Jarek glanced at Frank, wondering how much he’d told Conner. Maybe he shouldn’t have opened his mouth to Frank last night.
“I’m not interested in hurting people to get what I want,” he said after a moment. Jarek knew how these outfits worked.
Conner shook his head and held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I wouldn’t expect you to—especially after what you did for Rose here last night. More importantly, I wouldn’t ask you to. That’s not what we do.”
Rose briefly poked her head out from the back at the sound of her name. She must’ve been hovering there, listening to their conversation.
“And what do you do, exactly?” Jarek said.
“We protect people who are interested in rebuilding what we’ve lost,” Conner said. “Those people pay us what they can.”
“You’re mercenaries.”
Conner smiled. “By the strictest definition, yes. Doesn’t mean we don’t help people.” He held up a demonstrative hand. “Take the homestead projects for example. We offer good protection to the farmers that ask for it, and in return, they give us enough to feed our men. Is that so wrong?” He chuckled to himself. “Hell, we’re probably the closest thing to philanthropists left around here.”
Jarek thought about that. It didn’t sound wrong at all, but of course that was assuming that Conner wasn’t lying or bending the truth somehow. Al expressed a similar sentiment in Jarek’s ear.
A thought occurred to him. “The other two men, from last night… did they work for you too?”
Conner’s expression soured a little. “They did.”
“They don’t anymore,” Stetson said in a gravelly voice.
Conner shook his head, still watching Jarek.
“Right…” Jarek said.
“Look,” Conner said, standing up from his stool and tossing a few bills down on the bar, “this is probably a lot to process, so we’ll give you some space to try the idea on for size. We’ve got a routine escort job going on tomorrow. If you want to see what we’re about, I’ll send someone over so you can ride along.”
“I don’t think I—”
Conner held up a hand. “No strings attached, Jarek. Just have a look and decide for yourself.”
“You don’t have to do this, sir,” Al reminded him.
Jarek studied the plate in front of him for a few moments before turning back to Conner. “I’ll think about it.”
Conner clapped him on the shoulder as he started for the door. “I hope you do, Jarek. It’s good to belong. We’ll see you around.”
Stetson followed after Conner, giving Jarek little more than a small nod and a grunt. Jarek listened to them go and sat there thinking for several minutes before he decided to finally take the first bite of his pancakes.
They were cold.
Chapter 5
The next morning, Jarek came downstairs to find a dark SUV waiting outside for him.
Yesterday, Jarek had been skeptical—and Al even more so. After a day of thinking it through together, they were still far from convinced, but Conner had been right: Jarek didn’t want to be scavenging for food all alone for the rest of his life. If he could actually make a place for himself while fighting to help honest people… the possibility was too good to pass up.
Jarek waved to Frank—who told him with a fatherly expression to be careful—then headed outside. The man leaning against the driver-side door of the SUV was older than Conner—maybe around forty—and his brown hair was streaked with touches of gray. His eyebrows shot up when he saw Jarek approaching, then he stood straighter and gave a friendly smile that spread easily to his eyes.
“I’ll be damned,” he said in a rich voice. “They weren’t pulling my leg after all.” He stepped forward, extending a hand. “Mark Adams. People mostly call me Adams.”
Jarek took his hand. “Jarek Slater.”
Mark tipped his head. “Nice to meet you, kid.”
Coming from most people, the word “kid” usually sounded insulting and derogatory, but the way Mark said it made the word sound like a respectful moniker.
“Yeah, you too,” Jarek said. “So we’re on escort duty today then?”
He nodded. “That’s the plan. You’re ready to roll? It’s a bit of a drive, but I brought breakfast,”—he held up a finger—“and there’s bacon.”
A smile tugged at Jarek’s mouth. “I feel like my mom used to tell me something about not taking food from strangers in vans.”
Mark laughed. “Well, I guess it’s good I went with plan B and brought bacon and an SUV instead of candy and a van.”
