Nearest Night

by David VanDyke

  “Why not nuke them?” Layfield insisted. “Oh, not Canada. Alaska. We have the right. It’s American soil. It worked in Texas, didn’t it?”

  The room was still and silent for several long seconds as most stared at Layfield, aghast. “I have to agree,” said the Secretary of Defense eventually. “It must be considered. Or at least the threat of it, to bring them to heel.”

  “Use of strategic weaponry was an extreme measure taken by my predecessor,” said the President. “It might have been necessary to preserve our territorial integrity, but this is different. Alaska isn’t even connected to the Lower Forty-Eight. We can afford to take our time, wear them down. We’ll invade in the spring, when the weather doesn’t favor the defense.”

  “By that time it may be too late, sir,” replied Layfield. “Give them six months and you’ll have other nations recognizing their independence. Hell, North Korea and Iran already have, just to spite us. No, sir, Alaska must be returned to the fold. The Union must be preserved. Lincoln did it, and it was the right decision. You have to do it too.”

  “The situations are different between Alaska and Texas,” interrupted the Secretary of State,

  “How? Please enlighten me,” Layfield said with evident sarcasm.

  “Alaska is made up largely of vast open areas. The only real major target is Anchorage, and that’s where all the American prisoners from the Battle of Haines Junction are being held.”

  “We have to consider them already dead,” Layfield said. “They’re likely all sickos by now. Our enemy wouldn’t let them remain uninfected. We have to write them off. Killing them in a nuclear strike would be a blessing...a mercy killing, if you want to call it that. Like I said before, these sickos aren’t people anymore. They’re abominations.”

  The Secretary of Defense rose and glared at Layfield. “My daughter and her family are in Anchorage. I’ve spoken to her on the phone. She doesn’t seem any different. And when we find a cure, we can treat everyone and be certain.”

  “There never will be a cure, because the damage is already done. I’m very sorry for your loss, but whatever is left is a host for an evil parasite. Let her go.”

  “What the hell happened to you?” the Secretary of State asked. “You think Edens are inhuman, look at yourself, abandoning your own son! I can see why your husband left you.”

  “Enough!” barked President Brenner, stepping between the two. “We’ll have no more talk of killing our own soldiers, or about using nuclear weapons in Alaska.”

  “But, Mister President!” said Layfield.

  “You heard me,” he said turning a dark look in her direction. “You may have browbeaten the former president into taking the easy way out, but not me.”

  “It wasn’t the easy way,” she replied softly. “It was the only way.”

  “I think it’s time for you to leave, Madam Vice President. Tony, please escort Ms. Layfield to her vehicle, will you?”

  The look Layfield gave Brenner would have poisoned an ox, but he was clearly done with her. He’d been forced to give her a position of status to appease the Party’s extremist base, but he was glad he’d maneuvered her into the Vice Presidency, where both by tradition and by law she had little real power.

  Unless, of course, he died or became incapacitated. Brenner reminded himself to review security with his chief of the Presidential Secret Service detail. In her current state of mind, Layfield seemed capable of anything, and there was no dearth of lunatics who shared her view. One suicide attacker could change everything.

  Chapter 16

  Reaper leaned against the rough bark of a tall Loblolly pine on the edge of the camp and surveyed the forest-covered hills. Morning mist sat sleepily in the low concaves of the Earth’s wrinkles far below her. She knew there were towns and people somewhere down there, but with the height and the clouds it gave her the illusion she floated in a different world. Maybe one of those fabulous landscapes from the books her father had loved before he died, such as Middle Earth or Narnia, or maybe Amber.

  She sensed more than heard someone nearby. Whoever it was had moved slowly and silently. Only three people she knew were capable of sneaking like that, and all were on this team. Spooky she probably wouldn’t have noticed at all. Spirit had no reason to come speak to her alone. So that left…

  “Had your breakfast yet, Hawkeye?” she asked without turning around.

  He sighed and sat down beside her, sipping coffee from a canteen cup. “This is breakfast. Never been one for food first thing in the morning.”

