The group continued on, heading down toward the rear exit out of the silo. Along the way, small herds of resistance fighters appeared and Comerford continued to plead with them to stand down, which they did. The resistance fighters had their weapons removed, rifles, pistols, even a few ballistic grenades that were fitted into tactical belts. Quinn and the others gathered all of this gear up as Comerford led them to another room which was cluttered with boxes and books and a few piles of what looked like thrift-store clothing.
“What’s this?” Milo asked, picking up an old, stain-splotched golf shirt.
“These are the only clothes we have,” Comerford said.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Milo said.
“Get dressed now,” Quinn snapped. “These will have to do.”
She hunted around the pile of clothes and climbed into a pair of cargo shorts and a ripped compression shirt with an insignia that said “Pain Is Weakness Leaving the Body.” The others did likewise, Hayden throwing on the only shirt large enough to cover his frame, an enormous, pink Hawaiian article with palm trees. Renner grabbed an old-fashioned iron-on T-shirt with an image of a beer can on the front, emblazoned with the words, “Better Than Nothing.”
“Hey, somebody condensed my life philosophy to three words!” Renner said with a grin, shrugging on the shirt. He placed a pair of black sunglasses on the back of his neck and snatched up some purple flipflops.
Quinn turned and looked at everyone. Dressed in their ill-fitting, garishly colored hand-me-downs, the Marines and resistance fighters looked like some warped family readying to head down to the beach on vacation.
BACK OUT IN THE HALLWAY, Quinn urged everyone to hurry, realizing there wasn’t much time if she hoped to track Xan and the others down.
“Why did they take her?” Quinn asked Comerford.
“I don’t know specifically, but Alexandra was talking crazy,” Comerford said.
Quinn grabbed Comerford’s shoulder and stopped him.
“What do you mean?”
Comerford looked up at her, saucer eyed. “The scuds are building a base out west. Place is huge, a cluster of vertical cities it looks like. They flooded an area up north of Twin Falls that’s spilled over into Wyoming. A fighter named Quarrels showed me footage. I do believe Alexandra intended to go somewhere near there.”
“For what reason?”
“No reason that’s good,” Comerford replied, his face falling. “She’s a dead ender. Got visions of suicide by alien if you know what I mean.”
“No way,” Mira said looking over. “I’ve thrown in with you guys now, but I was close with her before. She’s got a few blown fuses, but I don’t think she’d go on some suicide mission. I mean she lost everybody during the invasion, but that ain’t her.”
“People with nothing, have nothing to lose,” Giovanni replied. Mira looked like she wanted to say more, but didn’t.
QUINN POINTED and Comerford trekked on, batting aside a cat’s cradle of electrical wires that dangled from the ceiling. He led everyone through a maze of pipes and hoses, the air heavy with the odor of ozone. They followed a loop of flexible ductwork that led from a mammoth compressor to a hatch that Comerford pried open. Quinn peered into the opening, a section of rigid ductwork, and darkness peered back.
“You first,” she said, prodding Comerford.
The big man pretzled himself down into the ductwork and began moving forward on his hands and knees, followed by Quinn and all of the others. As she crawled through the gloom, she began thinking about what Comerford had said. What the hell had he meant about Samantha blowing things up? Was he talking about explosives? Grenades? Something else? The whole thing was bullshit, she thought. A ploy to turn the tables on her and the others, revenge for what they’d done in New Mexico and New York. Xan and some of the others had never really forgiven them, and this was their chance for a little payback. But then that still, small voice came to her again, whispering that Samantha had always been a little different.
Quinn remembered her around the age of five, padding into Quinn’s bedroom where she whispered that she often expected to wake up as somebody else. And then there was the time when Samantha was six or seven and she was convinced that something was stalking her. A spectral figure she nicknamed “Wither,” who was as thin as a blade of grass and able to slip under doors and window sills. Quinn had been concerned enough to take Samantha to a child psychiatrist who ran a battery of tests, only to chalk everything up to an overactive imagination. There was nothing wrong with her daughter, Quinn told herself. Nothing at all.