“Smart move,” Jarek agreed, glancing back at the inn one last time. Rose stood watching him at the window, concern evident in her eyes. He gave her a small wave, smiling. No need for her to be worried; he was just having a look. “Let’s do it then,” he said, turning back to Mark.
Al reminded him for maybe the hundred-thousandth time to keep his eyes peeled as he walked around to climb into the passenger seat, but Jarek could tell he was just as hopeful as Jarek himself.
“Maybe you should’ve brought the van,” Jarek said as he squeezed Fela’s bulk into the passenger seat. The exosuit wasn’t gigantic, but it was easily larger than the average man and far from car-friendly.
Mark chuckled and handed him a soft, foil-wrapped bundle, and Jarek’s discomfort was soon forgotten when he uncovered a scrumptious breakfast burrito and dug in to taste eggs and cheese and actual, real, genuine freaking bacon. Mark pulled away from the curb and started off for the turnpike, smiling at the expression on Jarek’s face.
“I know,” he said. “Bacon, right?”
“I’d almost forgotten there was such a thing,” Jarek said. “If you’re trying to win me over with cured meats…” Jarek shrugged. “It might work.”
Mark turned from eyeing a passing car and smiled. “I’m sure the thought wasn’t lost on Conner, but I’d like to think the Iron Eagles stand on their own merits, bacon or no.”
“The Iron Eagles?”
“Christ,” Mark said, frowning as he guided the SUV up a ramp to I-90. “They really didn’t explain much to you, did they? The Iron Eagles is what we call our little soldier family—well, maybe not so little these days.”
“Ah, right. And you chose Iron Eagles because someone else had already taken the Brass Badgers?”
“Maybe so,” Mark said, chuckling. “Conner likes to say it has something to do with strength and freedom and the spirit of old ‘Merica the brave.”
Jarek finished woofing down his glorious burrito and gave a little two-finger salute.
They rode along for the next hour and a half, passing by only a couple vehicles as their surroundings transitioned slowly from crumbling buildings to abandoned homes and finally to somber-looking countryside—made all the more dreary by the overcast day. They talked about life before and after the Catastrophe. Jarek wasn’t overly used to talking to anyone aside from Al, but Mark was exceptionally easy company. By the time they reached their destination homestead, Jarek had a basic understanding of at least that part of the Iron Eagles’ operations.
The group defended a network of similar homesteads throughout Massachusetts (and even as far as Connecticut) from marauders and other threats. In return, each homestead regularly shipped back a portion of the meager crops and livestock they’d managed to bring up in the harsh conditions of the long winter.
From the sound of it, it had been slow going at first. Now, though, the climate was slowly shifting back in the right direction, and the farmers—many of whom hadn’t actually been farmers in their past lives—had had time to hone in on which crops to grow and how to grow them. Each year, the Iron Eagles were pulling in an ever-strengthening stream of potatoes, onions, chard, and more, not to mention eggs, meat, and a small bit of dairy.
There were setbacks, of course. For one, protecting open land required manpower, especially when that land was scattered across large areas. On top of that, their infrastructure was lacking when it came
to transporting and distributing high volumes of food. For these reasons, Conner hadn’t managed to extend the operation any further than Connecticut. As Jarek watched an oversized van being loaded with vegetables, a couple hundred eggs, and what looked like a cows-worth of beef, though, he couldn’t help but think that, with enough men and resources, the operation might eventually feed the entirety of Boston. Maybe even more than that someday.
It would be slow going, sure, but what path to rebuilding the world from the ground up wouldn’t be? Conner was using the Iron Eagles to build a new future—one where people wouldn’t kill their neighbors just to steal their food. It seemed like a pretty damn worthy goal to Jarek.
“Is this is all you guys do?” Jarek asked Mark as they drove back to Boston behind the food-laden van and the rest of the escort detail. “I was expecting a lot more… I don’t know, mercenary stuff.”
