by J. J. Holden
* * *
0900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +32
Cassy forced a smile through cracked and scabbed-over lips. Grandma Mandy had hobbled up to her, as she did every day for as long as the guards would let her. Usually only a few minutes, but lately they’d been letting her stay longer. Probably because Mandy looked like hell. Cassy’s eyes roved over her mom, noting every feature. It could be the last time they spoke, after all—her mom looked that bad.
“Good morning, darling daughter,” Mandy said. “How are you finding the accommodations?” She chuckled, but it sounded so very feeble that Cassy winced.
Cassy leaned against the post to which she remained chained and tried not to be embarrassed by the terrible smell of her own urine and feces. Toilet visits for Cassy weren’t on Peter’s agenda. And yet Mandy made no mention of it, ever, and never wrinkled her nose. She was surely the best mom on the planet.
“I’m fine, Mom. They haven’t questioned me today so far, so I think I’m not even bleeding anywhere at the moment.” She peered at her mom still, through the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “You need insulin. Let me tell someone where the… Where they can find more for you.” She didn’t want to mention the bunker by name, just in case they were overheard. “If you don’t let me, that’s like suicide, and last I heard God hates suicide. Please, I’m begging you.”
Mandy cut her off with an upraised hand. “No. Stop asking. I didn’t come here to argue with you, honey. I come to talk to my daughter while I can. If you tell people where it is, then Peter could find out. Ethan’s doing something more important than me.”
Cassy’s gut churned. Her mom could die while a huge stock of medicine sat only a few hundred yards away. She liked Ethan, but this was her mom after all. “Mom, we need you. Brianna and Aidan need you more than they ever have before. What will they do without you to look out for them? You have to let me do this!”
“Jumping crackers,” Mandy exclaimed. It was her version of swearing and Cassy usually found it irritating, but not these days. Mandy said, “God has a plan for me, honey. If that plan is for me to come sit by His side in Heaven, I’m okay with that. But I think He has more in store for me than that. Be patient and have faith. God’s will be done, whether we like it or not. I won’t have Ethan’s death on my conscience when I die. Cassy, I love you, but if you risk Ethan—maybe America—just for one person’s life, even mine, then I’ll never forgive you. Do you understand me?”
Cassy certainly did understand. Mom had never said anything like that to her before. She’d never threatened to turn her back on her daughter, not once. Not even when Brianna came out looking nothing like Cassy’s husband, nor when Cassy then confessed to that one infidelity at a business conference in Vegas. In fact, Mandy had been Cassy’s biggest supporter and had paid for marriage counseling out of her own limited income. Mandy’s church friends had shunned her for supporting Cassy once word got out, but Mandy never wavered, not once. And now she was threatening to turn her back. Cassy realized her mouth was hanging open and hastily took back control of herself.
“Yes. I get it. I do. I promise I won’t send anyone to get more insulin without your permission. But I love you, Mom, and I don’t want to see you go.”
Mandy placed a hand on Cassy’s filthy knee. “I love you too, sweetie. Thank you for understanding. I suppose I should go help with cleanup. Breakfast is about over…”
“Mom, I don’t know how much time you have left. Considering where I am, I’m not sure how much time I have left, either. They’ll kill me eventually, if God doesn’t save us all first. Can we just sit here awhile?”
Mandy nodded, quickly enough that Cassy knew her end must be nearer than she let on. They chatted together for a long time, talking about old times, the births of the kids, Grandpa, Disney World. All the things that made the old world so much better than the new one. Cassy hoped it wouldn’t be the last time they got to sit like that.
* * *
1100 HOURS - ZERO DAY +32
The guards had gathered the Clan together before lunch, and Peter walked out of the house to talk to them. He had his well-practiced grim look on his face as he approached the crowd, who turned to look at him. “Well, here we all are. Another day, another problem.” Peter changed his expression to one of pain or grief, also clearly practiced in front of a mirror. Nothing ever really looked spontaneous about him, except acts of violence. “And it’s a big problem this time, friends. As you know, I’ve taken it on myself to protect you all, to keep White Stag and Clan both safe from the chaos that’s right outside our door. But, despite my generosity, you still refuse to tell me where the food and other gear are stored.”
