Suddenly, he found himself wrapped in a vice-like embrace from his father. “Oof!”
Nick said into his ear, “Thank God, you’re okay. I’ll yell later.” Then, he stood there hugging Corey.
He didn’t let go until Misty came back into the room with a pile of folded rags and a pot of water and began cleaning the blood away from Norm’s chin and face.
“Now,” Nick said, “we have to get out of here. People will have to know you and your daughter are alive and well, and safe, when they find out what Black did to your husband.”
She paused from dabbing a wet rag on the hostage’s face and looked at Nick and Corey with a grimace. “Damn straight. I’m going to make him pay for that, and you got me feeling some kind of way about it, too. Once I make sure Norm’s okay, we’ll leave in my car. We can drop him off a couple miles outside of town, and then you two are going to take me to my daughter. Nick, you’ll drive—I’m going to point my gun at your guts right up until I see her alive and well, and you won’t make one damn complaint about it, if you know what’s good for you.”
Nick slid his arm around Corey’s shoulder. “I told you, we’re the good guys. You have my word, my son and I won’t make any trouble. Any more trouble, that is.”
Corey looked at his father, surprised. He was okay with someone pointing a gun at him? Corey wouldn’t have been. Wasn’t. There was no need for it—they were telling the truth, damn it. Then again, his dad had been right about so many things, so far, including how he should have stayed put. Corey felt stupid for coming into town to follow his dad, given how that had turned out. He took a deep breath and made a promise to himself to keep his mouth shut and let his father call the shots. “Yeah. No more trouble from us, I swear.”
Palmer stood at the dinner table, on which he had spread out a large, laminated wall map of Vermont. On the map sat a number of painted wooden blocks, unto which he had penned symbols to show different kinds of units. Six scrounging teams made up the bulk of them, plus Gary’s mechanized company, of course—at least, that’s how Palmer like to think of them—and three recon units that were checking out small towns believed to be abandoned.
The door opened behind him, and his assistant said, “Sir.”
Palmer turned to face the door, and an easy smile slid into place, reassuring and friendly, as he imagined himself choking the life out of the man for intruding. The little thrill he got out of being called “sir” was far outweighed by his irritation. “Yes, what can I do for you?”
His assistant’s nervous expression was replaced by one of relief. But then, he bit his lip. It was one of the man’s many tells, and Palmer instantly grew wary. His assistant replied, “Sir, Gary is on the radio for you.”
“He’s not due to check in for another hour. I thought I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed. Did you tell him I was busy?”
“Yes,” the man said, nodding vigorously. “But he said it was an emergency, and he had to talk to you right away. Something about the town.”
Dammit. Gary had better be reporting that Burnsville caved in to his demands, or he was going to staple the man’s hide to the front door. “Very well. Please step outside for a minute, would you?”
He walked into the living room, where the base radio unit was set up, and waited until his assistant had stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Then he clicked on the handset button and said, “Go for Black, Golf One.”
The radio crackled, and Gary’s voice came through. “Those idiots attacked us. I guess they didn’t like your terms, after all. I’m pretty sure everyone is dead but me. I barely got away, and got back to the car that broke down on our way out to radio you. Black, some people from my compound are in town. I saw them with my own eyes. I guarantee you, they had something to do with this. That coward who runs this place was gonna do the smart thing, I would have bet money on it.”
Palmer paused, and his lips flatlined. He really wanted to believe he had misheard Gary, but only fools lied to themselves about reality. The only thing foolish he’d done, he decided, was trusting Gary to get that job done right. That idiot had not only failed on what should have been a cakewalk mission, but he’d lost twenty troops in the process. Even worse, all those vehicles represented a sizable chunk of their fleet.
Gary had only just told him the reason why he’d been asking for troops—that ridiculous compound, possibly the same one Palmer had seen when he gutted that one idiot, Joshua—but this was not the way to convince him to loan Gary troops. Maybe, Palmer mused, he should take Gary’s precious compound for himself?
