Syndicate Wars: False Dawn (Seppukarian Book 4)

by George S. Mahaffey Jr.

  Samantha hesitated, then nodded once again.

  Xan removed the tape from Samantha’s mouth and she sucked in several breaths.

  “Those are the jackasses who tried to kill us!” Samantha shouted, referencing the bandits outside.

  “Not quite,” Xan replied, a gleam in her eye. She produced a box-cutter and slit the bindings on Samantha’s ankles.

  Samantha’s gaze rose from her ankles to Xan and she nodded. She got it now. “You … the bandits. It’s that whole enemy of my enemy thing, huh?”

  Xan smiled. “Like I said. You’re sharp, kid. Now get the fuck out of the car.”

  SAMANTHA DROPPED down from the SUV and felt the hard-packed earth under her tennis shoes. Slowly pivoting, she noticed that the two other resistance fighters in her SUV had remained inside. So, too, had the other four or five resistance fighters packed into the second SUV, the one that had been following them.

  Turning back, she counted a dozen bandits and five cars at the roadblock, and beyond that, an industrial yard: several tin-punched buildings and a shed made of cement block wreathed by a rusted chain link fence. Samantha struggled to raise her still bound arms and Quarrels grabbed and forced them down.

  “Remember what we talked about,” Quarrels said.

  Samantha nodded. “Sure hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “We got us a real solid proposal worked out for them,” Quarrels said.

  “You know that old saying about God?”

  “What’s that?” Quarrels asked.

  “You wanna make Him laugh, tell Him your plans.”

  Samantha smirked. Quarrels did not. Instead, he grabbed Samantha by her wrist bindings and led her forward toward the bandits. One of the armed figures removed a balaclava to reveal a woman with closely shorn, black hair. The woman crept forward, clutching an assault rifle, doing a double-take at Xan, standing in her red Syndicate battle armor.

  “You working for the scuds now, Alexandra?” the woman asked.

  “Stole it from them,” Xan replied.

  “Yeah, well, you’re early,” the woman said, unimpressed.

  “There was an incident,” Xan replied.

  The woman frowned. “You’re lucky. Rane’s here so grab your shit and let’s go.”

  Xan looked at Quarrels who nodded and then the female bandit with closely-cropped hair signaled for everyone to follow her.

  THE FEMALE BANDIT LED SAMANTHA, Xan, and Quarrels through a hole in the chain link fence, the trio trailed by five of the bandits from the roadblock. They hiked up a gravel path and through the rear door on one of the warehouses.

  Light spangled through holes in the warehouse’s metal ceiling, splashing a dozen men and women who were gathered in a circle around several motorcycles, something enormous that was covered by a tarp, and several SUVs. Aside from this, there were stacks of weapons and what looked like crates of ammunition. At the rear of the warehouse were several small mounds of paper money and jewelry and various other items that Samantha surmised the bandits had stolen during foraging runs.

  The circle broke and Samantha saw a man standing at its center, smoking a cigarette. The man was tall and lean, dressed in black cargo boots and a black T-shirt with a leopard on it. His forehead was ridged with scars, giving him the appearance of one who had been scalped. The man flicked his cigarette away, his eyes going wide when he spotted Xan in the alien armor. He then looked to Samantha, his gaze neither hot nor cold. It didn’t look like he gave a damn about who any of them were. He loped forward and Samantha saw that he had the pale, lifeless eyes of a corpse. Samantha assumed this was the man in charge, the man named Rane.

  “You Rane?” Xan asked.

  The man shook his head and pointed to the other end of the warehouse. There was a light on in what looked like an office. He turned and walked toward it and the trio followed. Along the way, Samantha heard the humming of unseen generators and observed additional things she hadn’t seen before. Burn marks on the floor, along with spatters of red or black (Samantha couldn’t tell which), and several plastic drums of gasoline. Beyond this were what appeared to be three metal tiger cages with blackened bars. Her mouth went dry. She didn’t like the look of any of it.

