Syndicate Wars: False Dawn (Seppukarian Book 4)

by George S. Mahaffey Jr.

  Still nothing.

  A resistance fighter grabbed her.

  “I’m warning you,” Samantha said. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. I’ve got serious mystical powers.”

  “Yeah, we’re all pissing our pants,” the fighter said. Gales of laughter followed from the fighter’s comrades. Samantha felt herself being lifted up and thrown over the fighter’s shoulder like a sack of trash and then she was hauled back down the corridor. As she was carried in the gloominess of the silo, Samantha scanned her arms, wondering whether it had all been some kind of illusion. Maybe she’d just imagined all of the things with Hadrian. Maybe she didn’t have any powers at all. Maybe she was the same, boring loser she’d always been. Yeah, maybe it was that, or perhaps it was something more sinister. Maybe she’d lost her mind at some point during the invasion. She closed her eyes and little jolts of pain needled her temple as she was hauled deeper into the silo.

  3

  Q uinn saw the fist before she felt it drive the air from her lungs. She’d been hauled to her feet by a long-haired resistance fighter with hands that resembled wooden mallets. The fighter was shadowed by seven additional guards in torn camouflage, all heavily armed.

  The Marines, along with Mackie, Hawkins, and Mira had been stripped of their armor and gear and were standing in their underwear, bound, with their arms behind their backs.

  “This is for what you done down in New Mexico,” the long-hair said before punching Quinn hard in her chest.

  “You hit like an old lady,” Quinn said, taking the blow, her intestines doing a somersault.

  The long-hair slugged her again, staggering Quinn, dropping her to one knee.

  The fighter grabbed Quinn by the back of her hair and snapped her neck back.

  “I had friends down there,” the fighter said.

  “That shocks me,” Quinn said.

  “That I was down there?”

  “No, that you had friends.”

  The fighter kicked her in the gut.

  She fell onto her back and the fighter straddled her. “I should slab your sorry ass, bitch,” the fighter said. “You killed some good goddamn people.”

  Quinn snatched in a breath, studying long-hair and the other guards who’d treated them roughly. She quickly made mental notes of their features, making sure she knew whose asses to kick once she found a way out of her bindings. “I didn’t have a choice,” Quinn finally hissed back. “The scuds forced us to go on those operations.”

  “Bullshit!” the fighter bellowed, leaning down, readying to strike another blow.

  “She saved our asses!” Hawkins blurted out, all eyes suddenly on him. “Up on the asteroid we ran into some serious shit.”

  “She put her life on the line for us,” Mackie seconded.

  “The only reason we’re here is because of what she did,” Mira added.

  Long-hair turned to Hawkins and his expression softened for a moment. “You got a big heart and some serious stones, Hawkins, but you’re wrong on this one. The only way this ends well for you, Mackie, and Mira, is if you get up in front of everybody in this place and renounce the fucking Marines and ask for forgiveness.”

  Hawkins cast looks at Mackie and Mira who shook their heads. He turned back to the long-haired fighter, a look of sorrow washing over his face. “Back in the Rangers they gave medals out to people who were willing to sacrifice themselves so that others might gain. I thought that’s how it was with the resistance, but I was wrong. You boys talk a good game, but you really only want people who are willing to sacrifice others so that you might gain yourselves.”

  “Suit yourself,” long-hair said, grabbing Quinn by the scruff of her neck. She cobra-spat in his eyes and he stumbled back as the other guards raised their weapons.

  “ENOUGH!” somebody shouted.

  Quinn and the others looked up to see Comerford standing in the open doorway. His chest was puffed out and he looked pissed. “What the hell is going on in here?!” he thundered.

  “We were just discussing all the ways the Marines done us wrong,” the long-haired fighter replied, shooting a final glare in Quinn’s direction.

  “That is a conversation for another day,” Comerford replied. “I want them up and out of here and back down in the sleeping quarters. Now.”

  Long-hair and the other guards grumbled, then reluctantly prodded the Marines and the others and marched them out of the storage room and into the sleeping quarters Quinn had previously shared with Samantha.

