh over his face. In his right hand he held his necklace, with its ten teeth strung on it—one for every man he’d killed taking over the Locusts. It was a trophy, and a warning, but it wouldn’t help in cracking this farm wide open.
Earlier he’d sent a few troublemakers out to raid it, to earn the right to challenge him for leadership, but half didn’t come back at all, and the other half he called cowards. They tasted pretty damn good, and the stew his people made of their leftovers would last a week.
Still, they’d run out of stew eventually and needed to restock. This farm would do just fine. Not to mention all the glorious real food they had. Not one of his people would rather eat long pig than fruit, nuts, beef, and bread. It was disgusting, eating the locals. But, it was definitely better than starving to death like half the people they found as they scouted the region.
To his second-in-command, a burly man nearly twice his own mass but dumb as rocks, he said, “So, there’s at least two dozen people in there now and a couple more every few days. The house is bulletproof somehow, too. They got some crack shots and a guard tower. How do you figure we should take this place, Ed?”
“I don’t know, Max. You’re the smart one. Shoot them, maybe?”
The shirtless man laughed. “Eventually, but that’s the hard part. But in the meantime, maybe it would be better to go after that new group moving through the area. Those farmers with all those wagons. They’ve beaten two teams of scouts, so far. I don’t mind, of course. Scouts aren’t supposed to try to ambush meat on their own, but they wanted the glory and got the
dirt nap instead. I think I’ll have to gather all the Locusts to get that one done, but half of those farmers won’t have the stones to fight if we offer to let ’em join us. The other half, who fight, we’ll eat or use for entertainment. After that, we ought to have all the people we need to bulldoze right over this farm.”
“You got a bulldozer, Max?”
The man frowned. What an idiot. But, a useful idiot. “We will, in a manner of speaking. Let’s go.”
The two slid away into the forest shadows, and Max noted with satisfaction that the guy on the watchtower hadn’t seen them at all. When the time came, that fresh meat in the tower wouldn’t see it coming. Nor would the rest of the meatbags at that farm. And every liver he ate only made him stronger. Those, he’d order the Locusts to set aside for him.
- 5 -
1000 HOURS - ZERO DAY +22
STANDING IN THE kitchen, Frank paused to think about Chihun before he answered Cassy, but he felt pretty sure of his judgment. “Well, he did every task he was assigned, without complaint and without taking his sweet time about it. Choony also found helpful things to do when he was done, before I gave him another task. If he keeps that up, he’ll be fine by me.”
Michael shook his head. “But Cassy, that’s just what a spy would do. Same with a soldier trying to get in with the locals. He’s Korean, for chrissake.”
Cassy said, “Michael, watch that language. You know Grandma Mandy hates it.”
“Sorry. It’s just a habit. I’m working on it though.”