The group crawled for some indeterminable period of time, following the ductwork as it zigzagged through the silo. Eventually, the ductwork ended at a chute, a large section of steel piping that reverberated with the sound of several unseen air handlers. This was the area where air from the outside was sucked down, conditioned, and then blasted throughout the silo. Quinn looked up and saw that the piping led up toward the surface, which was roughly eighty feet above. There were metal rungs on the side of the chute and Comerford grabbed onto one and began hauling himself up.
Quinn watched Comerford punch loose the grating at the top of the piping and climb out. She followed him topside, having been down in the darkness for so long that the day’s ambient light nearly blinded her. Crawling over the edge of the piping, Quinn hopped down onto a concrete pad where Comerford sat. She helped the others out of the piping and then set off toward the warehouse where the glider was stored.
Along the way they passed a flurry of SUVs and other cars that Quinn had seen the resistance at the base use for various operations. The machines had been destroyed, the tires shot out, the sides riddled with bullets. Quinn dropped to her haunches and surveyed the wreckage. The ground was full of curds of glass from shattered windows, nuggets of rubber from shredded tires, the air tanged with the odor of spilled gasoline. The bastards, she thought to herself. They knew we’d be coming.
Everyone scattered for a moment, taking up defensive positions, making sure that an ambush wasn’t imminent. Satisfied that whoever had destroyed the vehicles was gone, the group nosed around one of the outbuildings and Comerford directed them to a faraway outbuilding with a closed roll-up door. The group heaved the door open to reveal a pair of lightly armored Jeeps on the inside. They were older model machines grimed with dust, but they’d have to do. Quinn surmised that in all the hurry, Xan and the others had missed them.
They continued on and Quinn saw that the doors to the warehouse where the glider was kept were open. She crept inside, keeping low, just in case a sniper or two had stayed behind. The exterior of the glider was blackened, but unbroken and the ground was littered with shell casings and the telltale signs that somebody (Xan!) had tried to destroy it.
“Dumbasses,” Cody said, taking in the glider. “The schumucks didn’t realize that the exoskeleton is basically impervious to fire and small arms. Besides, you gotta know the password to get inside,” he said, grinning, holding up his hand. He moved over and waved his hand in front of a biometrics scanner as the rear ramp on the glider descended.
“We need boots on the ground if we want to catch them,” Quinn said. “We need an intercept team.”
Giovanni raised his hand. “I’ll go.”
“Me too,” said Luke. Mackie and Eli did the same.
“The rest of us will go in the glider,” Hayden said. “Quinn, Giovanni, and the others will head west in the jeeps and we’ll head east. I figure we’ll go fifty miles out and if we see anyone on the roads, we’ll investigate. If not, we’ll head back west and link up.”
Quinn nodded. “We’ve got no helmets though, Gunny. No helmets, no way to communicate.”
“So we’ll just have to make do,” Hayden said. “We’re overwatch. If we spot something, we’ll do our best to ride to the rescue.”
Quinn smiled and caught a look from Cody who asked, “I assume you’ve got a plan?”
“Yep,” she replied. “And it’s a pretty simple
one. We rescue Samantha and smoke any sonofabitch that gets in our way.”
10
Samantha was woozy from Xan’s punch, bound, duct tape over her mouth, and stuffed in the back of an armored SUV that was flying down the highway. Two resistance fighters were up front, one driving the other riding shotgun. Samantha was seated behind them, flanked by Xan and another fighter, a man she’d never seen before with a mangled hand. She tried to move her wrists and legs, but they’d been zipcuffed and duct-taped. Samantha closed her eyes and tried to conjure up some magic but Xan plucked her earlobe and ripped the duct tape from her mouth.
“Hey! Watch it!” Samantha shouted.
“She speaks,” said the man with the mangled hand.