“This isn’t the entirety of what the Iron Eagles do,” Mark said, shaking his head. “We also do a bit of the ‘mercenary stuff,’ but Conner is pretty strict on how that side of the business is run.” Mark stared at the clouds for a long moment before shrugging to himself and adding, “He tries to make sure no one has to do anything they don’t want to.”
Once they’d seen the van safely to the walled compound of the Iron Eagles’ headquarters, Mark veered off to return Jarek to Frank’s little inn. He told him that Conner would be along to talk and maybe show him headquarters the next day if Jarek was still interested, then he shook Jarek’s hand and told him to watch his back, regardless of his decision.
A few steps from the SUV, Jarek paused to turn back.
Mark rolled his window down. “What’s up, kid?”
“I was just wondering… what do you think I should do?”
Mark raised his eyebrows at that. After a long moment, he let out a huff of air, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to tell you, kid. The world’s a messed up place right now. I hear stories about the things that did all this,”—he waved a hand at the quiet, barren city around them—“people talking about honest to God vampires running around with glowing red eyes, eating people and swatting down the establishments.”
He fixed Jarek with a serious look. “And then I see people like you—well maybe not like you, but people on the streets, hungry and cold and afraid that some asshole’s gonna come along and stab them just for their shoes or their coat, and I don’t know…” He gave Jarek a wan smile. “I guess I just like feeling like there’s a real problem I can tackle with the Iron Eagles. Like there’s a difference I can make somewhere.”
Jarek nodded slowly, thinking about that. Mark hadn’t exactly answered the question, but he’d come close enough. Mark gave him a mock salute before driving off, and Al and Jarek decided that they liked the guy.
That evening, they talked at length about what they’d seen. Al remained responsibly dubious after what had only been a single glimpse of the Iron Eagles, but he at least admitted that the group looked more promising than he’d expected. The AI’s reserved demeanor didn’t dampen Jarek’s enthusiasm. With the Iron Eagles, Jarek saw a future where he’d be able to use Fela for something more than just staying alive for the sake of it. He could protect people. He could make the world a better place (and enjoy reliable food while doing it). On top of all of that, for the first time in almost six years, he’d have a family watching his back.
It was a dream come true.
He knew that Al would remain dubious for now (the AI didn’t really trust anyone aside from Jarek, after all), but after a long discussion, they at least agreed that the Iron Eagles were worth a shot.
Rose crept into his room to visit later that night. She was even less enthusiastic than Al about the prospect of Jarek soldiering up, but he didn’t really blame her for that. Her only experience with the Iron Eagles had been with the bad apples of the bunch, and try as he might to explain it, Rose just couldn’t fully understand what the opportunity meant to him when she’d had a father and a home all these years.
Soon enough, he worked up the courage to exchange words for kisses, and when their lips finally parted, they gladly moved on to more whimsical topics for the remainder of the night.
By the time Conner came by the next day, Jarek’s only real question was how soon he could start.
Chapter 6
Life with the Iron Eagles was everything Jarek had wanted.
Over the next six months, he and Mark ran escort missions all across Massachusetts, protecting dozens of truckloads of food bound for Boston. When they weren’t on duty or resting up, Mark was teaching Jarek to shoot and fight. On more than one occasion, their escort details came under attack, and Jarek quickly learned how to handle himself under enemy fire.
At first it was hard, shooting at living, breathing people (even if they were ragged, wild marauders who looked like they’d just as soon eat their foes as the food they were trying to steal). Had it not been for the convoy and his brothers-in-arms, Jarek would’ve rather ran than fight and hurt people. Once he saw Mark and the others being shot at, though, shooting back turned out to be easy—almost disturbingly so.
When the smoke had cleared on Jarek’s first combat kill, Mark clapped a hand to his armored shoulder and told him to remember what he was fighting for.
Earning the respect of the other Iron Eagles was a tenuous process that seemed to progress at a rate roughly equal to the number of their asses he managed to pull out of tight spots over the following months, but Jarek didn’t mind. He kept his head down and soldiered on, finding a kind of dignified gratification in paying his dues.