Nah, he had more important targets to rule. A loyal minion running that place might be worth more in supplies than whatever value Gary was providing as his right-hand man. He’d have to think on that later, though.
For the moment, he took a deep breath before replying, “Well, I guess now they get to be an example of what happens when a town tells us no. I assume you’re on the road south of here?”
“Yeah.”
Palmer sneered, an expression he rarely allowed himself in front of other people. But in a friendly voice, he replied, “Stay there. We can pick you up in about an hour, on our way down to go demonstrate to those people the error of their ways. I promise you, it will be a lesson very few of them will live to tell about.”
“Roger that,” Gary replied. “I’ll be waiting. They owe me blood, and they’re damn well going to pay.”
Palmer walked to the door and, poking his head out, spotted his assistant. “Tell all my unit heads to get their troops together and then come see me.”
The assistant paused, mid-step. “All of them, sir?”
Palmer bared his teeth at the man and said, “Oh, yes. All of them. Oh, and tell the train station to make sure we’re ready to roll south. We’re going to have a lot more loot to bring back from Burnsville than we had originally planned.”
As his assistant scurried away, Palmer paused for a moment, considering his options. Well, he hadn’t survived this long by leaving anything to chance…He walked back over to the radio desk and pulled out a walkie-talkie from the drawer. “Black to Omega, do you read me? Get that thing ready to roll. I probably won’t need it, but I want you ready, all the same.”
There was a three-second pause before he got a reply. “Yes, sir. Whatever this thing is, we will have it ready to go at a moment’s notice.”
Palmer didn’t bother to sign off properly before turning off the handset and tossing it back in the drawer. If those people in Burnsville had anymore nasty surprises up their sleeve, they would spend the rest of their short, miserable lives regretting it.
42
Misty turned right on Walnut Street and accelerated. Nick grabbed the oh-crap handle above the passenger window, but narrowly managed to avoid grasping desperately at the dashboard or saying anything as she wove back and forth, passing the cars neatly shoved off to either side of the road. Then, it cleared up and there were no cars, as they approached the western bridge.
Corey, however, said, “Why are we going west? Your daughter is south.”
Misty grinned and turned halfway around to look at him but didn’t slow. “Misdirection, of course. I saw it in a movie. Make ’em think we’re heading one way, then quick as a jackrabbit, turn another way.” She glanced at Nick, and her smile waned ever so slightly. “You look nervous as a possum in a yard full o’ hound dogs, Nick.”
Enough. “Can you look at the road, please?” Now, he did claw at the dashboard, and found himself stomping on a phantom brake pedal.
“Ain’t no one out but us,” she said, and sniffed, but she turned back toward the road.
Only about two seconds later, she eased onto the brake as they approached the west bridge’s checkpoint, and slid to a smooth stop, right on a hand-painted yellow line.
A young man stepped up to the window and bent down, smiling. “Hey, Misty. Where’re you off to, and who’s your friends?”
She shrugged. “Just going to get the rest of their stuff. Th
is here’s my uncle Stan’s second cousin’s brother-in-law on my mom’s side. Ain’t seen ’em in a coon’s age.”
The man’s Vermont northeastern accent was thick as, chuckling, he replied, “I don’t know how you southerners keep track of all those relations you keep. I travel light—I barely know my own brother.”
“Your loss.” Her smile was thick in her voice, though Nick could only see the back of her head. She said, “We’ll be back in less than an hour. It’s only about fifteen miles as the crow flies.”
“Roger that. Be safe, girl.” He slapped his hand on the roof twice, then waved the car through.
Only after she’d pulled away and put the checkpoint and the bridge in the rearview mirror did Nick realize he’d been holding his breath. It all came out in a gush, and he panted for air. “My god, that was scary.”
She smirked but kept her eyes on the road. “You snuck into the enemy’s home turf, to look for some broad you never seen before, and you think that was scary? Lordy, I’m braver than I knew.”
