“I do,” Carlos answered, surprising them all. “Like me, I’ve more reason to live now than ever before. I’m gonna be a father.”
“That’s a good thing, Lieutenant.”
“Not when I’m stuck here.”
Cole looked over his shoulder at Carlos, but kept walking and didn’t reply.
“One more thing. When we landed, you said you’d just gotten new orders from someplace in the east. Who was it?”
They pushed through a bulkhead door constructed very much as might be seen on a warship. Cole reached over and flipped a light switch and something happened that neither Randall nor Carlos expected; light flooded the vast room.
“This is the materials laboratory,” Cole said, ignoring the question.
“More electricity,” Carlos finally said. “I thought you didn’t have much.”
“I told you the base never lost it. The redundancy is amazing. These days it’s mostly solar, since our power needs are so small, but the fossil fuel and nuclear generators still work. There’s even a last-ditch steam plant if all else fails, although I’ve never heard of it being used. The big problems are replacement bulbs, LEDs, switches, fixtures, and wiring. We only use the lights when it can’t be helped.”
“This isn’t that,” Randall said.
Cole shrugged. “I don’t get much chance to show the place off.”
Odd machines took up much of the space. Randall recognized computers and their monitors, but the rest of them were alien to him. They spent more time wandering through various offshoots of the main lab, but eventually wound up back where they’d started. Three hours had passed.
“What say we eat lunch and then I find you boys a bunk?”
“I say to hell with that,” Randall said. “What you need to do is let us go. Look, what’s going on here, Major? What’s with the sudden one-of-the-boys routine, the info-dump and the tour? I’ll admit it was fascinating, but all we really want is to get back to our unit. A lot of people are wondering what happened not only to us, but to that C-5 parked in your hangar.”
“That C-5 is right where it should be. It’s Air Force property and this is an Air Force base.”
“So was Creech.”
“My father always said possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“It’s not funny!”
Cole’s heretofore friendly smile faded into a scowl. “No, it’s not. And don’t forget you’re talking to a superior officer, Captain.”
“From what I can tell, you were never actually in the Air Force. You’re not old enough.”
A few men standing around the far end of the hangar looked up as Randall’s near-shout echoed through the rafters.
But Cole’s fleshy cheeks once again lifted in a grin. “Oh? Is that because there was no United States to have an air force?”
Only then did Randall realize he’d been trapped. “You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. You can’t have it both ways, Randall. If there was no United States, then there can’t be one now.”
“I’ve explained all that.”
“Not to my satisfaction, you haven’t. Look, you’ve asked a lot of questions, so let me give you a couple of answers. Maybe that’ll wet your feathers. Why do we need you here? Because most of the men here are old, and you’re not, and you’re pilots, too. Military officers, apparently, and yeah, I’m convinced of that. Moreover, the communication we got by radio told us to keep this place locked down tight, almost as if they knew you were coming.”
“Coincidence.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t alter the orders.”
“I wouldn’t know, since you won’t tell me who sent them!”
Cole wiped away sweat on his forehead with his sleeve. “Fine… hell, maybe you can make sense of it. First off, you should know we only monitor communications two hours a week. We used to do it all day and all night, but when the equipment started wearing out, we decided to cut back, so it’s possible this department, whoever they are, has been sending us messages for weeks or months, hell, maybe even years.
“The reception was bad and we didn’t catch all the words, but they identified themselves as Something Time-Something. I think the first word was operation but I can’t be sure. I reached over Rachel, she was monitoring the radio that day, and turned up the volume, and everybody within hearing gathered around. Whoever was talking to us said they were somewhere in Tennessee, we caught that much, and claimed to be a remnant of the federal government and I thought I heard the word army, although some of the others didn’t. Then, for a minute or so, the signal came in stronger, and we all clearly heard them say to keep the base locked down and to await further orders.”
Randall gaped, turned to Carlos, and then spread his hands. “Did they identify themselves?”
“All we got was Judge Gomorrah.”
“Who the fuck is Judge Gomorrah?”
Cole pointed. “Watch your mouth, Randall. Second warning.”
But Randall could only shake his head and turn in a circle to keep from striking the man. “You’re keeping us prisoner because of some garbled radio message? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I believe it to have been real,” Cole answered. His tone made it clear that his patience was running short. “But don’t forget where you landed.”
“On a U.S. Air Force runway, or so I thought.”
“Through the most restricted air space in the world.”
“Once upon a time, maybe. I can’t believe you, Cole, I really can’t. One way or another, we’re getting out of here. You can’t keep us prisoners forever.”
“Prisoners?” At that he tilted his head back and barked a laugh. “You boys aren’t prisoners. You can leave any time you want.”
Randall started to reply, but Carlos put a hand over his mouth. “Is that for real?”
“Yeah. Go anywhere you want, and take any personal property with you.”
“What about our jet?”
Cole scratched his temple and turned away, staring toward an open doorway at the far end of the hangar. “Now, that’s not personal property, is it? That belongs to the Air Force.”
Randall jerked Carlos’ hand away. “What about loaning us a vehicle, or some of the hovercraft?”
“No, sorry, I couldn’t do that.”
