“Speaking of being out here on your own, how did you all manage to make it this long?”
“We’re careful. We have sympathetic contacts among the populace that warn us if anything is coming our way. Lots of people don’t like what the feds are doing, even if they are afraid to become Edens. Mostly we keep our heads down and stay in rugged terrain, away from roads. The SS don’t suspect how many of us there are, I think. If they did, they’d bring in assets from elsewhere, but fortunately, they have their hands full controlling the cities and larger towns.”
“Sounds like you run a tight ship. Good security and discipline.”
“Everyone here understands this is life or death. Many are escapees from one of the concentration camps. Some are staging through the Eden Railroad.”
“Eden Railroad?”
“Like the Underground Railroad that got slaves out of the old South. We’re part of an extensive FC network trying to save as many Edens as we can. That’s another reason to avoid scrutiny.”
Reaper thought back to some of Cassandra’s reports she’d read. She remembered skimming lengthy paragraphs on exfil organizations such as this, but never really contemplated how large or involved they might be. There were evidently networks all over the globe in various stages of development.
Such arrangements would provide a perfect opportunity for the Unionists to sneak in a subverted Eden. How many had the FC taken in? How many of those had even been questioned? Reaper knew the answer to that: almost none of them. For all intents and purposes, being an Eden was your ticket into the FC. There could be thousands of Psycho infiltrators.
Reaper looked around the camp at all the people and found Spooky staring at her. She wondered what was going through his convoluted mind.
Hawkeye walked by and she grabbed his sleeve. “Keep our people together and have them eat our own rations. Reclaim all our own gear from Derrick’s people, redistribute and reorganize, and then get some sleep.”
Hawkeye nodded and walked away.
Spooky was still looking at her and Reaper forced herself to meet his gaze. His eyes were not challenging, simply appraising, as if he could see everything about her.
Could I really kill him in cold blood? The classic trolley problem: kill one in hopes of saving five, or fifty, or five hundred. How skewed does the math have to be before its reasoning seduces me?
It would be a lot easier if he did something obviously traitorous or evil.
As if he could read her thoughts, Spooky nodded at her and turned away.
Reaper’s stomach rumbled and she almost continued following Derrick, but noticed another man staring at her. He seemed familiar. She walked toward him. “What’s the matter, your woman not keeping you happy?”
The man started to speak, hesitated, and then wet his lips before talking. “You don’t remember.”
“Remember what?”
“You could have killed me, but you didn’t. You made me an Eden and let me come along. I’m younger now.”
Reaper stared at him hard, trying to see an older man in the youthful face.
“I’m John Clayton. The assault on the McConley farm. Seems like forever ago.”
The memories came rushing back. The family that had sheltered her in eastern Tennessee when she was on the run. The ones who took her in and treated her like one of their own, costing them the life of their oldest son, Jimmy, a man she might have loved.
Reaper felt a lump in her throat and tried not to let herself get angry. “It’s been, what, four years? How’d you end up here?”
“We hid in the caves through the winter, and we sabotaged what we could without killing anyone. Burned SS and Unionists buildings. All that did was bring them down on us. Maybe if everyone had risen up everywhere, but…you know. The common people were scared of the Eden Plague. They believed the lies. The next spring, we slipped away, went deeper into the wilderness. Then we fell in with Derrick and his folks and have been with them ever since.”
“We?”
“The McConleys.”
Reaper found it was hard to speak. “Here? They’re here?”
Clayton nodded. “Follow me and I’ll take you to them.”
Reaper’s team had been watching the curious interaction, and when the two walked off, they followed. She figured it wasn’t every day they saw their hard-as-nails leader get emotional.
Clayton led her up a steep path past small tents and low-smoke fires. Men and women were busy preparing and enjoying breakfast. Most looked at the outsiders with curiosity.
Reaper heard Big Jim before she saw him, and had to fight back tears. It wasn’t just that she felt gratitude toward them for taking her in; there was also a king-sized serving of guilt still buried in her soul.
If she’d done better, worked faster, fought harder, their son might still be alive.
“Sarah,” said the voice of Big Jim, “you know I don’t like cheese in my grits. Damn, woman, I been tellin’ you that for near thirty years.”
“And I’ve been telling you,” his wife responded, “that if you want your food some p’ticular way you can fix it yourself. You ain’t helpless, just lazy.”
A gathering of people looked on with easy smiles at what obviously passed for regular entertainment.
“Now, I got more than just your desires to consider,” Sarah continued plopping food into bowls, “and I’m busy, so why not save your bellyaching for when I actually have the time and inclination to listen to it.”
“Ain’t you in a mood this morning?” he said, eating his cheese grits out of a bowl.
“Big Jim,” said Reaper softly.
Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, but he turned nevertheless. He squinted at her and stopped chewing. Then his eyes grew wide and he set down the bowl. “It can’t be,” he said. “We figured you for dead, girl, when we didn’t hear from you.”
