by J. J. Holden
His eyes came back into focus, and he looked up at Michael. “Listen, Michael, I think Ethan’s in the bunker and staying out of sight, like Choony did until he got Jaz away. Now if we could get Jaz one of the radios the Stag took from us, Ethan still has cameras all over camp. He could coordinate us without anyone being any the wiser. We could get ready to spring something, or at least disrupt the hell out of Peter’s plans at a moment’s notice. But we need a way to communicate on our side. Look—talk to the sympathizers about getting us two radios—and figure out how to get someone out of here with one to give to Jaz. It’s not much, but it’s something to tip the odds a bit.”
Mary smiled and squeezed his hand again. “God, I love you, Frank. That’s a great idea.”
Frank turned back to Michael and saw him grinning. He stepped in then where Mary had stopped. “Frank, you’re a genius. It could make all the difference. I’ll work on it. Worst case, it gives our Clanners the hope they need to keep going.”
* * *
1700 HOURS - ZERO DAY +31
Peter nodded approvingly at Joe Ellings. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Take two scouts, and all three of you stay apart but keep eyes on each other. Ride north to the national forest, and find some tracks. I want to know how many, where, are they on foot, where are they headed, any input you can think of. If you can, get a firm location for me. If we can find their camp, we’ll end this right now. We might even get the Oriental and the girl back.”
Peter kept his face carefully neutral, but studied Joe’s face intently. If anyone was going to turn traitor, this crisis would be the time to do it, and Peter didn’t know who he could trust. But he had an ace up his sleeve. “Leave your brother here though. He’s got good eyes, and I want him in the tower. He’s smart, and he’ll keep an eye on shit.” And Peter could keep an eye on him, too. Nothing like a hostage to make people loyal. For a moment, he thought he saw disappointment on Joe’s face, but he couldn’t be sure. If that’s what it was, Joe quickly squashed it. Anyway, Joe always liked to have his brother by him so if he was a little disappointed it didn’t mean he was plotting. They worked as a team, is all, Peter told himself. So why did seem spooked? Peter was taking no damn chances.
Joe shrugged and broke into Peter’s thoughts. “You got it, boss.” Joe gave Jim a quick glance before continuing: “Should we take Jim with us? He knows where he first saw ’em, and that’s the best place to pick up their trail.”
Was that a hopeful look? Again, Peter couldn’t be sure. He usually read people better than that, and it bothered him. Well, if it was hopeful, it made no sense. No one liked Jim, not even Peter. He was just useful. “You want to take Jim?” Peter asked, his eyes narrowing as he watched Joe’s reaction.
Joe didn’t show anything though. “Well, I reckon he can bloodhound us to their trail. Once we find it, we can send him back if you want—we have good scouts, we just need a place to start.”
That did make sense. Okay, so Joe was probably loyal. A little paranoia was healthy for a leader, but no need to see an enemy where there wasn’t one. But no way would he send Jim off unsupervised with scouts right now. Too much temptation to get rid of the cunning little viper, especially with such a ready-made excuse. Maybe that was Joe’s plan…
“Nope, I need Jim right here. With him and your brother partnering to keep watch, nobody’s gonna sneak in or out. Plus, they’re two of our best shots. I need that team in the tower. We’re doubling the watch, remember? I can’t afford to send Jim off on a goose chase. Get your two scouts, make ’em good trackers, and go. If you don’t find a trail by noon tomorrow, get back here pronto. We’ll need your guns in the pits if they try a surprise attack. I don’t think they’ll do it tonight. Tomorrow night, maybe. Right now Jaz is spilling her traitor guts.”
Jim made a face and spoke up for the first time. “Bitches can’t ever keep their mouths shut when you need ’em to, and then they bitch about it when you do want ’em to talk.”
Jim sounded like he was working himself up to one of his little private parties. For a moment, Peter lost his composure at the thought, but he quickly hid it and snapped his gaze over to Joe to see if he’d caught it. A leader shouldn’t show his feelings like that. But Joe was looking at his shoes, no doubt disgusted. So he probably hadn’t seen Peter’s slip. A good leader stood behind his men, and Jim was without a doubt Peter’s creature. “Better get going, Joe.”