  There were snatches of conversation coming from the office along with soft music, something with flutes and drums and a horn or two. The kind of tunes older folks used to listen to. Jazz, Samantha remembered her mother describing it as once.

  They entered the office which was long and cluttered with file cabinets and an oversized desk, the walls shingled with plaques and commendations and photos of people standing next to other people. Everything had been painted white, including the ceiling fan that buzzed lazily overhead.

  Samantha saw a table heavy with food and a man rising up over it. The man was fifty, tall, handsome, impeccably groomed in a black jacket and slacks (with a tan scarf around his neck), his hair salted gray. He smiled and flashed ultra-white teeth and Samantha thought he looked like an actor playing a role. The well-groomed man gestured at the man who’d led them into the room, specifically pointing to the greasy hank of hair that lay atop his scarified skull.

  “Do you know how he got those wounds?” the well-groomed man asked.

  Nobody replied.

  “It wasn’t the aliens that did it. It was our people. Some cadre of National Guardsmen who thought he was trying to steal food over at a FEMA camp in Boise. Man just wanted himself some water and they took off half his head. Isn’t that right?”

  The man with the scarred skull nodded and then exited the room.

  “I don’t even know that man’s name,” the well-groomed man continued. “All I know is his story. I often say that names no longer matter, but in this instance that’s not exactly true.” He extended his hand and said, “William Rane.”

  Quarrels and Xan shook his hand vigorously.

  “So you’re the resistance,” Rane said, taking a step back.

  “She is,” Quarrels said, angling his chin at Xan. “I’m more of an army of one. A freelancer.”

  “Aren’t we all these days,” Rane said. “I love that color on you,” he continued with a smile, placing a finger on Xan’s red armor. “Where’d you get it?”

  “She pried it off a dead scud,” Quarrels lied.

  “Wonderful,” Rane said, turning his gaze to Samantha. “And your name, sweetheart?”

  “She’s the one I told your boys about,” Xan said. “The Marine’s daughter.”

  “Ah, Samantha,” Rane said, nodding, his fingers steepled under his chin. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “All good I hope,” Samantha said.

  Rane laughed and Samantha noticed something about his eyes. They were dull, lifeless, the eyes of a doll. No kindness in them at all. Rane pointed to the food. “Now that we’ve been properly introduced, please help yourselves.”

  Samantha watched Xan and Quarrels grab handfuls of the food, what looked like fruit and vegetables and cookies, real cookies, the kind she hadn’t seen in many months. Samantha’s hands were still bound, so she was unable to snag any of the grub. Rane snatched up a cookie and held it before Samantha’s mouth.

  “I’m sorry about your bindings, but if what Alexandra says is true, we can’t be too careful with you,” Rane whispered.

  “What did she say about me?”

  “That you’re in league with the things up there,” Rane said, pointing up.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s – what’s the word? Libel?” Samantha said, biting the cookie.

  “Slander,” Rane said, correcting her. “Something spoken that’s defamatory is slander. Libel is when it’s written.”

  “And you’d know that how?” Samantha asked, finishing the cookie.

  “Because I was state court judge before everything happened,” Rane replied. At this, he smiled and turned to the others. “I suppose, in a sense, I still am a judge of sorts, although the stakes are higher now aren’t they?”

  “About our deal, M
ister Rane,” Xan said, wiping her face, growing impatient.

  “We don’t have one yet,” Rane said, his smile wilting. “In order to form a contract, there needs to be an offer and acceptance. You’ve yet to present your offer.”

  Quarrels looked like he was readying to respond when Xan waved him off. She stepped toward Rane. “In the years before the invasion, the government was setting up these pre-position vaults all over the world. Secret places where they stored money and fuel and weapons, just so they’d have something to fall back on if the shit hit the fan. They had assault zone recon teams scouting and setting them up in places like Israel and Jordan and all over the—”

  “We’re a long way away from Israel and Jordan,” Rane said, tapping an imaginary wristwatch to let Xan know his time was short.