  “What, you didn’t bring me some?”

  He offered it to her.

  Reaper smiled and took the cup from him. Nearly scalding her lips on the strong black coffee with just a hint of sugar, she winced as the liquid cut a channel down her throat, leaving what felt like a molten trail of scar tissue. “Holy shit! Do you have to drink it so damn hot?”

  “Coffee is for savoring. Sip it slowly. Too many people now want to rush through everything. Take your time. Enjoy the flavor, the aroma, the way the warmth hits your stomach.”

  “Yeah, because it’s burning a hole through it.”

  Hawkeye eyed her, taking the cup back. “I’m sure they have some back there cool enough to chug like a coed on spring break, if you want.”

  “Never really my style.”

  He stared at her with a hint of a smile for a moment longer. “What’s our play here?”

  Reaper thought with brief horror he was coming on to her. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d missed signals that others picked up on. Best to ignore it – if “it” even existed – and stay professional. “Assuming the coffee stays down, I figure we’ll sit here and enjoy the view until Derrick and Spooky are ready to move.”

  Hawkeye looked over his shoulder, behind him. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. Those two have been meeting alone for quite a while. I don’t know this Derrick, but I do know Spooky. We’ve all got your back, but you’re supposed to be in charge. You should be in on any meeting.”

  Reaper turned to face him, wondering if she should bring Hawkeye into her confidence. Tell him she was merely giving Spooky enough rope to hang himself. “He’s the best liaison to his Greenie Beanie buddy,” she finally said. “Don’t worry.”

  “Something seems wrong about all of this.”

  “How?”

  Hawkeye shook his head. “I don’t know. Just a bad feeling I got. Happens every now and then. Remembered having it first when I was a boy back in Peru.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  He hesitated and looked away. “We were poor farmers trying to coax corn, potatoes, or squash out of the jungle. My father worked for a rich landowner down the mountain during planting and harvesting. My mother and father were happy to get the extra cash.” He paused and looked down into the mist. “I always felt at home in the mountains. It was where I felt most at peace...most free.”

  “What happened?”

  Hawkeye took a drink from his cooling coffee before continuing. “We were having breakfast. Cornmeal cakes with roasted yams, my sister’s favorite. My father got up to leave and suddenly I felt like I was going to pass out. I just knew that if he walked out that door, something terrible would happen.”

  “So you begged him not to go.”

  “No. In my family you never begged for anything, ever. Besides, my father was the type of man who owned up to his responsibilities. He’d told that son-of-a-bitch landowner he’d be there. A boy with a premonition wouldn’t have stopped him.” Hawkeye stared off into space. “It was the last time I saw him alive.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was driving a tractor along one of the terraces. Stupid experimental crap that was all the rage back then. Everyone thought it was a way to get more acreage out of hillsides, but all it did was pull the roots out of the ground and provide a highway for running water. They spent half their time repairing those damn terraces because they were always trying to return to their natural state. Anyway, the on
e he was on crumbled and the tractor tumbled a hundred yards down the side of that hill before coming to a stop. Crushed him, then drowned him in six inches of water.”

  “I’m sorry,” Reaper said putting a hand on his shoulder.

  He turned narrow, dangerous eyes toward her. “I didn’t tell you to get sympathy. I want you to understand that I think something really bad is going to happen. Whatever Spooky’s up to, it’s going to be bad for me and anyone around me. That means you, us, the team.”

  Reaper pulled her hand back and turned away from him, shaken by the depth of Hawkeye’s belief in his feeling.

  “Hey, there you are,” said a voice from behind them. They turned to see Shortfuse. “They’re ready for us.”

  Reaper stood and looked down at Hawkeye. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll see what they have to say. If things sound too hairy, I’ll change the plan. If I have to, I’ll say no.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  “And later…if the shit goes south…especially if you lose me, you’re in charge. Get as many of the team out as you can. Don’t let Spooky sacrifice you for his own agenda.”