“Jill?” said Sarah hesitantly, and then her face lit up. With a squeal she jumped up and ran toward Reaper and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Tears of joy ran down her face.
Big Jim walked over slowly and settled his long arms around them both.
“I didn’t know what happened to you after I left,” Reaper said and found that she was crying as well. “Where is...is everyone else...?”
“They’re fine,” Big Jim said. “Janie and her husband are at another camp right now. You might see them this week if you’re staying.”
“Husband?”
“Yeah,” answered Sarah. “Got a beautiful little girl, too.”
“What about Owen?” Reaper asked looking around for the frail, formerly autistic boy she’d known.
“What about him?” asked a tall, handsome teenager standing nearby with a smile, a rifle slung diagonally across his back.
“Owen?” Reaper asked. “Is that really you?”
“It is, Miss Jill. I imagine I’ve changed a little bit since our paths last crossed.”
“That’s an understatement,” said Reaper, pulling him toward her for a hug. “You’re a man now.”
“S’pose so. I’m sixteen.”
The four visited and talked and hugged on each other, exchanging stories while those around watched with smiles of their own.
***
Reaper’s Rangers gathered with bemused looks on a nearby slope.
“What’s all that about?” Shortfuse asked Bunny.
“Beats me,” she answered. “I didn’t think Reaper ever hugged anyone, except that Python guy she hooked up with.”
“Whoa, is she actually crying?” asked Tarzan. He chuckled.
“You make fun of her, she’ll have your balls,” said Hawkeye.
“Or I will,” said Bunny.
“Promise?” said Tarzan.
“Can I watch?” asked Flyboy.
“It is mighty peculiar,” said Livewire.
“If you say so,” answered Buzz, watching closely.
Spirit nudged him, and then whispered something in his ear.
Chapter 15
Prudence Layfield’s unstable, unbalanced, he thought. I don’t trust her and never will: my Vice President thrust upon me by the exigencies of politics. Will I ever be rid of her? Dammit, I hate idealists. Nothing’s more dangerous than a true believer. They don’t understand that the number one purpose of power is to maintain power, not to wield it on crusade. If she had her way she’d scrap the lot of us and burn down the world.
As if she could read his thoughts, she turned her dark eyes toward him. They stared at each other, neither turning away as the talk droned into the background. Eventually the President forced a reassuring smile and gave her a slight nod. She nodded in return, and then looked back at the debate.
“But if we don’t do something soon about Mexico,” argued the Secretary of State, a no-nonsense woman in a no-nonsense pantsuit, “the government is going to fall completely. They’ve already lost control of most of the north, and Mexico City is under martial law. If the capital goes, so will our allies.”
“Why should we care?” asked the hawkish Secretary of Defense. “That was the same government that undermined us in Texas. I’d say they’re getting what they deserve.”
The more pragmatic Secretary of State sighed heavily. The President had the impression she wanted to roll her eyes, but held herself in check. “They didn’t undermine us, really. They merely decided not to actively engage in hostilities. As for why we care, this rebellion is led by the uneducated masses, which are largely against us and in favor of the disruptive elements.”
“The sickos,” said Layfield abruptly. “Let’s call them what they are.”
“Regardless,” said the Secretary of Defense, “we should see how everything plays out and make our decision then.”
“By then it will be over and cost us much more to resolve. We have another option.”
“What is that?” asked the President.
“Foreign Minister Julez has signaled the Party that he is willing to break with President Fuentes. He has the backing of the military and the more clearminded elements, who want to put down these rioters with a strong hand,” Layfield said.
“The anti-Eden Contra Party, you mean? Backed by the military?” asked the Director of the Security Service.
“Yes,” she shot back. “Who else would I recommend we deal with?”
“Anyone but them. The Contras and the military are in bed with the drug cartels, who see their business declining. Most Edens don’t buy recreational drugs.”
“That sounds like treason!”
The Director stood. “Madam Vice President, it’s not treason to squarely face the facts. If we back the Contras, we’re backing cartels and strengthening the very military that refused to help us.”
“Once Julez is in power, he and the military can bring the cartels to heel.”
“And why would they do that? They’d lose the cartels’ money…money that comes from our citizens buying their drugs.”
Layfield smiled a nasty smile. “Because we’ll pay them more than they make with the trafficking to do it, and threaten them with the full weight of the United States if they don’t. Carrot and stick.”
The Secretary of State looked at the President, who was watching the debate among his subordinates. “Don’t you think the United States has learned its lesson backing Latin American coups? Decades of meddling got us nothing but ill feelings and mistrust. Let the Mexican people decide for themselves. We’re better off not sticking our hand into that hornet’s nest. Fortify the border and let them work it out.”