Peter paused to let that sink in and watched their dread grow. By now the Clan knew that whenever he talked to them like a sorrowful uncle, something horrific was about to happen. As the Clan’s faces grew apprehensive, Peter suppressed a smile. It would ruin the effect. Instead, he turned sideways to them, bowed his head, and pressed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger and then let out a long, frustrated sigh.
“Well, I’ve done some calculations. It seems that if we continue on half-rations as we have been, we won’t have enough to last the final couple weeks until something is ready for harvest or we can hunt up more meat. But, if we go to quarter rations, no one will be strong enough to last the cold winter, much less sow and harvest. To protect my flock, a couple sheep need to be thrown to the wolves. But I’m not totally heartless, my friends.”
Peter gazed over the crowd and embraced the rage he felt at those ungrateful, uncooperative little shits. He kept his face a mask of pained determination—or what he thought showed that—and enjoyed the feeling of impending doom a moment longer. Then he said, “So, I’ll let you decide. My guards will split you into five groups of seven, and each group will have a mix of ages from thirteen on up. Then, each group will select one from among them to make the ultimate sacrifice so the rest of you may live. Unfortunately, I can’t allow you to refuse a decision, so any group that declines to make this hard decision will be taken in lieu of all the other groups’ choice. I’m sure they’ll thank you for your noble sacrifice. That is all. Guards, split them up, right now. Give them an hour to choose and then come get me. Oh, and if they share where the stockpile is, let me know—we can stop this whole mess. Then when we’re done, whoever’s left will get lunch.”
Peter turned on his heels and strode into the house. Let the bastards sweat it out. If they give up the stockpile, his plan would work. If they didn’t, then the group would get rid of the least useful members among them, which would suit Peter just as well. Either way, his own people would eat just fine this winter.
Jim stayed right on his heels and closed the door before speaking. “Boss, are you sure this is a great idea? I mean, why don’t we just kill off Cassy, her mom, and those three Marines? And someone did kill one of our guards on the north post. What happened there? I think our Marine guests did it.”
Peter smiled. “Listen, Jim. Cassy is the only one who knows where the stockpile is. She’s also the only one who knows a lot about this ‘permaculture’ thing she has going on at this farm, and we need her knowledge. This farm outproduces anything I’ve seen with the usual farming methods. And those three Marines, they work harder than any six other Clan people combined.”
“But they’re dangerous, boss.”
“Of course they are, but until spring planting is done, we need them. And about the guy we lost, I suspect he had some personal beef with one of our own people. He was kind of an asshole, you know. Remember—the simplest answer is usually the right one.”
Jim grinned. “You’re the boss for a reason. But hey, when it’s time to pop those Marines, can I do it? I always wanted to kill some of those cocky asshats.”
Peter laughed out loud at that, the first real laugh he’d had in a while. “Sure, Jimbo. They’re all yours when the time comes. Cassy too. You deserve some payback for what she did to you.”
* * *
1230 HOURS - ZERO DAY +32
Jaz and one of the Marines, Cpl. Reed, belly-crawled toward “Clanholme,” approaching from the more distant eastern pond. It wasn’t as well guarded as the other ponds when Jaz ran away, and it offered a good, if distant, view of most of the homestead.
“So, like, do we just swim the pond?” Jaz asked as they reached the muddy edge.
The other woman nodded. “Aff. Take off your blouse and shorts. They slow you down and make noise. Once we get across, follow my lead. We are only here to scout, remember. Our orders are to get eyes-on and report the situation so we have operational intel about the enemy.”
Jaz followed instructions, stripping to her bra and panties, and the two women inched into the water, careful to make no splashing noises. It was slow going, but some five minutes later they were across the pond, face-first in the mud of the far shore.