  Long-hair and the other guards tossed the sleeping quarters after shoving Quinn and the others to the ground. They removed the bed and anything that could theoretically be used as a weapon. When this was over, Comerford watched his fighters exit the room and then stood in the doorway, a tired expression tinged with sadness etching his face.

  “Don’t. Do not say it,” Quinn muttered. “Do not cheapen this moment by saying that you’re sorry for what your people have done.”

  “That’s fine, because I wasn’t going to say that,” Comerford replied. “For Crissakes, I’m responsible for more than seven-hundred people, Sergeant. We’ve lived through one catastrophe already, I can’t permit another to happen. Frankly I don’t know what to think about this whole thing, but I did see something on Alexandra’s phone and I need to take some precautions until it’s all sorted out.”

  “What did you see?” Quinn asked.

  “Something involving your daughter.”

  Anger flashed in Quinn’s face. Her lips pulled back and she snarled while trying to dislodge her bindings.

  “She’s safe,” Comerford said. “We’ve got her in another room.”

  Quinn’s eyes widened. “If you do anything to her…”

  “We won’t. We recognize all that you’ve done, but I’ve got to protect my people and get to the bottom of this. Surely you can understand that.”

  “Think hard about what you’re doing,” Quinn said. “There’s a hundred ways this could end badly for you and maybe one or two that might not. If I were you, I’d focus on the one or two and let us out.”

  “I can’t do that,” Comerford replied, his voice quivery. “Least not yet.”

  “In that case, I’d advise you to close that door and go eat a bowl of cold fuck, asshole,” Renner hissed.

  Choosing not to respond, Comerford stepped back through the door when Quinn called out. “Tell Xan it’s probably best if she leaves the base. ‘Cos I’m coming for her. Somehow, some way, Xan’s ass is mine. She’s at the top of the list, Comerford. I’m hoping like hell that you don’t find yourself there too.”

  Comerford released a spluttered sigh, then slammed the blast door shut and locked it. Silence stretched between those in the room for several seconds. Quinn slumped to the ground, back pressed to the wall. Her eyes roamed the space and finally found Hawkins.

  “Thanks for the kind words,” she said.

  Hawkins smiled and nodded. With the heels of his boots he drew a crude circle in the dust on the ground and then marked an “X” in the middle of the circle. “You know what that is?” he asked.

  Quinn shook her head.

  “That circle there has been around since the dawn of time. Humans were always the ‘X,’ the ones on the inside. The shit that wanted to kill us was on the outside. How it is that the resistance somehow went outside of that circle, I’ll never know.” Hawkins shook his head in disgust.

  Renner started tapping the tips of his fingers on his knees. “Fuck that circle and fuck Comerford and the others. First they tried to off us with a bomb on the command ship and then this bullshit?! After we risked our asses to snag the totem!”

  “At ease,” Hayden said. “Xan and some of the others are rats, but that man Comerford’s scared and he’s just looking out for his people. You might do the same if you were in his shoes.”

  Renner mumbled to himself as Giovanni nodded.

  “Scared people do stupid things,” Giovanni said. “Gunny’s right. Comerford’s a decent guy.
He’s just caught up in something I don’t think he understands.”

  Mira turned to face Quinn. “What the hell do you think they meant that it involved your kid?”

  Quinn shook her head. She didn’t have a good answer for this, other than an assumption that Samantha had either mouthed off or happened upon something she was never meant to see. But so what if she had? She was twelve years old and that’s what kids do. Stupid shit. There was no reason to lock everybody up unless it was something far more serious.

  “Quinn, I’m going to say something here,” Milo said. “Promise me you won’t get pissed.”

  “I promise,” Quinn replied. “As long as it’s not something incredibly stupid about Samantha.”

  “It’s probably not a shocker to think that your daughter’s gotten in over her head.”

  Quinn’s nostrils flared. “Careful, Milo…”

  “What I meant is, she’s been doing crazy stuff ever since the invasion happened, hasn’t she? I heard the stories. Going off on her own, fighting the aliens. What kinda twelve-year old does stuff like that?”