  Hawkeye rose slowly to his feet, never breaking eye contact. “That’s easy to say now, but I didn’t join the FC to abandon people who need us. That Others May Live; isn’t that Markis’ motto?”

  “Yeah. I’m just giving you permission to make that call if you have to, either way.”

  Hawkeye smiled. “Substituting rules for judgment starts a self-defeating cycle, huh?”

  “You’re just full of sayings today.”

  “Full of something, anyway.”

  Shortfuse stood nearby with a confused look on his face. “What you guys talkin’ about?”

  Hawkeye ignored him. “I’ve been a soldier all my life. You ride the lightning long enough, it only ends one way. I’m not afraid of dying, as long as my death means something.” He waved his hand to indicate the people in the camp. “Saving the women, the kids.”

  Reaper almost smiled at Hawkeye’s old-fashioned sentiment, but she understood where he was coming from. Biologically, males were expendable once they’d passed on their genes. Mothers and the next generation weren’t.

  But people were more than Darwinian organic machines, she knew in her gut. Their capacity for love and self-sacrifice proved it, as far as she was concerned.

  She also reminded herself that evil lurked in the hearts of many.

  By the time Reaper arrived at the meeting, two dozen people awaited. Spooky and Derrick sat together at the front, with others gathered around, sitting or standing.

  “Now we can begin,” Spooky said, giving Reaper a look that might have been equal parts humor and irritation.

  We’ve waited all morning for you and your new boyfriend to finish your powwow, she almost replied, but merely stared back at him.

  “Okay then,” said Derrick. “I think everyone has met my core combat element.” Tough-looking men and women gave nods of acknowledgement from their seats. These were the people who’d met them at the drop zone.

  “And you should know all of my people,” Spooky said.

  Reaper couldn’t let that pass, though she didn’t want to reveal the divide in the FC team, so she merely grunted and shot Spooky another look.

  “Our people,” Spooky corrected smoothly with a half-wink.

  “I think we should lay it out for everyone,” said Derrick.

  Hawkeye turned his head slowly and looked at Reaper meaningfully.

  “Yes,” answered Spooky. “First, I want to thank you for your hospitality. Your local knowledge has made getting this far much easier.”

  Derrick waved off the compliment.

  Spooky continued, “Our original mission was to rescue and extract approximately twenty-five selected prisoners.”

  “All family members of yours, if I understand correctly,” said Shortfuse.

  Reaper saw Spooky’s eyes narrow and knew what was coming if she didn’t quash Shortfuse’s usual mouthiness. Walking over, she got close into Shortfuse’s blunt face, speaking low for only him. “You knew the mission before you came. No one twisted your arm. What does it matter who we rescue? They’re facing horror and we’re their only hope. Now shut up and stop embarrassing me. And yourself.”

  “What Shortfuse said is true,” said Spooky, watching the byplay. “But you all volunteered. This isn’t the time to be raising concerns. This is the time to execute the mission.”

  Derrick cleared his voice. “You guys good? Because I’m getting some weird vibes here. I’m not risking my people if you can’t keep your shit in one sock.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Reaper, turning away from Shortfuse while squeezing his shoulder, hard, reinforcing her message. “Just a little pre-mission talk. Some of us aren’t used to having an audience, that’s all.”

  “Can we get back to the mission?” said Hawkeye.

  Spooky sighed. “We’re going to need Derrick’s help. The mission is no longer a surgical extraction. To be frank, now that I’ve been briefed on the situation on the ground, I’m not sure that would have ever been a possibility.”

  “Why?” asked Flyboy.

  “Because Camp Pleasant is more heavily defended than you thought,” said Derrick. “They have extensive security systems and camouflaged defenses. Attack helicopters and a quick-reaction force are on standby, thirty minute response time max.”

  “Why?” asked Reaper.

  “Come again?”

  “Why is this place so heavily defended? I thought you said you weren’t riling anyone up.”

