Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall

by J. J. Holden

  Amidst all that, over the din Jaz heard the staccato CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! of several semi-automatic rifles fired as fast as the shooters’ trigger fingers could pull. Half of the dozen guards dove for the ground and began to low-crawl toward cover, which effectively took them out of the fight for the moment. The other half charged east, rushing toward the source of the shooting.

  “Now! Move it!” said the voice behind her, and Jaz wasted no time. She sprang to her feet and charged after the man, of whom she could see only his back. He was faster than her, but never let himself get out of her sight among the dense overgrowth of the Jungle.

  As they ran, Jaz heard a back-and-forth gunfight going on to the east, behind her. The thought of those rifles being turned on her kept her adrenaline pumping and her feet moving. Through the Jungle they went, sprinting. The man in front of her ran in a straight line, but then suddenly jinked to the right, then back to the original course, and she realized he knew where the traps were. That made her feel a little safer, at least.

  Jaz’s lungs ached and her legs began to burn as the lactic acid built up in her poorly nourished muscles, but her guide didn’t slow. Abruptly they were out of the Jungle and sprinting across the narrow stretch of open ground to the food forest. Jaz stumbled from muscle fatigue a couple of times but somehow kept moving. Then they were in the woods! Still they ran, though slower due to the dense interplanting of trees, bushes, and other plants that made up the food forest.

  And then they were on the other side, just as Jaz felt like her legs couldn’t possibly keep up the pace any longer. Her guide slowed to a brisk walk, and Jaz gratefully slowed as well, her eyes darting all around.

  And then she spotted Choony. Good ol’ Choony, and with a horse no less. Mister Growlyvoice was telling the truth! Go figure. She saw Choony wave to her, and a broad smile blossomed on her face.

  Choony called, “Joe, amazing, thanks! You know where we’re heading, so if you must run from Peter, head our way. Okay, brother?”

  The other man, Joe, grinned and then said, “Yep. I reckon I’ll be fine though. Let’s do this.”

  Jaz watched as Choony first nodded and then slammed the heel of his palm straight up into Joe’s chin. Joe’s head snapped back, and he fell backwards like a tree falling.

  “Let’s get out of here, Jaz,” shouted Choony, and he swung up onto the saddle. Then he reached his arm out for her. She grasped his wrist and jumped upward as Choony swung her back and up. She landed in the saddle behind him as he shouted “Hiya!” and tapped his feet into the horse’s flanks. It bolted, and Choony leaned forward as the pace quickly picked up.

  Jaz felt wind on her face and smelled the fresh air. It totally smelled like freedom. She wanted to yip like she was in a cowboy movie but then asked, “Why’d you knock Joe out?” She had to shout to be heard.

  “Peter had to believe it,” he shouted back over his shoulder. “We’re headed deep into the National Forest. My gear’s there. Wait. When we’re safe, we’ll talk.” Choony’s words traveled back on the wind in fast, staccato bursts.

  Jaz kept her grip tight around Choony’s waist and wondered whether he’d learned to ride a horse as a child or since coming to the Clan. She didn’t bother to ask—questions could wait until they were safer. Instead, she buried her face in his neck and hung on for dear life. But was that joy she felt? She realized she was laughing.

  * * *

  1700 HOURS - ZERO DAY +30

  Peter Ixin knew his face was flushed, but it wouldn’t do to lose his self-control in front of his peons. He rested both hands on his belt and heard the leather squeaking beneath his crushing grip. He forced himself to relax his face into its usual stony mask. “So what you’re telling me, Scout Ellings, is that you didn’t find any trace of Jaz. You looked, with your outstanding tracking skills, and found… What? Nothing. Is that right?”

  Joe Ellings looked at the ground, eyes boring holes into the dirt. He looked pretty frustrated, himself. “No, boss, I found some tracks. They head southerly. First set of tracks must be Jaz’s. The second set started a fair ways away, past the Jungle, and they was horse hooves. Somehow she got herself a horse and rode hell-bent for leather south toward the National Forest.”