“What about horses?”
“Nope. We can’t afford to lose anything, machines or horses. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do… I’ll give you a canteen of water.”
It finally dawned on Randall what he meant. “You expect us to walk out of here? Through the desert?”
“No, I don’t expect you to do anything of the sort, but if you want to leave I won’t stop you.”
“How far is the nearest town?”
Cole shrugged. “Hell if I know. It’s about sixty miles to Las Vegas, but I got no idea what’s there. You could try Creech. They might be sending out searches for you. Of course, there are all those riders you call Rednecks…”
His sarcasm didn’t sit well.
“You’re a bastard, you know that, Major?”
“Like I never heard that before.” Again Cole smiled the irritating smile that drove Randall to purse his lips and ball his fists. “But if you’re not leaving, then let’s go see about those bunks.”
#
Chapter 13
It is not enough for us to restrain from doing evil, unless we shall also do good.
St. Basil
Ma Kelly’s Trading Post, southeast of Hoover Dam, Arizona
1150 hours, April 24
The Rednecks had totaled twenty-six. Eighteen had been killed, seven wounded, and one captured. When Major Wincommer asked Angriff what to do with the wounded, the general thought for a moment.
“Where are those four people they were holding prisoner?”
“Over there, sir, by the door.”
“Let’s see what they have to say about it.”
Careful not to turn an ankle on the loose gravel as he descended t
he ridge into the bowl, Angriff veered to his right toward the man he’d shot. A combat medic had turned him over and knelt beside him.
“Is he dead?” Angriff asked.
“About there, General, but he’s alive for now.”
“Can you do anything for him?”
“He’d need a full trauma team and even then I don’t think they could save him. I’ve got some morphine, though.”
“Save it for our people.”
As Wincommer stood by, Angriff knelt beside the man he’d shot. The powdery topsoil soaked up the blood pouring from the man’s side. The man hadn’t shaved or bathed for weeks, as grime caked his skin, washed away only by sweat. He stank of horse, body odor, and excrement. Like a rat’s hind legs scurrying furiously when the brain died and no longer controlled its reflexes, so did near-death cause many men’s muscles to relax and release their bowels. None of that even registered in Angriff’s senses; he’d experienced it too many times.
Angriff leaned forward and whispered in the man’s ear. Blood bubbled from his nose and leaked from the corner of his mouth. He made a sucking sound when he gasped for shallow breaths.
“If you can hear me, I’m the man who killed you.” The man blinked. “If you believe in God, pray now while you still can, because I’m sure as hell not going to.”
Then he stood. The dying man’s eyes met his and Angriff stared into them for nearly a minute, until he saw life leave and death glaze them over. The medic announced the man was dead. Without another word, Angriff wheeled and followed Wincommer over to the four people near the building.
Three were young, two boys and a teenage girl. One of the boys, maybe twelve years old to Angriff’s eye, couldn’t stop sniffling, and kept glancing over his shoulder as if searching for something. The second boy appeared to be nine or so, and despite hiding behind his father, when he peeked around the man his face showed defiance. The girl stared at them with vacant, gray-rimmed eyes. She had a swollen mouth and puffy face. Angriff had seen the aftermath of enough battles to recognize trauma when he saw it. The children formed a tight semi-circle behind a stout older man standing in a protective stance, with legs braced wide apart and thick arms crossed. A matting of black and gray beard covered his wide face, and his posture made it clear that to get to the younger ones, they’d have to go through him first.
A sergeant stood beside them and took Wincommer aside for a brief private chat before stepping back out of the officers’ way. Angriff let the major lead the talk.
“I’m Major Wincommer, commanding officer of the Seventh United States Cavalry Regiment, and this is General Angriff, commander of the Seventh United States Cavalry Brigade. Sergeant Patel here says you didn’t want to give your name, so may I ask why not?”
The man’s eyes narrowed to a squint and there was no mistaking his suspicion, or his anger. Although standing with crossed arms, he clenched his fists so tightly they whitened. Every time someone walked by, the man tensed up even more, as if expecting a sudden attack.
“You having to ask my name is why not,” he finally said. “Everybody knows me, so I’ve gotta ask myself why you don’t, too. Those bastards didn’t know me either, and that turned to shit real quick like. They fooled me ’til it was too late, but you’re not touchin’ my kids unless you go through me first!”
“We’re not here to hurt anybody, sir. We’re here to help.”
The man snorted. “That’s what they said. They were here to trade, not cause trouble. I’m not as educated as my folks were, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid, either.”
“I never said you were stupid, sir. I only wondered how to address you.”
“Just leave. That’s all I want.”
Wincommer started to become exasperated. “We killed the people that were tormenting you, didn’t we? I’ve told you my name. Just tell me yours.”
“You coulda killed them so you could have it all for yourself.”
“Sir, I—”
Angriff took a step forward. All eyes immediately focused on him. “Major, do you mind if I speak with this gentleman?”
“Not at all, General,” Wincommer said, with obvious relief.
Angriff extended his hand, but the man made no effort to shake it. “My name’s Nick Angriff.”
“I heard him.” The man nodded at Wincommer.