  “When they got tired of overseas, they started building the stashes here,” Quarrels said, cutting to the chase. “There’s one right in your own backyard.”

  Rane nodded. “But if that’s true, why do I need you? Why wouldn’t I just do something terrible to all of you? Torture you for the information, burn you alive for instance, and then go and gather up all of the goodies in the vault for myself?”

  Silence leeched from the room. It was the way that Rane had said this, with absolutely no emotion while still maintaining a wisp of a smile that spooked Samantha the most. At that moment he was simultaneously composed and unhinged. There was a tick at the corner of his right eye and Samantha noticed some black under all of his fingernails. She thought back on the tiger cage outside in the warehouse, the one with the blackened bars, and trembled.

  “The fact that the vault is so close and you ain’t found it yet is why you need us,” Quarrels said, his voice falling to a whisper. “And you can do what you want to me, sir, but I ain’t a talker. Ask anyone.”

  “I still haven’t heard the offer,” Rane said impatiently.

  “We hit the vault with some of your people and take only the one or two things we’re looking for,” Xan said. “The rest is all yours. The money, the gear, the weapons, you name it. All we ask is that you send some of your boys to cover our ass in the event someone follows.”

  “Who would follow?”

  Xan’s gaze swung to Samantha and Rane nodded. He understood. “Done!” he shouted. “We have a deal!”

  Xan and Quarrels smiled, relieved. Quarrels reached out a hand and Rane took it in both of his and didn’t let go. “There’s one thing left unaddressed, however. What happens if there’s a breach of our little contract?”

  “There won’t be, sir,” Quarrels said.

  Rane let go of Quarrel’s hand and stared at the ceiling as if running down an invisible checklist. “In the days before, there’d be a penalty if you breached,” Rane said, a crooked smile still splashed across his face. “Liquidated damages we used to call it. But seeing that the law has fallen away, that simply will not suffice.”

  “What do you have in mind, Mister Rane?” Quarrels asked.

  “I’ll keep the girl,” Rane said smiling hugely at Samantha. “She’ll stay in my company and I will keep watch over her. Just until we reach the vault.”

  “No way,” Samantha said. “No way, I’m going with this—”

  “Done,” Xan said.

  Before Samantha could react, Rane had whistled and several of his goons entered the room. They bulled forward and grabbed her, hauling her out of the warehouse.

  13

  Anticipatory grief is what the military shrink had called it back in the days directly before the invasion. Quinn sat in the front passenger seat of the Jeep, white-knuckling her assault rifle, remembering the psychiatrist mentioning the term while casually detailing all of the ways the world would not be the same after the aliens came. For starters, he said she’d likely lose most of her immediate family, but that anticipating a loved one’s death was considered perfectly normal and healthy. What a lovely little thought, Quinn had thought before punching the man in the face. Just as before, there was no way in hell she’d contemplate Samantha’s death even though it was staring her in the face. She tried thinking of other things, but kept coming back to the odds of tracking her down alive, and they weren’t good.

  “Ain’t a good thing to hold onto all that anger,” a voice said.

  Quinn glanced over at Eli who was behind the wheel. “I’m intense, Eli.”

  “Yeah, I kinda gathered that.”

  “Always have been. Comes from my old man.”

  “Lemme guess. He was a Marine?” Eli asked.

  “Nope, he was Irish,” Quinn replied.

  Eli pursed his lips. “They have a way of holding things in, don’t they? Why is that?”

  “My mom said it’s either because they struggled against foreign invaders for a thousand years or because they’re on an island. They’re trapped, bottled up.”

  “Literally and figuratively,” Eli said, finishing Quinn’s thought.

  Quinn nodded, a wistful smile on her face. “Guess I’m a lot like him. Can’t say happiness is something I’ve experienced a whole lot in my life, but when I have been happy, it’s usually because of Samantha.”

  “We are going to find her,” Eli said.

  “I want to believe that.”

  Eli reached out a hand and placed it on Quinn’s shoulder. “‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.’ That’s from Solomon. Book of Proverbs,” Eli continued, tapping the words out on the steering wheel.

