Dark Days

by Bradley, Arthur T. , Ph. D.

  “I’m no fool, Marshal Raines. I realize how this must sound. But consider what would have happened had we not taken this extreme measure. Men, women, and children, the very last of what remains on this earth, would have starved this past winter.” He shook his head. “That’s a God-awful way to go, especially for the kids.”

  “There had to be another way,” said Mason. “Some form of substitute protein.”

  “If there was, we didn’t see it. Beans weren’t in the ground yet. Milk from any source was in very short supply, and eggs were even harder to come by. Do you know how long a human being can live without protein?”

  Mason shook his head.

  “A month, two at the outside. After that, we just waste away. This was the colony’s first winter, and there was nothing but us standing between them and all out extinction.”

  “The ends justify the means, is that it?”

  “This time, yes. It won’t continue for much longer, I promise you that. Another three months at the most. By then, we should have enough crops and livestock to sustain production. Believe me, it’s a short-term sin, if such a thing exists.”

  With his piece said, Locke sat back and held out his hands, as if yielding the floor to Mason.

  “Here’s the problem with your so-called short-term sin. Not only did it include genocide, it also turned survivors into unwitting cannibals.” A thought struck Mason like a punch in the gut, and he stared at Locke with eyes wide. “My God. The Craze. You did that. You created the sickness by feeding infected flesh to the colonists.”

  “Now, now,” Locke said, raising his hands, “we don’t know anything of the kind.”

  “It all makes sense. The sudden onset of the sickness as winter arrived. That’s when people started eating your rations.”

  “You may be a fine lawman, Marshal Raines, but you’re not a doctor. I would advise you not to jump to any conclusions.”

  Nothing Locke said could change what Mason knew in his gut to be true.

  “Evil actions taken for good reasons always have unintended consequences. There are no exceptions to that rule.”

  Brooke looked up at Mason, a passionate plea in her eyes.

  “Please, Mason, don’t do this.”

  “I’m not doing anything except exposing this place for what it is.”

  “I think you misunderstand the situation,” Locke said with a somewhat glib tone. “You seem to be under the false impression that we’ve been deceiving the New Colony. On the contrary, we were granted authority for this emergency measure from the highest levels of government.”

  Mason’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.” Surely no one would go along with such a plan.

  Locke shook his head. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but Governor Stinson himself signed off on this action. A few others in his administration know about it as well. While it may be distasteful, I can assure you that it is all very much above board.”

  Mason was stunned. Could it really be possible that the New Colony’s government had grown desperate enough to sanction genocide and cannibalism?

  “I want you to think about something,” Locke said, adopting a more inviting tone. “If you came to work here, we could stop these desperate measures even sooner.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I didn’t bring you here only to train my men. I brought you here to lead our efforts to retrieve food from local cities and towns. Think about it. There are tons and tons of unused food lying in abandoned warehouses, factories, and grocery stores. Recovering it is dangerous work to be sure, but you and your men have shown that it can be done. Help us, and we could significantly reduce our dependency on… well, let’s call it less than optimal sources of nutrition.” Locke clasped his hands lightly and placed them on the desk. “What do you say, Marshal Raines? Are you willing to lead us out of these dark times?”

  Mason stood for a long moment, considering Locke’s words. Everything he said had flowed easily off his tongue and, to be fair, put a different face on what Mason had discovered in the freezer. But similar arguments of need and urgency had been made by despots throughout history as justifications for the cleansing of “lesser” human beings.

  He took a step back and dragged his boot across the hardwood floor in a deliberate motion, leaving a long black scuff mark.

  “Do you see that line?”

  Locke leaned forward to peer over his desk with an amused look.

  “That’s a line I don’t cross. Not for you.” He looked over at Brooke. “Not for anyone.”

  Locke nodded. “I’m disappointed, of course, but I respect your decision.”

  “I can’t let this stand, not without bringing it to light.”

  “You do what you must.”

  It struck Mason that Locke was taking the threat of exposure exceedingly well, considering that he was threatening to tell the entire colony that The Farm had been feeding them dehydrated chips of virus-infected humankind.

  “You’re not going to try to stop me?”

  “Even if I were so inclined, how could I? You’re armed, and I’m sure you and your dog would put up a formidable fight, am I right?”

  Mason glanced down at Bowie. “You are.”

  “Then we’ll agree to disagree. You go and do what you feel is right, and we’ll continue to do the same.” He stood up and extended a hand. “It’s been a pleasure to know you, Marshal Raines.”

  Mason hesitated, uncertain whether it was a hollow gesture or a genuine farewell. Unable to bring himself to shake the hand of a mass murderer, he simply nodded.

  Locke offered an understanding smile. “You’re welcome to stay the rest of the night, of course.”

  “I think we’ll be on our way.”

  “Very well. While you gather your things, I’ll have my men get a vehicle ready for you.”

  Mason thought of Dix and the others, uncertain whether he should bring them into the thick of things.

  Locke seemed to read his mind.