  Peter watched his scout carefully. No flinching, but no stubborn pride, either. Good. It seemed likely then that he was telling the truth. The whole, incompetent truth. “Get out of my sight, scout.”

  Then Peter turned toward Jim, who stood nearby. Jim, dysfunctional little psychopath that he was, didn’t bother to hide his anger. Good. His pet got away, and he ought to be pissed. “So, Jim. How is it that you allowed a bound and beaten prisoner to escape in the middle of the day?” Peter forced a smirk to show on his face, the better to piss Jim off.

  “Now, boss, that isn’t fair. You know damn well we were under attack. She got away in the confusion. It’s not my fault. You had a dozen other guards on watch, and they didn’t see her leave either.”

  “True,” Peter said. “But Jaz wasn’t their responsibility. She was yours. What’s more, that attack was a diversion. Not one person got hit when they opened fire. And the soldiers of our so-called army failed to hit anything, either. No blood, nothing. Very few tracks, not enough to know how many there were, where they came from, or where they went.”

  Peter paused long enough to pick at some imaginary bit of food stuck in his teeth. Let Jim stew for a minute and he’d be easier to control… Finally, Peter continued, “So. My property has escaped on your watch. You’re my right hand, but you let yourself get humiliated by that little tease of a woman. You and I both know she loved your ‘questioning’ even if she pretended to hate it, right? Because she’s just a woman, and you’re a hell of a guy. She’d be crazy not to love it. But now she’s gone, and I don’t think I can give you the responsibility of questioning these Clanner women anymore. You’re done, Jim.” God, Peter felt disgust even saying the words. It was too bad Jim was so useful, or he’d have killed the man long ago.

  Peter almost smiled when he saw Jim’s face, full of outrage and near-panic, but Peter hid it well. Jim practically leapt forward, and then said, “Peter, no! You know I’m your guy. I’m loyal, dammit! Just give me a chance. I’ll make this shit right, boss, I swear. Give me three guys and some horses and I’ll ride that bitch down and bring her back. You’ll see, Peter. You gotta give me the chance. Who else is gonna have your back the way I do? Just let me try.”

  Peter watched as Jim nearly lost his self-control. Inwardly, Peter grinned as Jim’s voice cracked while he begged. Good. Begging was good. It showed who was running the show. Maybe he’d been a mid-level whatever in the old world, but here he was a king. “Very well, Jim. She’s been gone maybe fifteen minutes. Get three guys and your horses, and get the hell out of my sight. And Jim? Don’t come back without her. You get me?”

  Yep. Peter knew that a little added motivation would do Jim a lot of good. Don’t let the minions get lazy, that’s what his dad had always said, and it was even more true now. Only order kept the chaos at bay. And Peter knew just how to get the best out of a tool like Jim so order could be restored—at any cost.

  * * *

  1830 HOURS - ZERO DAY +30

  Choony guided the horse into the forest depths, far away from the tree line. Although the woods had more foliage to mark their passing, it also reduced line of sight to a few dozen meters or so. Moreover, there would be other animals in these woods making their own tracks, which Choony supposed could only help his cause by confusing whoever Peter sent after them. He was under no illusions—Peter would definitely send people after them. A man like that could not abide the embarrassment of losing a prisoner.

  But the best part about moving through the forest, instead of along it, was that his horse had to carry two people while their pursuers would likely each have a mount. It made sense, then, to get into an environment where his own horse could keep a top speed that matched theirs, and which his own horse could sustain for a long time. Charging at full
speed across open ground would have quickly driven his mount into the ground, as loaded up as the animal was.

  As the pace slowed within the woods, he felt Jaz’s grip relax a bit. Not that he minded having Jaz clutch onto him, but it was getting painful in his ribs. He took a deep breath. “You alright back there, Jaz?”

  “Yes, I’m good. I totally can’t believe you pulled this off. Who was that dude that helped me?”

  Choony guided the horse around a large tree and tried to keep heading roughly southeast. “He’s one of the White Stag people, but it seems they’re not all fans of Peter. It seems Peter’s rise to power didn’t happen without some bloodshed, and most of the White Stag people were just farmers and farmhands before the EMPs.”