“All right, then. We’re not gonna stay long; we have other business to attend to. We call the people who violated you Rednecks, because of the red cloth they wear around their necks. We’re not sure exactly who they are, but we do know they’re our enemy, so we shoot first and ask questions later. We captured at least one of them. Would you like us to share with you what we learn from him before we pull out?”
Behind them, the girl groaned and held her head. Both men looked at her, and then locked eyes.
“At least let me have a medic look at her,” Angriff said.
“What’s a medic?”
“They’re like a doctor, somebody who can help her.”
Again he glanced back at his daughter. “If you’re lying, I’ll find a way to kill you.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you. I have a daughter, too. Three of them. Not too long ago, somebody tried to rape one of them, and then to kill her, so I know how you feel.”
“Would you have died to protect her?”
“I took a bullet for her. Right here.” He pointed to his right rib cage. “Hurt like hell.”
“What’d you do to them?”
“They’re dead.”
Although the crinkles around his eyes still showed deep suspicion, Weiner nodded in obvious approval. “All right, go on, then. I guess I couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to.”
“I’ll bet you could.” Once again Angriff out his hand. “Call me Nick.”
This time the man shook it, meeting Angriff’s gaze. “I’m Dave. Dave Weiner. This is my place.”
#
Weiner went with the medics who were attending to his daughter, ready to fight if they had bad intentions. He picked up a rusty pitchfork along the way and Angriff let him. For the moment, he was alone in one of the most remarkable places he’d ever been.
Ma Kelly’s wasn’t one large structure. It had been added on to at least a dozen times over the years that he could tell, with all material used in its construction being obviously recycled from other buildings. Corrugated metal comprised most of the exterior walls, with patches of gray-faded wood here and there. Two large cross-planked wooden doors made up the main entrance, the type of doors found on barns. Mounted over the entrance was the faded image of a woman with a cigarette dangling from her mouth. As she stared out at the viewer, her expression was that of a world-weary waitress in a run-down dive. Above that were the bottoms of some letters, the rest of which had been trimmed off to make the section fit in place. Angriff assumed the woman was Ma Kelly.
He wandered freely, moving through one doorway after another. Most additions connected via short covered hallways with windows cut to allow breezes through. Sweat rolled down his neck and chest and he could only imagine how it felt inside what was essentially a giant metal heat sink during July and August. The interior walls were lined with other materials, mostly wood, but also some fiberglass insulation and even a small section of cork.
Getting from one building to another wasn’t the biggest problem in Ma Kelly’s; walking through row after row of materials was. Shelves overflowed with everything imaginable, from nails and screws to cups of metal, ceramics, and glass. One section held nothing but cured snakeskins nailed to the wall, with 55-gallon drums of cured animal hides underneath them. A nearby worktable with a large window cut into the wall over it, various hammers organized in neat rows, and nails in jars, made him realize this was where boots were made to order.
By far the largest part was for food, which the Rednecks had looted and left a disorganized mess. Jars of desert barley flour spilled to the floor and boxes of a type of hard bread, a version of hardtack, had been riffled through. Angriff pi
cked up a biscuit and tapped it against his front teeth, where the rock-hard bread made a tick tick sound. Scraps of jerky littered a shelf. He’d made it about halfway to what looked like the last building when he heard Weiner calling him.
“In here,” Angriff yelled back, and wound his way among the rows until he once again stood in the main building near the entrance. “How’s your daughter?”
“Beat up pretty good, as I guess you might’ve figured out. Your medics say she’ll recover physically, except she can’t stop crying. I don’t know how to help her after what those animals did to her…”
Angriff waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. Weiner’s gaze went over Angriff’s shoulder and he stared at nothing.
“We might be able to help her.”
That snapped his attention back to Angriff. “Yeah, so who are you exactly?”
“I saw some chairs. Mind if we sit down?”
“Sure, my knees hurt anyway.”
“For me it’s my back.”
Before they started, Weiner insisted on making tea. It wasn’t much, he explained, but he felt the need to repay Angriff somehow, even if the gesture was small. At first Angriff demurred, having heard stories about what people now considered tea, but relented when he realized that to refuse was an insult. To the general’s utter shock, the tea turned out to actually be tea.
“Where did you get real tea?” he said, sipping the hot liquid. Weiner had sweetened it with honey and Angriff had to admit it tasted delicious.
“Things like tea bags last forever if you keep them dry. I’m told they lose some flavor, but I wouldn’t know what they tasted like before.”
“Let me tell you, it’s wonderful. Thank you.”
“Some folks drink it with milk. I can get some if you want.”
“This is perfect.”
Weiner smiled, his grizzled cheeks spreading wide in satisfaction. He gave Angriff a short history of the trading post. In the time immediately following the Collapse, people fled toward Las Vegas, thinking there was safety in numbers, but within two months food supplies were gone and the local government lost control. No more trucks delivered food and the value of money fell. As the central government failed, the city became a shooting gallery. Starvation turned friend against friend and family against family. Sin City had always been run by nefarious organizations, everything from the Mob to the Mexican cartels, but when all authority broke down, it became an all-out war to see who ruled the ruins.
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