  “You have my word that your men will be fine. We’ll have the tanker unloaded and ready to return to the New Colony first thing in the morning.”

  While Locke’s word meant very little, Mason could see no upside to either of them involving Dix and the others.

  “All right.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Brooke and I have a few things to discuss.”

  Mason looked over at Brooke, but she refused to meet his eyes. He turned and left Locke’s office. French and the security detail led him back to his quarters, where he hastily gathered his M4 and stuffed his few belongings into his backpack. He couldn’t help but look at the ruffled covers and be reminded of his and Brooke’s earlier rendezvous. Bowie, too, seemed a bit sullen by the evening’s unexpected turn.

  Mason leaned down and stroked the dog.

  “Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to be on the right side of things.”

  Bowie leaned against his leg and tipped his head up to lick Mason’s chin.

  “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be all right. Come on, let’s get out of here before Locke changes his mind.”

  With the M4 slung over one shoulder and his backpack over the other, Mason followed French out to a parking lot on the west side of the dormitory. An old black Lincoln Town Car sat idling in the driveway.

  French opened the driver’s side door.

  “Watch yourself, Marshal. Around here, things aren’t always as they first appear.”

  It was as close to a warning as the man could afford to offer, but Mason was nonetheless grateful. He extended his hand, and to his surprise, French reciprocated.

  “Good to see that you’re not as big a prick as I first thought.”

  French grinned. “That’s funny, because you’re exactly the prick I took you to be.”

  Mason smiled and smacked him lightly on the shoulder.

  “Don’t take too long figuring out which side of this you’re on.”

  French nodded.

  Mason motioned fo
r Bowie to slide through to the passenger seat. Once the dog was situated, he climbed in and followed a small pickup truck back to the compound’s front gate. After passing between the armored school buses, he turned south onto Church Street, relieved to see The Farm slowly disappearing in his rearview mirror. His departure had gone much easier than it could have, and that, he thought, could only mean one thing.

  Locke was planning something.

  As Mason left Smithfield’s city limits, the sun was coming up over the horizon. He turned on the radio, hoping to tune into the New Colony’s only broadcasting station. Twenty-four hours of official government announcements intermingled with whatever hits the station could manage to get its hands on.

  There was only static.

  He eyed the wire hanger poking up from the antenna hole. So much for riding in luxury.

  A loud thump sounded from the rear of the car, and Bowie sat up with a startled turn of his head. Mason slowed and listened. Another thump, clearly coming from either a back tire or the trunk.

  He eased the Lincoln onto the shoulder. As he opened his door, Bowie darted out and raced around to the trunk. Mason followed, the keys to the Lincoln in one hand, his Supergrade in the other.

  Another thump. Definitely coming from the trunk.

  Mason inserted the key and took a step back as the trunk swung open. His eyes widened.

  Brooke lay curled up on the floor of the trunk, wrists and ankles bound with clothesline wire. A strip of duct tape covered her mouth, one corner of it having peeled away from her working against it with her tongue. Her left eye was bruised, and the cheek below it was bright red and swollen.

  She grunted and pushed her hands toward him.

  Mason quickly holstered his pistol and lifted her from the trunk. Carrying her over to a patch of grass, he set her down and gently pulled the tape from her mouth.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Locke… we argued… about you,” she said between deep breaths.

  Mason slid the chipped blade of his hunting knife between her bonds, slicing them in two.

  “And then what?”

  “And then the bastard punched me, that’s what.” She brought fingers to her swollen cheek. “I guess I blacked out for a few minutes. When I woke up, my hands were tied and I was being loaded into the trunk like an old spare tire.” Her voice was tight, like it might break with every word, but Mason thought she seemed more angry than hurt.

  He rubbed the raw flesh on her wrists. Fortunately, her bonds hadn’t been tied tightly enough to cut off the circulation.

  “You’re safe now.”

  “He wanted to come after you. I begged him not to.”

  “Why would you do such a fool thing?”

  She looked into his eyes. “Why? You’re asking me why?”

  He gently touched her swollen cheek.

  “It wasn’t worth getting hurt over. I can take care of myself. You know that.”

  “You don’t know Locke the way I do. If he wants someone dead, they end up dead, and never in a way that comes back on him.”

  Mason finished cutting her ankles free and tossed the rope aside.

  “But why would he put you in the trunk of this car?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I got the feeling that he just wanted to get rid of me.”

  Mason stood up and helped Brooke to her feet. She wobbled a little, and he slipped an arm around her.

  “Can you walk?”

  She leaned against him. “I just need a minute to get the circulation back in my legs.”

  Together, they walked back to the car. As they approached the passenger side, Brooke noticed Bowie inspecting a long wet streak trailing behind the rear bumper.

  “What’s that?”

  Mason went over to get a better look. He squatted down and touched the liquid with his fingers. It was thin and evaporating fast. He brought his fingers to his nose.