  “They can go screw themselves,” Jaz said, and Choony heard iron in her voice.

  “Remember, Jaz, they don’t care for Peter or Jim. It seems they’re mostly decent people in a very bad situation.”

  “Maybe, but I do wonder if their sniper ended up killing Jim. And one of them did help me get out, so I guess not everyone there’s a complete tool.”

  It was good that she could see that, Choony mused. Even if she didn’t like it. Dehumanizing others was the sort of thing that led to people like Peter, and he’d hate to see sweet Jaz go down that dark path. It was how wars got started and how people in different groups began to hate each other. The results at the end of that path were always ugly.

  “Your harmony is improved by realizing they aren’t all monsters, Jaz. No, they didn’t turn on him, but only because they value their lives more than their morals. Most people do. You certainly didn’t shoot Michael for what he did to Peter’s scout, and your life wasn’t even in danger from him. These people fear Peter. Dwell on this while we ride. We’ll be going well into the night, so if you must sleep, hook your hands into my belt so you don’t fall off.”

  Jaz didn’t reply, and Choony rode on. He was both glad she must be considering his words and uncomfortable at the pleasant feeling of her behind him as they both moved to the horse’s gait. Worldly distractions, he told himself more than once over the next few hours. This was not the time for such thoughts.

  * * *

  2100 HOURS - ZERO DAY +30

  Taggart nodded and said, “I understand,” for perhaps the tenth time. He stood with Mr. Black—Angel—a bit away from the others, who were cleaning their weapons and tending their wounds after the raid. And what a raid it was! Too bad this P-O-S, Black, wasn’t happy with the results, but he knew that was going to happen.

  “So you see,” said Mr. Black, “I know you putos put me an’ my crew in the hard spot, fool. I don’t like you using my people like that.”

  “Listen, Black. I had no idea that tunnel through the rubble wall would be so well defended. You’re the local with the local contacts, remember? You should have known, and told me. We could have adjusted our operational parameters to reflect the new intelligence.”

  “Don’t think you can spout that military shit and I won’t know what you’re saying, holmes. This ain’t my fault. You got ten of my peeps killed. Those were people I knew, fool. People I grew up with.”

  “I understand,” Taggart said again. “But it wasn’t intentional. I—and by extension, the U.S. Army—both appreciate and value our civilian partisan assets. You’re a part of Team U.S.A., Black. I would never misallocate my forces for personal gain. You should have had prior warning from your own intel; I did not. I had to rely on what you told me.”

  Like hell, Taggart thought. This little maggot was always getting in the way of the mission, and he was a loose cannon. With all Taggart’s new soldiers recently, including the Militia people, it had become expedient to reduce his risk exposure from Black. He sure as shit did send that trash, Black, through the kill zone. Defended tunnels were choke points, and deadly. But it hadn’t worked out quite as planned.

  Taggart continued, “However, I congratulate you on quick thinking in service to the American cause. It was a sign of good leadership that you recognized the squad of Spyder’s men and could claim a higher loyalty from them. Convincing them to defect mid-battle was a primary factor in the success of our little mission to frame the Islamists for attacking their traitorous allies, Spyder and his men.”

  Capt. Taggart watched as his words were deciphered by the gang leader. He’d just said that Black was instrumental in having such an overwhelming success with the mission—which was true—and reminded him of all the new gangbangers he now had under his command. Also true. Dammit.

  “Yeah… Yeah, puto. That’s right, G.I. Joe. You need us, we don’t need you. Remember that, fool. And I got more people than you, now. This is our ’hood. We know the place, every corner and tunnel. Fuck with me or my people like that again, fool, and you ain’t making it back from the next mission. We clear, bitch?”

  Taggart let out a long breath. This was not going to work out. It would soon be necessary to part ways with Black and his gang, one way or another. Very soon. “It wasn’t intentional, but yes. Crystal clear, Black. I understand you perfectly.”

  But Black had huffed and turned away before Taggart replied, so he never saw Taggart’s half-hooded eyes or marked the cold, almost venomous anger on his face.