Ahead, the road began to climb toward the crest of a long, low hill, banking slightly north before continuing west. Nick looked out the window, back toward the enemy’s home turf—Clark’s Crossing. Then his eyes went wide—the whole town seemed to have come alive, just in the last couple of minutes. He narrowed his eyes to see better. People and cars swarmed over the little town’s main street. Just then, the faint wail of an air-raid siren reached his ears. Whatever was going on, it had just kicked up a hornet’s nest…
With a start, he realized that, if Misty hadn’t gotten them out of town so quickly, or even if she’d let them delay her at the bridge, they’d have been trapped in town. He looked up and, though he wasn’t sure who was listening up there, offered a silent prayer of thanks for getting his son out alive. Oh, and himself, too, but Corey was what he was truly grateful for.
From the back, Corey let out a low whistle. “What’s going on back there? You think that guy broke his zip ties already and raised the alarm?”
“Maybe,” Nick and Misty said at the same time, and exchanged a look. On her face, he saw the same doubt he was feeling. Something bigger was going on, something they’d narrowly escaped in time to avoid, but whatever it was, his gut instinct told him to hold off on any more prayers for the moment. They weren’t safe, not yet. “Misty, let’s get some miles between us and them, okay?”
The car surged forward, then turned south onto what looked like a fire access road, or an old logging road. Nick wasn’t sure which. Whatever it was, though, he was glad to be off the road out of town.
It took only about ten minutes to circle around and get back to where he and Corey had camped out last. Breaking camp took only a few minutes—but in that time, several vehicles had streaked southward along the main road. It seemed likely there was only one place they could be headed, and the number of vehicles that had left was far smaller than the number that remained in town. And then another group left.
As Nick hunched over his backpack, jamming things into it with practiced ease, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he found Corey standing over him, holding the shortwave radio they’d brought out with them. Nick took it with an appreciative nod.
It was a very complicated device, full of knobs and switches. He had to pause to think about what he was doing, despite the sense of urgency flooding through him. There was no room for mistakes.
When he had it set up, he flipped the second power switch to the on position, transforming it from being merely a fancy radio into a two-way communication device, a portable shortwave ham radio unit. When he was sure he had the frequency correct, adjusting the crystal-based analog dial, he clicked the button that broadcast and prayed it would reach. “Adam One, Adam One, come in. This is Charlie One, mobile. Do you read me?”
There was a little burst of static, then silence. Seconds ticked by. Then, Abram’s voice came through. “Charlie One mobile, go ahead for Adam One.”
Quickly, Nick relayed the situation, doing his best to reveal as little information as possible to anyone who might have been listening in, as unlikely as that was. Fortunately, Abram had been aware of the mission, and the destination. So, when Nick reported a successful mission, the excitement in Abram’s voice came as no surprise. Then, Nick took a deep breath and delivered the bad news. The bandits were coming, and they were pissed. “Be advised, occupants of the package source are en route to your location, with a clear sense of urgency.”
“How many?” Abram’s voice cracked, his anxiety coming through even on the little radio’s less than perfect speakers.
Corey’s hand appeared on Nick’s shoulder, squeezing lightly.
It was as much reassurance as Nick was likely to get. He took a deep breath. “It looks like all of them.”
Then, in the distance, a noise began faint and grew loud, faded, then grew loud again. No one had heard that sound in quite a while. A train whistle? No way. Nick’s eyes sought the source. It took only a moment. There, in town, a steam-powered locomotive sat, spewing a geyser of smoke into the air. As Nick watched, mesmerized, it lurched, then inched its way forward out of the station on the left side of town, the west end, and attached to it were four passenger cars and one boxcar at the end. Black, that sonuvabitch, had his very own troop transport…
And it was heading south.
“Um, Ab…Adam One, uh, you aren’t going to believe this,” Nick said. Well, he hardly believed it himself.
Danny frowned at Kent. “Damn. I told you so, didn’t I? Thank God you listened while you had the chance. You took care of the tracks, right?”