  “Gasoline.” He dropped to his hands and knees and peeked underneath the car. A slow trickle of gas dripped onto the asphalt. “Someone’s poked a hole in the gas tank.”

  “Locke.”

  Mason stood up and walked around to the driver’s side. He turned the key to “Accessory” to check the fuel level. It was at a quarter tank and steadily creeping downward. It wouldn’t be long before it was empty, and there wasn’t much to be done about it.

  He looked across the hood at Brooke.

  “There’s only one reason for Locke to disable the car.”

  “He’s sending a team out to get rid of us.”

  He nodded. “It’s risky though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I wasn’t entirely lying when I said that killing me would raise questions. Locke will not only have to explain why I left without my men. He’ll have to make a case for how I could be ambushed on a road known to be clear of threats.”

  “He’s very good at putting together stories that people want to believe.”

  “Understood.”

  “What do we do?”

  He turned slowly in place. The James River Bridge was about a mile off to the east. The highway continued south, but it was a good twenty-five-mile walk back to the colony.

  “We’ll detour across the bridge. Locke’s men will likely assume we’re going back to the New Colony and head down Highway 17.”

  “Are you sure? Going across the bridge, and then through Newport News and Hampton, on foot? That sounds dangerous.”

  “Dangerous or not, it’s better to go where they won’t think to follow.” He leaned into the Lincoln and lifted out his pack and M4. “Come on. The sooner we get off this road, the better.”

  “Right.” She hurried around to the trunk and emerged a few seconds later with her shoes in hand.

  As they started east, Mason glanced over, taking a quick assessment of Brooke’s condition. She seemed more surefooted now, but her eye was getting darker by the minute. His gaze lingered. Despite the bruising, she was more alluring than ever. She had taken a beating for him, and that kind of loyalty had its own beauty.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said.

  “Of course.”

  “How long did you know about what Locke was doing?”

  “Not long.” She reached over and gently held his arm. “When I found out, I wasn’t sure what to do. I couldn’t stop it by myself.”

  “Which is the real reason you wanted me to take the job.”

  “Not the only reason.” She hesitated. “But yes, I knew that when you discovered what was going on, you’d do something about it. Only I was hoping that it could be done differently, more diplomatically.”

  “I’m afraid diplomacy doesn’t run in the Raines family genes.”

  “Clearly not,” she said, looking over at him and smiling.

  “If it was your plan to have me work there, why did you leave the note?” Mason said it like he knew it to be fact.

  She hesitated. “You figured that out?”

  “It wasn’t hard.”

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t stay.” She squeezed his arm. “You seemed… well, unsure.”

  “I was just pulling your chain. I would have stayed.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Maybe. We both know that you still carry feelings for Ava. After I left your room, I decided that I couldn’t chance it. I needed for you to see what was happening.”

  “But why bring Cash there?”

  Brooke swallowed, and tears began to pool in the corners of her eyes.

  “I think you already know why.”

  “He tried to force himself on you.”

  She nodded. “Many times.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “Because I felt dirty, ashamed.”

  “Did he—?”

  She shook her head. “No, but it would have come to that. I’m certain of it.”

  Mason continued walking, and she followed beside him, never releasing his arm.

  “I’m so
rry. I should have told you.”

  “We all deal with things in our own way.”

  “But he could have killed you.”

  “No. He couldn’t have.”

  They walked for several minutes without saying anything.

  Finally, she said, “What do we do now?”

  “We go back to the colony and expose The Farm for what it is.”

  “Are you sure that’s the best option?”

  “It’s the only option.”

  She said nothing.

  “Do you know if Governor Stinson is truly aware of what Locke’s doing?”

  Brooke shook her head. “That was the first I’d heard of it. It may be true or it may not be. Locke is a very good liar.”

  “We’ll have to assume that it is until we know otherwise. Safer that way.”

  “Do you know anyone in the government you can trust? A friend, perhaps?”

  “General Carr. I’m certain that he would never go along with something like this. We’ll start with him.”

  “Carr,” she repeated, as if trying to commit the name to memory. “Anyone else?”

  “Not that I would trust with something this big. He’s our way in.”

  “We’ll have to be careful so as not to draw attention to ourselves.”

  “Agreed. And that starts with first evading our enemy.” Mason pointed to the James River Bridge directly ahead. “There’s a barge wrapped around one of the bridge’s pylons. We’ll hide there until Locke’s hit squad gives up and goes home.”

  Brooke eyed the bridge and then turned to look back toward Smithfield.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I was just wondering whether Locke’s men will decide to come this way.”

  “I doubt it. Even if they do, they’ll never think to look on the boat. If I’ve learned one thing being a marshal, it’s that hiding is easy. Finding people—now that’s the hard part.”

  Chapter 13

  The barracks where the operators and their families had been living for the better part of a year were on the west side of the compound, barely three hundred yards from where Tanner had cut through the fence line.

  With Duncan leading the way, they shuffled alongside the building, doing their best to stay in the thickest shadows. They swung wide, circling the barracks to approach the front door from the darker side of the building.