“I do a lot more than that, sparky,” Samantha replied, winking at him.
The man smiled and nodded. “M’name’s Esai Quarrels, Samantha.”
“Awesome. At least now I have a name when I report my kidnapping, along with the assault and battery,” Samantha said, casting an eye in Xan’s direction.
“I’m sorry for hitting you,” Xan said.
“Yeah, I really believe that,” Samantha replied.
“She’s a pistol, Alexandra,” Quarrels said, chuckling. “That’s for sure.”
“What is it that you do, Mister Quarrels?” she asked.
“I traffic in information and also dabble in the trading of valuable things.”
“Done that your whole life?” Samantha asked.
“Well, there were a few years in middle school…” Quarrels said, trailing off, a zippered grin on his face.
“Look, Mister Quarrels, I’m thinking I can be frank with you.”
“I appreciate you saying that.”
“If you let me go right now, I won’t hurt you. In fact, aside from Xan there, I won’t hurt any of you.”
Quarrels leaned back and laughed. “You can’t hurt me even if you wanted to.”
“Would you like me to demonstrate just how wrong you are about that?” Samantha asked.
The grin vanished from Quarrels’s face. He reached out and grabbed Samantha’s knee and pressed hard.
“We are going to meet some new friends shortly, Samantha, and I would really love it if you’d promise to be on your best behavior.”
“And if I’m not?” Samantha asked.
Quarrels whipped out a thin blade that resembled a boning knife and held it up. “I’d really prefer not to introduce you to Mister Shiny.”
Samantha stared at the knife, betraying no emotion. “Are you finished, Esai?”
“Yes I am, baby sister,” Quarrels replied.
“Did you think what you just said would scare me?” Samantha asked.
“Didn’t it?”
“Even a day ago, I would’ve been a little frightened yeah, but not now,” Samantha said.
At this, she leaned toward Quarrels, smiling darkly. “Because I’ve seen the other side. I know that the only way any of you are going to survive is if you keep me alive. You’re so scared of the aliens, but you have no idea what’s coming.”
“And what might that be?” Quarrels asked, a flicker of fear in his eyes.
At this, Samantha grinned and started laughing boisterously. She continued to laugh even after Xan and the other resistance fighters screamed for her to stop. Xan grabbed the piece of duct tape and slapped it back over Samantha’s mouth.
“Make that magically disappear, freak,” Xan said smugly.
Sam just glared, daring her to strike her again, to try anything. She had a feeling such an action would pull the worst out of her.
11
Q uinn, Giovanni, Mackie, Luke, and Eli took Comerford and Dan with them back to the armored Jeeps they’d seen earlier. Giovanni entered both Jeeps and then exited, pissed that there weren’t any keys. Comerford said the keys were back down in the silo, but there wasn’t enough time to go for them.
“We don’t need no stinkin’ keys,” Eli said.
Quinn turned to him and he lifted both hands and wriggled his fingers, grinning.
As Eli went to work hotwiring both machines, Quinn and Giovanni were approached by Comerford. They tensed, Quinn bringing her pistol around. Comerford raised his hands.
“I’m not the bad guy here,” he said.
“You could’ve fooled me,” Quinn said.
Comerford gestured for them to move away from the others and they stepped aside with him.
“There’s one thing I forget to mention earlier, Sergeant,” Comerford said. “There’s a man with Xan, a fella named Quarrels. He might present a problem.”
“How so?” she asked.
“He’s a bit of a wild card. A rogue operator.”
“I don’t remember ever hearing his name,” Giovanni said.
“Because he always preferred to freelance,” Comerford replied. “When the invasion happened, we had our core group, but once we starting losing people, we absorbed every able body who could carry a gun. Quarrels was one of the later ones. Scuttlebutt is he was a dealer of narcotics and other things in Los Angeles and down near the border in the days before the invasion.”
“Even more reason to send him and the others on to their rewards,” Quinn replied as the first of the two Jeeps roared to life in the background.