  Quinn took this in, then replied, “I fear not because ‘women never really faint and villains always blink their eyes.’”

  Eli’s brow furrowed. “Who said that? Solomon?”

  “Lou Reed,” Dan muttered from the back seat.

  Quinn looked back at Dan. Her rifle was angled toward him as she watched him fortify himself with a few gulps of air.

  “It was him, right?” Dan asked. “I mean what you just said is from that old song by that band. The Velvet Underground.”

  “Sweet Jane,” Quinn said. “That’s the song.”

  Dan nodded exhaled deeply, nodding, as if he’d just gotten an answer right on a pop quiz.

  “I dig dino rock,” Dan said.

  “Did we ask your opinion on anything?” Quinn said, her eyes like ball bearings.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You ever hear you shouldn’t speak unless spoken to?”

  “All the time,” Dan replied, nodding.

  There were a few seconds of silence, and then Dan whispered, “She said she saw the end of the world by the way.”

  “Didn’t you just hear me?!” Quinn shouted.

  “I figured you’d want to know. Your daughter’s Samantha, right? That’s what she said. She said that, and that something or somebody showed her how to blow up things that aren’t alive.”

  “None of that makes any sense,” Quinn said.

  “That’s just what she said,” Dan replied with a shrug.

  Dan broke Quinn’s gaze, staring down at his shoes as she turned back. Her eyes roamed the sun-baked countryside off to the right. She pondered Dan’s words, how ridiculous they sounded. After all, he was one of them wasn’t he? In with the resistance fighters who’d lied, who’d betrayed them? He was doing it intentionally, making up a story to sow the seeds of doubt and confusion.

  Once again she seized on Comerford, who had intimated he’d seen something involving Samantha. What was it? Images, footage of Samantha doing something? Doing what? Blowing things up? How do you think you got out of the room? the small voice in the back of her head whispered. Cracking her knuckles to hold back her mounting unease, Quinn glanced outside again and watched the other Jeep. She searched the sky for the glider and her thoughts turned to Cody, who she hoped was faring better than she was.

  THE OTHER JEEP rolled along with Luke driving and Giovanni riding next to him, each with their nerves on end. It had been too long since they had seen each other,
even longer since their discussion to keep this all focused and avoid the whole relationship thing. Giovanni was damn glad that idea had vanished almost as quickly as it had arisen, and now he had the man of his dreams at his side. It was better this way, knowing where your loved one is—at least he would have a chance to fight for Luke’s life if it came to that.

  He couldn’t imagine being separated, hearing that a Syndicate patrol had engaged Luke’s group and that he was too far away to do anything but worry.

  Forget that.

  So here he was, finger twitching as his imagination took him to a battlefield where Syndicate warriors and drones came after them, while he and Luke fought back to back, taking down one after the other.

  “Where’s your mind?” Luke asked in a hushed voice, but loud enough to be heard over the roaring of the jeep. He was certain the others couldn’t hear what they were saying, but still kept his voice low. “You were spacing off again.”

  “Spacing?” Giovanni chuckled. “I feel like spacing should have a new meaning. Like when you’re out in space shooting Syndicate warriors dead, that’s spacing. The old thing should just be called day dreaming, or staring off into nothing.”

  “Yeah, sure… So?”

  “So I was just daydreaming about spacing, basically. With you.”

  “The two of us, plowing through Syndicate assholes?”

  “Um, your choice of words is weird, but yes.” Goivanni chuckled as Luke blushed.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Luke insisted. “Point is, there’s nothing I’d rather do with you more than stand at your side killing those jerks. For now.”

  Giovanni smiled, “How many you killed so far?”

  Luke frowned. “You really think I’m telling you my number?”

  “We’re not there yet?”

  “How about this,” Luke offered, “we start from now, keep a tally. Then we see who wins.”

  Giovanni cocked his head, considering this, then smiled. “Deal. But I’ve gotta warn you, I’m real good at this. My number’s damn high already.”