  - 14 -

  2200 HOURS - ZERO DAY +30

  FRANK LOOKED AROUND at the other assembled Clanners, surrounded by what looked to be almost all of Peter’s people. They were armed and very quiet, which set Frank on edge. This wasn’t a good sign. He had a feeling something bad was about to happen. He spotted Michael nearby and began slowly scooting toward him. Not that Michael could do anything if something bad happened. Still, he’d feel better being near the Clan’s ace defender.

  Peter strutted back and forth in front of the Clanners, looking puffed up and cocky, the bastard. “It appears that one of you Clanner pieces of shit managed to escape today. Now, I’ve tried to be nice to you people. I’ve given you productive work to do, so that all of us—White Stag and Clan alike—will have enough to eat for the winter and into spring. And I’ve given you all food, even though rations are low. But despite my kindness, one of you has fled your responsibility, no, your duty, to care for one another.”

  Peter paused, feet apart and shoulder width, left elbow resting in his upturned right hand, left hand stroking his chin. It was, Frank thought, a rather melodramatic pose, and ridiculous. Peter must have sensed his audience starting to drift because he broke his “camera opp” pose and continued: “I would normally punish all the Clan for allowing this to happen. But instead, I think I will allow one of you to suffer the consequences for all of you. That’s a kindness you don’t deserve, but we are all in this together despite your treachery. I hope eventually you’ll learn that.”

  Then, pointing at one of his White Stag guards, he ordered, “You—fetch me Cassy. I’m tired of her eagerness to make everyone starve rather than reveal the location of the food storage. Tired of her stubborn refusal to answer my simplest questions. You all can rest easy tonight, knowing that in the end, she redeemed herself through personal sacrifice.” The guard started to leave, but Peter called, “And guard? Get me a machete.”

  Frank finally managed to squirm in next to Michael just as Peter finished his speech, and grunted a welcome.

  Michael nodded and muttered, “So are we gonna let him do this to Cassy?”

  Frank frowned. “What can we do? If we try anything we’ll be mowed down. You hear how quiet his people are? They’re tense. It’s bad, man. It feels really bad.”

  Michael said, “At least Jaz escaped. Someone has to live through this. Remember when help was a three-digit phone call away?”

  Frank said nothing. A reply wasn’t needed. Then Peter smiled, and Frank followed his gaze. The guard had returned with Cassy, still chained about the neck, and carried a black machete in his left hand. He handed both chain and blade to Peter, who smiled down at Cassy like the sick bastard he was.

  “Hear this, Clan,” Peter said with a grin tha
t got nowhere near is eyes, with his chest puffed out as if he had too much personal power to contain it all without making extra room. “Your leader means less to me than you do. She has failed to tell me where the food is stored, though that would have given all of us full rations. She has failed to tell me where the gear is stored, so that all our lives could be made a little easier. And now one of you fled. On foot. Cassy was there, yet she did nothing to stop the escape or alert my guards. The guards are here for your protection and ours. They needed to know. Should the sentence be death?”

  Peter walked up and down the line of sitting Clanners, staring at each in turn, as he led Cassy on the chain like a leash. No one spoke up, and Peter’s grin grew.

  “None of you want her to die? Not one?”

  Still there was silence.

  “The alternative is easy. I can show Cassy some mercy. I can spare her life, despite her treachery. But it’s up to you, because she’s one of you. And the choice is simple. One of you only needs to volunteer to take Jaz’s place beside her. One of your so-called leaders. You take Jaz’s place and end up like Cassy here, taking her extra punishment onto yourself, or she dies. Anyone brave enough or loyal enough to do that? Are you all cowards and vipers? There’s got to be one who would step up to spare Cassy.” Peter pointed the machete at the crowd, sweeping it back and forth at them all.

  No one spoke up and even Frank was stunned into silence. He didn’t have the right words to describe how he felt about Peter at that moment.

  Peter laughed out loud, a forced sound, like a polite laugh at a badly told joke. No one mistook it for humor. “Very well. Since none of you want to take Jaz’s place, Cassy’s sentence is death. You Clanners will get what you asked for. Hey Cassy, how does it feel to know that no one here will step up for you to save your life?”