Reed carried a small pair of sporting binoculars on a lanyard around her neck and used it to scan the encampment. She pursed her lips and let out a short, sharp breath, then handed the binoculars to Jaz.
Jaz felt a knot in her stomach but made herself look anyway. She immediately wished she hadn’t. In the courtyard by the outdoor kitchen, it seemed every one of the Clan and White Stag people was gathered. The Clan was clustered in the middle, surrounded by armed guards. Peter stood before them all, strutting and talking. Behind him were five of the Clan, facing away from the crowd, on their knees, with hands bound behind their backs. There were two teen boys, one adult woman who looked very frail, and two of the oldest Clanners. She searched, but it didn’t look like Grandma Mandy was among them.
Then Peter drew a pistol from his belt and turned to face the kneeling five. He put the pistol to the back of one of the teens’ heads, and Jaz looked away. Without a word, Jaz handed the binoculars back to Cpl. Reed. “Let’s go.”
Jaz turned away and slithered on her belly toward the water, but Reed wasn’t behind her. Jaz glanced back and saw the Marine peering through the binoculars. Jaz shook her head and kept going. As she made her way across the pond with a slow dog paddle, she heard the slow, steady boom of a pistol going off every few seconds. Jaz clenched her jaw and reached the other side. And she made a decision. When the time came, she was totally going to kill every last damn one of those White Stag bastards.
In the back of her mind, she wondered why she wasn’t crying about all this, but she shoved the thought away. Grief wasn’t useful right now. She needed her “streeter” now, not the softer Clanner she’d learned to become. And that carried its own grief.
- 18 -
1230 HOURS - ZERO DAY +32
ETHAN WATCHED THE cameras in horror as Peter sorted the Clan into groups. His stomach lurched as Peter the dictator had one person from each group bound and shoved to their knees before the assembled Clan. Beside him, Amber gasped, and he could hear the faint sniffles of her crying, though she wasn’t sobbing. They’d been through too much for sobbing anymore, Ethan thought somberly.
Movement on another camera caught his eye. The eastern pond camera triggered only when there was movement, so it was hard to miss the screen lighting up. “Whoa. Is that Jaz?”
Amber gripped his shoulder tightly. “I think so.”
“Who’s she with?”
“Looks like a soldier. A woman. Did one of ours escape?”
“No, and she’s certainly not Sturm,” Ethan said. “Look, it’s someone new. They’re scouting the settlement. God, I hope they have a plan to stop what’s about to happen. Jaz must have hooked up with the unit I sent her way, some Marine reservists.”
“Where’s the rest of ’em?”
Ethan scanned the panel of screens and flicked through the even longer list of cameras, but nothing else was amiss. So, just scouting. They could do nothing to help the Clan, not yet, not in time. Now his worry was that Jaz would do something stupid once she figured out what was going on at the farm. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding—Jaz turned around and was leaving. The other woman stayed behind for a while—long enough to witness what came next—and then she too turned and both left to the south after crossing the pond again.
He didn’t watch the executions; too painful. Instead he focused on flicking through cameras, trying to again catch sight of Jaz, but she was out of view. “Dammit. I lost her.”
Amber said, “Why are you trying to find her again? She got away, right?”
“I was hoping to see where she went, but yeah. Their camp must be way outside my camera range. If I could see the unit and maybe see how many there are and where they are, I could…I don’t know, try to get in touch with them and coordinate.” Maybe it was a silly idea, but Ethan wanted to feel like he was doing something, because after what just happened, he felt pretty damn helpless. “I gotta do something, Amber.”
“Why don’t you hack that satellite again?” Amber replied without conviction. It was obvious she was as messed up over the executions as he was. “Maybe it’s got a camera in addition to all the communication stuff.”
Ethan jumped from his seat and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her cheek. She looked pretty surprised, but he didn’t care. “Genius. Not that comms bird, but I can get into another one that does have cameras. It’s an older satellite, but it’ll work for this. I’m not supposed to know about it, but I have my ways.”