After the first few months, Al even began to come around, assuming the decreased frequency of his cautionary reminders could be counted as such. Even if the AI construct wasn’t ready to become Iron Eagles fanboy number one, he at least didn’t begrudge Jarek the fulfillment of his new position.
All in all, things were going pretty damn well.
Right up until the day bulldog Doug Stetson conscripted Jarek and Mark for a mission to reclaim a homestead in the Franklin area that had been seized by marauders.
“This is a new one,” Jarek said quietly to Mark as they marshaled up with a dozen of their brothers in the base’s small, bland briefing room. Until then, Jarek had been assigned almost exclusively to convoy duty. Playing defense was one thing, but—
Mark clapped him on the shoulder. “It’ll be a walk in the park, kid.” He grinned. “Just watch my ass out there, yeah?”
The wriggling in Jarek’s stomach calmed as he frowned at Mark. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Mark gave Jarek a firm pat on the helmet—a gesture that had become common between them. He didn’t mention the fact that Jarek, snug and secure in Fela, had less to fear in any fight than his brothers-in-arms did. The rest of the Iron Eagles weren’t easy targets by any means, especially when they were loaded head to toe with a range of fiber-weave armors and ceramic strike plates, but that was hardly the point.
It wasn’t the danger that had Jarek’s stomach twisted up. It was the idea of walking into a fight on purpose. Maybe Mark picked up on that, or maybe he didn’t. Either way, he didn’t give Jarek any grief. Possibly because he didn’t have a chance to.
“If you daisies are done talking about who’s gonna look at who’s ass,” Stetson said from the doorway, “maybe we can get started.”
Jarek swallowed then fought not to smile as Mark wiggled his eyebrows at him and settled into one of the brown folding chairs arrayed through the room.
Stetson strolled in and wasted no time launching into his shortly-worded briefing. The man was efficient if nothing else. The ball of tension in Jarek’s guts eased considerably when Stetson announced that the mission would be primarily non-lethal, with lethal force authorized only if necessary.
Mark shot him a wink as the spiel ended, and Jarek let out a deep breath as they followed their teammates to gear up in the armory.
Fifteen minutes later, they’d loaded up, and Jarek sat next t
o Mark in the back of their transport truck, gnawing at his lip.
The drive was a fairly long one. Their truck was the second to reach the homestead. By then, teams from the first truck were already sweeping across the compound.
Jarek and Mark were the first out of their truck, bean-bag shotguns raised and at the ready.
The bulk of the homestead was comprised of one big farmhouse and two sizable barns. Several smaller sheds and shacks had been erected around the farmhouse, and several more boxy living units—clearly additions—protruded from its sides. Of the two barns, one was larger and newer-looking, and the other… wasn’t.
Stetson met them at the first truck and sent Mark and Jarek along with two others to sweep the second barn.
They approached the dark wooden building from the front as their two brothers looped around. The structure was twisted and chewed up by the ravages of time to the extent that Jarek was mildly surprised it was still standing. He grabbed the handle of the man door to the right of the larger barn doors. Locked.
Jarek waited for Mark’s nod, then thrust his shoulder roughly into the door. It tore from its hinges with a splintering sound and slammed onto the barn floor with a crash. Jarek looked up in time to see a haggard older man leveling a shotgun at him, and—
Boom! Jarek winced at the roar of Mark’s shotgun going off beside him. An explosively-propelled bean-bag round slammed into the marauder’s chest, and he toppled back into the wall with a series of shocked gasps that sounded like they would have been cries of pain if he’d had the air to manage such things. Mark stalked into the small entry room and applied a stun rod to the guy’s neck. Jarek covered him while he pulled out a pair of zip ties to bind the marauder’s wrists and ankles.
The barn was much less open than Jarek had expected—partitioned by dark wooden walls into rooms and corridors in a way that made him think the building might have been used for living space rather than farming.
Soldier of Charity: A Prequel to the Harvesters Series Page 3