“That sort of attitude is naïve and dangerous,” Layfield responded. “For the first time in nearly two hundred years our northern border isn’t secure because the Canadians have turned against us. We need to control the south, and the border has never been enough.”
“The Canadians haven’t entirely turned against us, but they’re sure heading that way, thanks to your pet invasion,” snarled the Secretary of State. “The Unionist Party is about order and discipline at home. America first, not foreign adventurism. We have enough problems right here.”
Layfield snarled back, “What do you know about the Party? You’re still a Republican at heart. You joined at the last minute because you saw which way the wind was blowing.”
“I switched parties because I’m the best woman for the job and I care about this country. I’m trying to help the President hold it together in the face of the Eden threat, the military failure up north, a shaky economy, and a growing list of enemies around the world. Now you want to make one more, right on our doorstep!”
“Besides,” chimed in the Secretary of the Treasury, “we’re already borrowing too much. We’re running out of people willing to buy our bonds. Inflation is rising. Paying off Julez and the Contras would take tens of billions.”
Layfield said, “Cheaper than Mexico collapsing, which is what will happen if these communist peasants take over. Once they’re done looting, where do you think they’ll go? Meanwhile, we’re struggling to contain a biological weapon within our borders unleashed by the most dangerous terrorist group this world has ever seen.”
“I think you’ve summed up the situation nicely,” said President Brenner, finally speaking, “but I don’t think backing a Mexican coup will fix everything.”
“It won’t. Not everything, but it would be a start.” Layfield looked around the room at those assembled. “It strikes me that some in this chamber do not truly appreciate the gravity of our situation.”
“Oh, we appreciate it,” said the Secretary of State. “That’s why we don’t want to add one more problem to our list.”
“I’m glad you pointed that out again,” Layfield said.
“Pointed what out?”
“The problem of these sickos.”
“I never –”
Layfield cut the woman off. “If the sicko problem were solved, everything would get easier. So it stands to reason we need to solve it, in the most straightforward manner possible.”
“By genocide, you mean.”
“That word, that horrible act, only applies to people.” Layfield turned to the Secretary of Agriculture. “You described your efforts to destroy the Cantonese Blight that is ravishing our potato crops in the northwest. Destroying the ‘Edens’ is the same as getting rid of that blight.”
“Here we go again,” said someone in the back.
“Enough,” said the President. “The Eden problem is being contained. We don’t have time for your…your obsession, Ms. Layfield.”
Layfield apparently realized she was overplaying her hand. “Indeed we don’t have much time, Mister President.” She softened her face and smiled at him. “Appoint me to handle the Mexican question. I’m familiar with the situation from my time as National Security Advisor. I can work with all parties and brief you on recommended courses of action.”
“Sir,” the Secretary of State said, on her feet again, “That’s my appointed function, dealing with foreign affairs.”
“And I serve at the pleasure of the President,” Layfield said with a sweet, almost genuine smile.
The President’s eyes shifted from hers to several others in the room, exchanging glances, making sure of his ground. The new Presidency, under a new party, meant he had to proceed carefully…but firmly nonetheless. And he might be a new President, but as a former Speaker of the House, he was an old hand at politics.
Eventually Brenner shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, Madam Vice President, but I think others have it well in hand.”
“Who?” asked Layfield, pointing at the Secretary of State. “Her? She’s a bureaucrat. She has no vision, and she’s a coward!”
Brenner’s face went from relaxed to angry. “That’s eno
ugh, Miss Layfield. Might I remind you that you’re here as a courtesy only?”
Layfield felt the blood drain from her face. “I see. My apologies if I have overstepped my position. It was only my intention to offer sound counsel.”
The President turned to the Chief of Staff. “Perhaps we should move on to the Alaskan Rebellion.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the Chief of Staff with evident relief. “What do we have?”
“Not too much has changed, I’m afraid,” said the Secretary of Defense, rubbing his liver-spotted hands together. “Our forces are in disarray, those we have left anyway. The weather has been terrible.”
“So much for global warming, eh?” muttered someone.
“And the Canadians aren’t going out of their way to help us,” the SecDef continued.
“We need to pressure them more,” Layfield said.
“Prudence,” the President said, warning in his voice.
“I spoke with our Ambassador in Ottawa this morning,” said the Secretary of State. “The Canadian government is fully behind us, but faces serious challenges. Our intrusion into the Yukon was extremely unpopular.”
“Unpopular?” asked Layfield her voice rising. “Both our countries are facing an existential threat!”
“Existential threat?” said the Chief of Staff. “That’s a great line to scare the electorate. It allowed us to take power, but don’t try to feed it to us, Madam Vice President.”
“The Eden Plague threatens us all,” she said, nearly yelling. “Both countries, all countries and our ways of life. Am I the only one here who realizes that?”
“I suppose you’d nuke them into compliance,” said the Secretary of State with an icy stare.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Excuse me?” said the President.
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