  “So what are you saying, Milo?” Quinn asked, some heat in her voice.

  “Maybe this is all a cry for help. Maybe you need to do a better job of parental overwatch,” Milo said. “Maybe Samantha needs a male presence in her life to balance things out. I’d be happy to be a mentor without smothering her.”

  “Okay, so you’re saying I what? Smother her?”

  “Well, you can’t have ‘smother’ without ‘mother,’ right?” he said with a sheepish grin.

  Quinn mouthed Milo’s words silently, then she said, “I’m glad you said that, because it did help clarify at least one thing.”

  “Really? What’s that?” Milo asked.

  “That Xan is now officially not at the top of my shit list anymore.”

  “Stand down, you two,” Giovanni said. “This isn’t helping anybody. We need to formulate a plan.”

  Mira glanced around. “We need something to work with.”

  Renner shook his head. “They took all of the good stuff. We’re screwed.”

  “Check out the TV,” Quinn whispered.

  Everyone glanced over at the TV.

  “You see what’s on top of it?” Quinn asked.

  Renner nodded, he saw Zeus, the toy robot still perched on it.

  “That’s our way out,” Quinn said.

  Renner nodded slowly. “Okay … so a toy robot is going to bust us out, huh? It’s a real shame they did away with Section 8, Quinn, because you are downright loco.”

  “There’s something hidden inside the robot, you idiot.”

  Quinn rocked her body left and right and then fell sideways. Then she grunted and rolled again and again until she was near the television. Levering herself up, she bumped into the TV, dislodging Zeus so that it clattered to the ground. She kicked the toy over to Hayden.

  “Get it behind you and pop the head off,” Quinn commanded.

  Hayden shimmied around, worming his hands until he was able to grasp the small toy. With much effort, he worked his fingers over Zeus’s metal body. He grasped the robot’s head and twisted it off, yelping. “Shit!”

  “There’s a knife in there,” Quinn said.

  “Now you tell me,” Hayden replied.

  Quinn rolled back over until she was seated beside Hayden. She inched over until they were sitting roughly back-to-back. Hawkins flopped over until he was seated between the two, able to watch Hayden lift Zeus’s body with the knife up a few inches off the ground. Hawkins did a play-by-play, directing Hayden on the proper angles to take with the knife. After several failed attempts, Hayden maneuvered the knife across Quinn’s bindings. He commenced sawing the knife back and forth.

  Quinn could feel the blade working on her bindings. Teeth bared, she put pressure on her wrists, hoping to weaken the bindings. Hayden dropped the blade twice, fumbling for it, then recommencing the sawing. This went on for several minutes and then—

  WHUNK!

  Quinn’s bindings came loose. A muted cheer rose up from the others as Milo forced a smile, staring at the blade that was now in her hands.

  “I was just kidding about you smothering Samantha by the way,” he said.

  “You’re lucky I don’t smother you,” Quinn replied, cutting his bindings. She turned and quickly freed the others. They commenced with scouring the space, looking for anything to use as a weapon. They soon found that the room was devoid of anything useful, aside from the legs of a metal table that were soon pried loose to use as clubs.

  Moving to the blast door, Quinn ran her hands over its smooth surface. She felt along its edges, searching for a handhold, but the door was as smooth as a stone.

  “We’ll jump them when they come back,” Renner said. “The rest of us sit on the ground and act like we’re still bound and one of us’ll bum rush the bastards.”

  “They’ve got guns,” Mackie noted. “You might get the first one or two, but the others will let loose.”

  Quinn’s fingers traced the outline of the door and eventually stopped on its massive hinges.

  “Forget about it, Quinn,” Renner said. “You know what kind of door that is?”

  “The locked kind,” she answered, looking back at him.

  “That puppy has four inches of concrete poured in the middle. It can resist a structure fire, cutting torches, even a 7.62 millimeter round with zero penetration.”

  Quinn licked her lips, annoyed. “You a goddamn door salesman now?”