Peter watched Joe scurry off to obey. Peter couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Joe couldn’t be trusted, and he couldn’t put his finger on why. But it didn’t really matter. As long as he had Joe’s brother under his thumb, that redneck would stay as loyal as Peter needed him to be, problem taken care of. That was the good thing about farmers—they understood the value of family, and it made them easy to control. Peter once again had cause to thank God he didn’t have any family of his own, not since his asshole daddy beat on him that last time. He smiled. It had been just before Peter left while his daddy lay bleeding out under his own truck’s wheels. Family only made people weak. Peter knew that from personal experience.
* * *
After draining his bladder into the “cathole” the Marines had dug for him, Choony hobbled back to the rock they’d set up for him to sit on. Every slow step was a misery that made his face and head throb. His eye was so swollen he could see the side of his own head. Choony sat with a thump and almost fell off the rock as dizziness washed over him again. A concussion, the Marines had told him. They tried to make it seem like some minor injury, but he saw how they glanced at one another every time he flopped over from dizziness. Now they only let him stand if he had to use the luxurious facilities they’d dug. They showed a gentleness for him that he had almost forgotten existed in this new world. Good men, even if hard, he reflected as his eyelids began to droop.
Jaz set her hand on his shoulder lightly in a comradely gesture, and it sent a jolt up Choony’s spine. Beaten and battered as she was, Jaz could still take one’s breath away, she was that beautiful. And where once he had seen only a damaged, ignorant street girl, he now understood that this was a mask. Inside, she was made of steel, though she might not even realize it herself. A survivor. And she was smart as a whip. Education and intelligence were not the same thing, he reminded himself. The lesson came home to him time and again just from watching Jaz walk through this brutal, magnificent world. It humbled him, which was always good.
“So, like, how’s your head?” she asked, with a tentative smile. He smiled back, struck by how quickly the street in her speech had brought him back to earth from what he recognized as a drifting kind of internal chick flick, gushing all unicorns and rainbows. He blinked. He had to stop this drifting, stay alert. But Jaz would surely stun the Buddha Himself, he thought, as she continued happily, “Your eye isn’t all the way shut now, so that’s totally a good thing, right?”
Choony nodded, wincing at the motion. What an amazing universe, he thought. “The Three Jewels watched over me as I had asked, Jaz. It could be much worse. I’ll live, if I make it through the next seventy-two hours or so. If I wake up in the morning, then my odds go up tremendously. It will be seventy-two hours more than I had any right to expect, actually. Thank you for your kindness and your help though. You don’t know how much I appreciate you bringing me food and everything. I can sit up now, but standing erect is still…problematic.”
Jaz giggled, and Choony was struck by how her face lit up. He wasn’t sure what he’d said that she found funny, but he was glad that she did, and he smiled back. “Don’t worry, Choony,” she said with a wink, “every guy has that problem at least once in their lives.”
“Statistically, concussions are rare, Jaz. Still, thanks for the encouragement.”
Jaz giggled again, but before he could ask why she was laughing, she got up and, with a backward wave and a smile, headed over toward the “food rock.” It was what they called the large, mostly flat stone where they’d laid out their meager supplies. For lunch, they’d finis
hed off the dead scouts’ foodstores. Choony knew it had been a three-day supply, enough to provide a light meal for the Marines and their Clan rescues.
Suddenly, a Marine burst through the foliage and ran up to the one with the two silver bars decorating his collar, and Choony turned his head at the noise. He immediately regretted the sudden motion and had to lean forward to rest his head in his hands to avoid falling over. The world spun around him, making him dizzy.
“Sir,” Choony overheard, “we spotted three riders leading their horses through the woods. It looks like a search pattern, sir.”
“From the farm?” asked the captain. He hadn’t jumped when the other Marine came sprinting into the camp.