Comerford froze, his eyebrows up. “I don’t think you get my point.”
“So help me out here then,” Quinn said.
“The man has connections is all I’m saying. Some of the dirtbags and black hats he was running drugs with took a pause after the scuds first appeared, but have started up operations again.”
“The bandits out in the desert?” Giovanni asked.
Comerford nodded. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they linked up at some point.”
Quinn smiled. “Even better. I always loved shooting fish in a barrel.”
“Hey! Check it out!” Luke shouted. Quinn and Giovanni looked over and saw him waving his arms. They went over and found that he was rummaging through a series of wooden crates and plastic lockers at the back of the space. He pulled out what looked like a small airplane with wings that folded out.
“The hell is this?” Luke asked. “A model plane?”
“It’s a drone,” Giovanni said. “An older model. I remember seeing someone use it back in Yemen. What did they call it? A ‘Raven’?”
Luke handed it to Quinn. The Raven drone was light, maybe five pounds, the wingspan four feet at the most, a tiny carbon-fiber propeller fixed to its nose. She examined the drone and spotted something stuck on the back of it, a quarter that had been wedged over a cracked piece of plastic, and a control switch. She pulled the quarter out and felt a current pulse through the drone. The tiny propeller hummed to life. Quinn could see that the quarter had replaced some piece of plastic or carbon-fiber that had broken off in the past. She reinserted the quarter and the propeller stopped. Quinn set the drone aside and fished through crates and lockers, but there was nothing else of value.
The second Jeep roared to life, so Quinn grabbed the Raven drone and hurried back over to it. She watched Luke climb behind the wheel of the first Jeep, with Giovanni riding shotgun. Mackie sat in the back, keeping an eye on Comerford.
Quinn, Eli, and Dan moved over to the second vehicle, the sound of the glider powering up echoing in the distance. Eli took the wheel as Quinn grabbed her assault rifle and slid into the passenger seat, with Dan seated in the back.
The Jeeps thundered off, driving between the outbuildings. Quinn looked out of her open window, watching the glider hover in the air and then rocket up into the sky. The Jeeps drove out onto Highway 85, where they stopped while Mackie and Quinn dismounted and dropped to the pavement. Vehicular traffic was almost nil in the area, and both spotted fresh tread marks in the dusty blacktop. This, coupled with what Comerford had said about the Syndicate bases, caused Quinn to believe that Xan was indeed heading west. They climbed back into the Jeeps and sped off, with Eli driving his machine in the lead as the shadow of the glider passed ove
r the procession.
12
Samantha stared out of her window as the armored SUV motored across the High Plains, shooting over the road which was wrecked in places. She watched electrical poles whip past, most of them pinned with sheets of paper, “Missing Posters,” for those who’d been taken away by the aliens.
The SUV swerved off the main highway and flew over an industrial road that curled toward a cluster of commercial buildings on the horizon. Samantha recognized the area as being not too far away from the place where Hadrian had visited her in the grocery store, which increasingly seemed like something that had happened another lifetime ago. Samantha felt the SUV begin to slow and she looked up to see something in the distance.
A small line of cars fronted by a pack of armed men.
She squinted. The men were wearing tattered clothing. No uniforms, more like filthy jeans and sweat pants work garb. A few had balaclavas covering their faces.
They were bandits for sure.
Samantha mumbled under the duct tape, then scrunched down, waiting for the bandits to open fire.
Several seconds passed and no shots came, and that’s when Samantha knew that Quarrels had been referring to the bandits as his new friends. The resistance and the bandits had formed some sort of unholy alliance.
The SUV slowed to a stop.
Xan leaned back, pistol in one hand.
“I’m going to remove the tape from your mouth,” she said. “Nod once if you understand that.”
Samantha nodded once.
“No offense, but I don’t give a fuck how old you are. If you scream I will hurt you.”
Syndicate Wars: False Dawn (Seppukarian Book 4) Page 6