  “Nope, but I did see one like it in that forward operating base back in Yemen. All the Big Gov goodies were hidden inside it. Holy of Holies it was called.”

  “How about its hinges?”

  Renner moved over, curious, and inspected the door’s hinges. “Looks like they weigh about twenty pounds a leaf. Old-school stuff. Half inch shafts on bronze bushings that are fitted into steel blocks.”

  “Tell me how to beat it,” she said.

  “With what?”

  “This,” Quinn said, pointing at Renner’s temple. “And this,” she added, holding up the blade that was hidden inside Zeus.

  “You joking?”

  “Do I look like I am?”

  Renner turned back to the hinges and squinted. Then he grabbed the blade from Quinn, inserted it into the joint at the edge of the door and snapped the tip off, flattening the blade.

  “There goes our only weapon,” Milo said.

  Renner didn’t respond, choosing instead to insert the blade near the hinges, searching for a spot only he could see.

  “Is this going to work?” Quinn said.

  “Maybe if we’ve got enough time. Might take an hour or two, but it’s something,” Renner whispered back. “It’s a chance.”

  4

  Xan marched down through the main hallway in the bottom of the silo. She was accompanied by a bear of a man in grime-splotched clothing, a handsome Hispanic resistance fighter in his forties named Esai Quarrels, who’d lost most of his right hand many months earlier during a Syndicate bombing run in the days after the initial invasion. Quarrels had just come in from a long-range patrol and had some rather startling intelligence that Xan wanted to share with Comerford.

  They found Comerford in the silo’s command center, seated in a chair, a faraway look in his eye as he peered at war footage on a bank of monitors. Comerford glanced up at Xan and Quarrels, eyes narrowed.

  “This him?” Comerford asked.

  “Esai Quarrels,” Xan replied with a nod and a smile. “Fresh in from the world.”

  “I heard you were out in the field for the better part of three weeks.”

  “More like four, sir.” Quarrels smiled, revealing a few chipped or broken teeth. He smacked his thigh and dust flew into the air from his cargo pants.

  Quarrels extended his hand and the men shook. Comerford glanced down at Quarrels hand, eyes going wide to see that he was missing all of the digits on his right hand except for his middle finger.

  “
You came at the wrong time, Mister Quarrels,” Comerford said, sighing as he returned to his chair. “We got us a little predicament here.”

  “So I hear. Xan said something about a fifth column nosing around.” Quarrels traded a glance with Xan. “Somebody who maybe ain’t what they appear to be.”

  “We don’t know that yet,” Comerford replied. “We’ve yet to do a proper investigation.”

  “We’ve got a mole,” Xan asserted. “A kid who’s in league with the scuds.”

  Quarrels sucked on his teeth. “That don’t surprise me in the least, given all the activity out in the country.” He gestured at Comerford. “May I show you something, sir?”

  Comerford nodded and Xan moved over to lower the lights in the room. Quarrels snapped a tiny nano-projection device that resembled an old-school Fitbit exercise tracker around his wrist. He powered the device up, opening several windows and subwindows on the device’s minute screen. With a tap on a subwindow, the device beamed a pool of yellowish light into the air. A tap on a further subwindow conjured up forms dancing in the light.

  The images were of varying quality and shot from different distances, but they all showed one thing: a vast contingent of Syndicate personnel and equipment engaged in some kind of preternaturally large engineering operation near a river that crashed down through an impressive, rust-colored set of canyonlands. Quarrels was able to manipulate the images by wiping and cross-cutting the images with the swipe of a finger. He sifted through the material as if fast-forwarding scenes in a movie. Comerford and Xan watched as the engineering work progressed at a mind-blowing pace.

  Comerford looked from the images to Quarrels. “The hell are we watching here?”

  “The bastards are building a base,” Quarrels said. A huge, goddamn base.”

  Quarrels pointed to various scenes, including images of a gigantic metal device that looked like a drillbit on steroids. The machine was positioned over the desert floor, dangling at the end of metal ropes tethered to four enormous, airborne Syndicate drones that resembled construction cranes.