Ethan sat back down and kept busy for the next half hour trying one data tunnel after another. Most would be fried, he knew, but something would be up… Bingo. There it was. He focused on getting access through the backdoor he’d learned of, but it was slow going. A lot had changed since it was put in, but nothing a Virtual Machine running on networked computers couldn’t handle—he only had to get backwards compatibility. He didn’t know how long it took, but eventually he got in.
He found the general area of the farm through trial and error and then began the laborious process of defining a grid and sequentially checking each “square.” Normally, he’d have had to upload a rider program to leech the signal and passively check, but he doubted anyone on the ground was monitoring for hackers on old satellites these days.
It took longer than he would have liked, but eventually he found what he was looking for. Well to the north of the farm he spotted two riders, one in military garb, heading into the wild woods. He tracked them to an area well inside the woodlands and simply observed for the next half hour. He counted fourteen people, twelve in uniform. The other two were almost certainly Jaz and Choony.
Ethan turned to Amber and said, “I count twelve soldiers. Not as many as I expected from an entire company, but beggars can’t be choosers. So, it’s confirmation. Now we need to get in touch with them. I’ll radio Joe on our channel when the camera shows he’s clear, and tell him to bring another secure radio with him and to scout to the north. He can drop the radio when no one is looking, and when I have the coordinates, I can send a coded message to the Marines to go pick it up. We need to be able to talk directly to them if we’re going to coordinate and share information.”
Amber frowned. “Alright, then. I guess I’ll keep my eyes on the cameras for a while, and you go take a nap. You’ve been at this forever, and you’re hurt. If I see him alone, I’ll come get you.”
Ethan nodded and without a word walked toward the bunks. He was still healing, and the emotional toll of the day—not to mention the tedium of hacking and searching via satellite—had drained him completely.
* * *
1700 HOURS - ZERO DAY +32
Taggart was in a chipper mood. Black escaped but he’d been defanged, and the gear had been recovered. A lot of it was shot up, but the radio still worked, along with the two computers among other things.
Eagan entered the alcove they were using as a temporary command post and saluted him. “Cap, all the bodies have been dumped down to a lower level. The invader unit kept right on going after we ambushed Black, but I have a couple people keeping watch in case more come through. The radio and laptops a
re set up, and we have intermittent WiFi from another HAMnet antenna we focused our tin can on.”
The “tin can” was a directional antenna, useful for setting up a direct data connection that didn’t bleed signal all over the place like a beacon. The downside was that if you moved it, you’d have to spend an hour refocusing it before connection could be re-established.
“Very well. Turn it on and let’s see if the 20s have sent us any more intel. We retrieved the cipher book so we can still decode. Have someone notify me if anything comes in. Put half the unit on duty, and put the rest on personal time. No one is to leave the base, however.”
Eagan made a sloppy, almost insolent salute, grinned, spun on his heels, and left Taggart alone again. Taggart gratefully eased himself down against one wall and tipped his helmet forward over his eyes. Like soldiers everywhere and in every time, he fell asleep in seconds.
He thought he heard his name. Taggart opened one eye and saw Eagan standing in front of him. “Captain,” Eagan said looking apologetic, “you wanted me to wake you if we received a transmission. One has come in.”
Taggart yawned and struggled to his feet, then grabbed his rifle and the cipher decoding book they had retrieved. “When did the message come in?” he asked.
“Timestamp says hours ago, but it only just finished downloading. Weak connection, Cap.”
Taggart followed Eagan to the cul-de-sac they had set up for the electronics and walked to the terminal. To the Militia tech at the computer, he said, “Thank you, private. You may go. Eagan, you’re with me.” Taking the chair, Taggart opened the book and began to decipher the message. It would have gone fast and easy on a capable intranet, but they had to do things Old School, and it took a while to get the decode sequence correct. Once he had, though, the message popped open quickly enough.