  Derrick frowned. “We’re not the only resistance organization. This is Tennessee, after all. Even if they aren’t pro-Eden, they don’t much like the feds’ heavy-handed approach these last few years. Some groups have staged attacks, mostly sabotage. I can’t really blame them, but they’ve made it harder for us now.”

  “So what’s the proposal?” asked Reaper.

  Spooky looked around at them all for a moment before speaking. “We take out the whole camp. Destroy it. Infect or kill all the guards. Rescue everyone, and then get out. Not only will it free the personnel, it will hide our specific intent. It will also create another public relations defeat for the Unionists.”

  “How many Edens we talking about?” asked Bunny.

  “Three to five hundred, best we can tell, maybe more,” answered Derrick.

  “Five hundred?” asked Livewire. “Can we extract that many?”

  “No,” answered Spooky. “Our plan will only work for those we planned for, perhaps a few more.”

  “That’s where we come in,” said one of Derrick’s men. “We bring the rest to the caves, feed them to the Eden Railroad as we can.”

  “You ever move this many at once before?” asked Reaper.

  “Not even close,” answered Derrick. “But we’re not leaving them. Some will join us directly, and the rest, we’ll figure it out. The opportunity to get out so many at once is the only reason I’m even considering risking such a big fight.”

  Reaper looked at Spooky and saw him shift in his seat, and then grow still.

  Derrick forced his hand, Reaper realized. Spooky tried to stick to the original plan, but Derrick made him agree to this, this…Great Escape. Bravo to him.

  “Okay,” said Shortfuse, “but what about –”

  He was interrupted by a series of faint alarms and dim, flashing LEDs, soon quashed.

  “What the hell?” said Reaper.

  Derrick and his people exchanged tense glances. “Quick,” he said, “get everyone under cover or in the blinds.”

  They started running in all directions and Reaper looked out to see the camp in sudden, organized activity. A hand grabbed her elbow and she nearly struck at it before recognizing Owen.

  “Drones,” he said. “They roam up and down the valleys looking for us. Our sensors give us about a minute warning time. Quick, follow me.”

  Reaper ran after the young man and saw the rest of her team scatter into c
overed holes in the ground or climb up into carefully camouflaged blinds high in the trees.

  “Here,” said Owen, pulling back netting that matched the surrounding hill. She saw the underside had a thick blanket attached to it. Inside was a small cave, a dozen sets of eyes gazing back at her. She climbed in and Owen followed, pulling the netting over the opening.

  “These drones have heat sensors?” she asked.

  “And acoustics,” whispered someone behind her in the dark. “So shut the hell up.”

  Reaper froze as she heard a high-pitched whine. It became steadily louder. She pressed her eye to one of the many small holes in the thermal blanket. After a few minutes she saw a small drone fly into view, cruising slowly. She hoped the local’s drills included hiding the few small campfires and equipment somehow.

  The drone started to pull away when a different movement drew her attention. Feet dangled from a tree, and then a form fell thirty feet to the ground with a loud crash. It was Buzz. He screamed loudly and rolled on the leaves, grasping his leg in agony.

  The drone zoomed in, hovering only a few feet away from the thrashing man. Its cameras started to spin in all directions, and then the drone exploded in a flash of sparks. It fell to the ground.

  Reaper heard the simultaneous burst of automatic gunfire and looked over to see Spooky standing with his P90 out, smoke rising from the barrel.

  Derrick appeared beside him, yelling out to someone, “Was that the only one?”

  “Yes,” came the answer, “but we can expect a bunch more real soon.”

  “Evac plan alpha,” called Derrick. “Everyone up and out of here to the contingency sites. Take all directions from your team leaders. Reaper team, follow me to the ATVs.”

  People poured out of holes in the ground and climbed down out of trees. Reaper and Owen exited their hide as the people behind them pushed forward.

  Reaper saw Spooky standing over Buzz, his face impassive. She ran over to them, looking down at the man with the broken shinbone as he continued to scream loudly.

  “Will you shut up?” Reaper said. “The drone is gone, but there’s still such a thing as combat discipline.