“Sir, unknown. They’re following the elephant path left by the one who got away though.”
“Possible coincidence, but that seems unlikely. Very well.” The captain then shouted, “Marines! Grab your gear and ammo-check yourselves. Do it now, move!”
The result amazed Choony. Every man and woman in the unit seemed to be suddenly moving at blinding speed, all at once. No hesitation. They were like a machine, each of them going through the same motions at the same time. In under a minute, all twelve were armed, ready, and assembled. Eleven of them faced the captain. This, thought Choony, was discipline. Under the circumstances, it was a very welcome sight.
* * *
1830 HOURS - ZERO DAY +31
In under an hour, the Marines had returned to camp, but with two others Choony didn’t recognize. Jaz seemed to recognize them, though; she stared at them with open hatred. The two had been blindfolded and gagged with what looked like strips of a torn t-shirt, and their hands were somehow restrained behind their backs. The Marines shoved them roughly to the ground. Choony saw that one bled from his arm as they struggled back into a sitting position.
“Miss,” the captain said to Jaz, “do you recognize these two?” Everything went silent, and Choony already knew the answer from Jaz’s expression.
“Yes. They’re from the White Stag bastards at our farm,” she answered. “They turned us all into slaves.” The steel in her voice made Choony flinch. Such anger from one so young. She clung too tightly to the past, which could never be undone but could be left behind where it belonged. Buddha help her…
One of the Marines let out a sharp, sudden shout that to Choony sounded like a dog bark. The other Marines then made the same sound, several times. When they all barked that way, it became a rather scary noise, Choony decided.
The captain nodded. “Line them up against those trees. Murphy, White, front and center.”
Two Marines grinned and stepped toward the captain while others snatched the two prisoners to their feet and shoved them at barrel-point over to stand in front of two of the nearby trees.
Choony struggled to his feet. This was wrong. All wrong. It would be murder. “Captain, you can’t just—”
“As you were, civilian,” the captain shouted, interrupting Choony. It was a hard, sudden shout, and Choony found himself involuntarily taking a step back. “Understand that this is a military unit, and we—and you—are all under the jurisdiction of military law. Banditry is a capital offense.”
The captain motioned to the two who had prodded the prisoners into place. “Remove their gags,” he said. “You may each make your peace with God now or make a final statement.” He glanced to Choony. “It’s the best I can do for them under the circumstances.”
Choony turned wordlessly back toward the prisoners. In his mind he urged them to say something that might spare their lives. Anything. He pushed out with his will, as if by effort alone he could change the reality of the situation.
The first—a thin, blond man with shoulder-length hair—began to cry. Sobbing, really. “Look, mister, we ain’t done anything wrong, I swear it! We got a crazy leader, and he’d kill us if we don’t do as he says. I don’t got no bad feelings for them Clanners.”
The captain nodded at the man’s guard, who shoved the gag back into his mouth. “Guilty,” said the captain. “What about you, mister? Last words?”
The other man was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “Sir, my name’s Joe, and I done as you said. We bandited those Clan people and took their farm. We stood by while the Devil’s crew did them harm, more scared for us than for them people. I reckon I deserve what you’re about to do. But not all us White Stag people are like that jackass, Peter. Sir, some of us been trying to help them Clan people as best we can without getting ourselves murdered. That don’t wash the stink off me though. Do what you will.”
Something about the man puzzled Choony, but he saw the gag shoved back into the second man’s mouth, and the two guards stepped well aside. The two who had been called up by the captain, whose names Choony couldn’t remember through his fog, raised their rifles and waited for the captain’s command. Choony clenched his eyes tightly. He had no interest in witnessing the murder of helpless people, even bad ones.
To his surprise, though, he heard Jaz shout at the top of her lungs, voice shrill with panic, “Wait! Don’t shoot!” Choony opened his eyes and looked at Jaz. She was practically hopping up and down. “I know this one’s voice,” she yelled.