Brooke grinned and answered for Kent. “Sure did. Sort of. I mean, we left a side spur open, in case we needed it, but the main tracks are sabotaged. That train’s going to buck like a bronco and hopefully kill a whole bunch of them, long before they ever see Burnsville.”
Abram grimaced. “It’ll be fine, Danny. Kent took our advice and put scouts on the railway and some troops on the side-spur or whatever it’s called, so they can hold off any big push into town in that direction long enough for reinforcements to shift their way. It left us with most of the town’s militia available to defend the choke-point bridges. They’ll lose more people than they bargained for, pushing through what we’ve set up.”
Danny nodded. He didn’t like it, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Abram was smart, though, and Kent seemed to have a knack for finding the right advice and then listening to it, whatever the situation. “Okay. I’m sure you’re right. It just makes me nervous.”
The radio crackled, and Nick said, “We’re on the move, heading your way. But our plus-one wants to talk to her wayward one.”
Abram paused.
Oh, Miranda wanted to talk to Brooke. Danny fought a smile, despite the looming doom facing them. Misty, or Miranda—whatever—was his friend, the wife of his close friend, and their daughter was someone he rather liked. It was nice to see some happy news amid all the scary crap going on.
“Give me a minute,” Abram broadcast, then turned to the grinning young woman, who stood by Frank and shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “Okay, Brooke. Your mom wants to talk to you. Try not to reveal anything over the air, okay? I doubt anyone is listening, as this isn’t a CB radio. But you never know.”
He handed her the unit, then showed her where to push to talk and explained about taking her finger off the button when she was done talking—unlike a phone, they couldn’t talk and listen at the same time.
Danny watched the young woman chatter excitedly with her mom for the first time since the CME event, and for the first time, everything he’d given up to get here to warn this town seemed truly worth the cost. Wherever Wyatt was, Danny thought, hopefully he was looking down and smiling.
Then, an idea smacked him in the forehead like a hammer blow, and he reeled at the implications. Misty…Brooke…They were Wyatt’s next-of-kin. Misty and Wyatt were beloved by all the survivors in Clarks Crossing, after all the wor
k they’d done to save the town and its people in those dark days following the CME event. Other towns had died off, or turned on each other, devolved into banditry, or had just melted into the wilderness to live or die alone. But not Clarks Crossing, not with those two stepping up and taking over.
Those people might have been fooled by Black, right now, enabling him to seize an opportunity to fill a power vacuum. What was the saying? Nature abhors a vacuum, that was it. But what would Danny’s people do if they showed up for a war and discovered Misty and Brooke, both alive and well, and both standing opposed to Black? Maybe this could be turned to Burnsville’s advantage, somehow. Maybe they didn’t have to slaughter each other, these nice people and the people Danny thought of as his own. Plus, both groups were Brooke’s people. If they fought, it didn’t matter who won, Brooke would lose—and through her, Misty would, too. That was her daughter, after all.
While Brooke hunched over the radio clutched in her hands, tears and smiles on her face, Danny looked at Kent and Abram. “You know, it occurs to me that Black might not have the support he needs to pull this off if we can give Clarks Crossing folks an alternative. Another voice to follow. Even if we can’t stop a fight, maybe we can cut down the odds a bit.”
Kent cocked his head, and glanced at Brooke before replying, “What alternative to Black did you have in mind? If you tryin’ to put Brooke on the front line, I’m not tryin’ to hear that, you feel me?”
Danny paused to decipher the words, then nodded. “Nope, we don’t need her on the front line. That’s where the bullets will be. I think we need her behind those lines. Black has been around just a little while. Misty and Wyatt saved our town from Day One, and Brooke is like a town mascot at this point, the lost daughter who stands in for every missing family member my people lost. But she’s hope. She’s a chance. She’s the sheep that was once lost, now found.”
Kent was the first to start nodding his head, slowly, as his eyes got a faraway look in them, like he was deep in thought. He said, “That’s not the worst idea ever. I saved my people, too—not on fear, man. I gave them hope. That’s powerful, you know what I’m saying? Hope is light in the dark. It’s stronger than fear.”
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 32