Snareville

by David Youngquist

  Troops piled out and lined up on the sidewalk. Cindy to his left, Jinks and Hunter to his right, Danny laid out the plan with Lieutenant Gibson. Two guards would be outside. The targets were in the house. Anyone held inside was to be rescued. Radio silence was to be maintained from this point on. At a trot, the fifteen troopers headed up the street.

  “I’m tellin’ you, something’s movin’ out there, Pecker,” the first guard said. He stood on one corner of a deck in front of a plain, white house.

  The other guard stood, straining his hears. “You’re nuts, Marcus. Only thing out there is cats an’ possums.”

  It was the last thought in his head before a hand clamped hard over his mouth and yanked his head back to the point his neck popped. A Marine’s K-Bar combat knife sliced his throat deep enough to hit bone.

  Pecker struggled for a second, then Private Heather Tomas dropped him silently into the grass. Her fiancé, Corporal Jim Cody, did the same with Marcus. They motioned for the rest of the unit to move up.

  Danny ran forward in a crouch with half his unit strung out behind him. Seven others went with Gibson. The house was well surrounded. He clicked his headset twice to say he was in position. Two clicks came back. Gibson was in place. He pulled a flash-bang grenade from his pocket and clicked once. Gibson replied the same. Danny counted three, pulled the pin, and tossed the grenade through an open window.

  With an explosion of light and noise, the grenades shattered the early-morning still. Screams came from inside one of the rooms as troops burst in. Two men, probably in their forties, were quickly zip-cuffed and laid on the floor. A third came out of the back room where all the screams were coming from—a thick, hairy man with a leather gimp hood over his head and a cock cage around a throbbing erection.

  “What the fuck’s going on out—”

  A half dozen rifle barrels abbreviated his sentence as the soldiers swung the muzzles of their guns under his nose. He raised his hands, which were quickly cuffed behind him. Screams still issued from the back room.

  Danny took Gibson, Jinks, and Private Tomas back with him. Cody moved the men out into the yard and sent four other troops after the rigs. In the candle-lit back room, they found twelve large dog cages. Five of them were occupied by girls ranging in age from about ten to about seventeen. Four other cages held boys of the same age range. All were naked. All were cuffed.

  In the center of the room, a young black girl was bent over with her hands cuffed behind her, a black leather blindfold over her eyes, and a red ball gag in her mouth. Between her ankles, a black spreader bar ensured she’d be in position for as long as the gimp wanted.

  The kids in the cages cried and whimpered. Danny found a set of keys on a nail in the wall. He handed them to Jinks. Tomas followed. They lifted the tube of their night-vision goggles, and some of the cries stopped. Danny called Cindy into the room and whispered for her to help.

  Gibson had stood frozen for a few long minutes, eyes glued to the girl on the floor. Gently, he took the spreader bar from between her legs and lifted her up. She trembled on her knees—from weakness or fear, he didn’t know. The ball gag was next, followed to the floor by the blindfold.

  “Shar? That is you.”

  The girl looked up and burst into tears. Tomas knelt beside them, found a key, and popped the cuffs open. The girl flung her arms around Gibson’s neck.

  “Uncle Tony! Uncle Tony!”

  Danny stepped out of the room. The house was empty, but he heard his Humvees roll up outside. In the yard, the three men stood against the deck, between the dead guards. They jabbered questions no one answered. A Humvee with a pickup bed backed up under an impotent streetlight. Two nooses were thrown over the light fixture. One of the troops quickly spun out another noose and flung it over the arm as well.

  “Bill Jefferson, Hank Anders,” Danny said as he walked over to the men, “and Mister Gimpy. Now the three of you have been found guilty of child molestation, rape, and human trafficking. You’ve been sentenced to hang by the neck until dead, in accordance with this warrant issued by the Northern Illinois, East Iowa Alliance.”

  “You can’t do this,” the guy in boxer shorts said. “You got no rights to do this. I got rights. I want a lawyer!”

  A woman’s voice cut in. “Only lawyer in this town is me, and you really don’t want me as your attorney, Hank.”

  Danny watched as Mayor Olivia Van Wassenhove walked across the lawn, accompanied by two men in tattered blue uniforms. Badges glittered around their necks. With them walked Sergeant Moody.

  “The writ’s legal, Hank. According to the laws of the Alliance that we joined, they can do this.”