The captain made a motion with his hand, extending it and lowering it, and the two shooters lowered their rifles. “What’s your point, miss? Make it quick.” There was no sympathy in his voice.
“When I got set free, one of them helped me. He risked a lot. I know his voice. This is the one who freed me. He’s telling the truth, dammit, so you can’t just shoot him. He’s on our side, he’s been helping us for God’s sake!” Jaz was frantic.
The captain glanced at Choony, then back at Jaz. “Well, this is a new development… Very well. Marines, get that man over here for interrogation. For the other prisoner, you have your orders.”
The captain turned away from the scene and strode toward the main encampment, and if he flinched when the execution squad fired, Choony didn’t see it.
Choony muttered a mantra for the dead man, the best he could do for him, and wobbled uncertainly toward the remaining prisoner, who was being tethered to a tree. He doubted this captain would use much restraint during “questioning.”
Unable to see properly, he wondered if this was the man who had handed him a flashlight when he tried to raid the storeroom in the total dark. The man who asked to be knocked out so he could return safely to the farm and help other Clanners. Choony couldn’t remember clearly. His mind felt detached but he had to look closer, to find out, to… he wasn’t sure, couldn’t think, and then he felt himself caught by one of the Marines. He must have wobbled too much, he thought, as the Marine lowered him gently to the grass and stepped back, murmuring, “You have to take it easy, sir. You’re hurt. Moving around ain’t good, it can hurt you more.” Choony blinked again. He had to stop this drifting, he thought, as Jaz sat down and held his arm to steady him. He had to be here. Had to be present, not drifting somewhere, and he wondered if it was getting dark early today or if he was just passing out.
- 16 -
1830 HOURS - ZERO DAY +31
ETHAN CONFIGURED THE file and re-encrypted it. He’d added multiple bits of intel that had been filtering in lately online via HAMnet and from Watcher One, whom Ethan was now positive was a member of the 20s and probably his handler. While the encryption program ran, Ethan gazed at the maps on the bunker wall next to his workstation. Large yellow circles now showed confirmed EMP-blacked-out areas, which covered virtually all of America, Canada, northern Mexico, and the North Atlantic. Hawaii was also blacked out, which was new information but not unexpected.
Red pins with flags showed different invader unit headquarters. Pink pins showed suspected units. These pins were thick throughout the eastern seaboard, the west coast, and southern Alaska. Hawaii, too. But, there were also now a lot of blue pins of different shades, representing known U.S. military and partisan units. Every day it seemed he had to add more blue pins, and remove a red or pink pin or two.
&nb
sp; That sounded promising, but Ethan, an expert at online military games, knew better—the invader troop movements showed they were reacting to American units effectively, and if they hadn’t crushed resistance by midwinter they surely would when spring rolled around. There were too many, and they operated in a well-coordinated way. The Americans, unfortunately, relied at least in part on Ethan’s intel, and disseminating that information took a long time. Much of it was passed on by word of mouth to units without HAMnet access—which came to at least half of ’em.
Ethan kept his spirits up by thinking about Operation Backdraft though. The details were hazy, but he’d pieced together enough to know that it would totally screw up the bastards’ communications net, and therefore, their ability to coordinate their efforts or react quickly to new threats. It would be a game changer, if it happened as planned. D-day hadn’t been announced, but the chatter he’d intercepted from Colorado Springs suggested it could happen at any time. Which was awesome, but it made waiting a difficult exercise in frustration and patience.
Amber’s voice snapped him out of his musings. “Your computer is almost done. Can you click on the thing before it makes that damn dinging noise when it finishes?”
Ethan turned and saw her leaning over his chair to peer at the computer to his left. She was right, of course; she’d seen the cycle before. There wasn’t much to do down here beyond going through his intel notes for the Nth time. When not working, all he could think about was how hard he was falling for Amber, though he kept his mouth shut about his feelings. It was neither the time nor the place. Time enough for emotional vulnerability later, when and if this whole Peter nightmare ended. First, they had to survive the crisis at hand.