  “Fuck you, bitch!” the man in the gimp mask shouted. “We run this town! We never agreed to no alliance!"

  Lieutenant Gibson strode across the yard. With his left hand, he ripped the mask from the man’s head. The man underneath gasped. Gibson smashed the spreader bar across his face. With a crack, the man’s jaw broke. A wet scream issued from the man’s crooked mouth. Gibson raised the bar for another swing, and Danny caught his arm.

  “No, Lieutenant.” Danny shook his head. “No.”

  “You seen what he was doin’ to my niece. My Shar.”

  “I saw. Beating him to a pulp won’t change that. He’s going to die naked with a cock cage on. That’s enough.”

  “No, it ain’t.” From his pockets, Gibson pulled out the sex equipment he'd removed from Shar. With shaking hands, he strapped on the blindfold, cranked the gag into the man’s mouth, and cuffed his hands behind him.

  The captives were led to the back of the truck, cursing at first, then begging. Troopers lifted them into place when they refused to climb in.

  “I never had enough officers to do much about you boys,” Van Wassenhove said, “but we’ve got laws. Tough laws where you don’t get to weasel out of them on some technicality. Carry out the sentence, Captain.”

  Danny raised his hand. Cody dropped the truck into gear. The condemned felt the truck shift as power hit the axle. They screamed. Danny dropped his arm, Cody hit the gas. Three men fell three feet. Necks popped; legs danced on open air. Fingers twitched, then stilled.

  In the yard, they posted a sign decreeing the charges and the sentence. It was signed by Major Tom Jackson and Captain Danny Death. Everything would be left in place for two days. After that, anyone who wanted to bury the scum was welcome to.

  “You got people to take the kids in?” Danny asked.

  “Yes,” Van Wassenhove said. “We’ve got people wanting to rebuild their families. Thank you for your help tonight, Captain Death.”

  She held out her hand.

  Danny took it. “You’re welcome. Call the Arsenal if you need us again. You need more uniforms, though. I think if you ask around, you might find some volunteers.”

  “I think you’re right. We’ll have power next week. That’ll help a lot. Our fences have held. People need to start to rebuild their lives.”

  They watched as the children came into the night. They were wrapped in blankets the troops brought with them. As they were handed over to the mayor and her police, Danny loaded his troops. Gibson collected Shar as they climbed into his Humvee. Three bodies dangled from their tethers, a few feet from the death warrant in an overgrown yard.

  Danny picked up Jeffers on the way out of town. At the Arsenal, they crashed into bed and slept through half the morning. Their replacements were already out at the Farm.

  Near dark, they rolled through the first checkpoint. Old Walter flagged them through and radioed ahead. The second gate opened as they drove into town. Gibson’s driver turned down Owen Street and dropped the Lieutenant at Catfish Cori’s. He walked to the door, Shar’s hand in his. Cori opened the door, flung her arms around Gibson’s neck, and held on. Slowly, she let go of the blushing Marine and took the quiet young lady into her embrace.

  The driver moved on to his quarters. He caught up to the rest of his unit on Brewster Street. The houses along this street now b
elonged to military. One hundred troops from the Arsenal lived here in rotation. The Marines were here on a permanent basis. Private Banks parked in front of his house, mouth agape as the garage door rolled up. He smiled as Susan waved at him from the inside door. She wore little more than her uniform shirt, and that was unbuttoned.

  Danny drove slowly through town. Jinks and Hunter rode in the back seat, Cindy in the front. Cindy was in the process of worrying her fingernails down to the quicks. She glanced over at Danny, then glanced away.

  “Nervous?” Danny asked.

  She spat a fragment of her fingernail on the floor. “That obvious?”

  Danny chuckled. Cindy smiled briefly, then went back to her nails.

  They turned onto Hill Street. Danny dropped off Hunter and Jinks first at their house, then dove the rest of the block to his home. He parked in the drive, shut off the motor, and sat for a few seconds. The door burst open, and Ella jumped the three steps down and ran for the truck.

  “Looks like we’re home,” Danny said.

  He stepped out and swept Ella up in his arms. She squeezed him around the neck.

  “Glad you’re home, Dad! I read the last email you sent Mama Pepper. Sorry it was so rough, but you saved those kids like me. That’s a good thing!”

  “I know, baby. I know.” He put her down.

  Ella turned and wrapped Cindy in a bear hug. “And you’re cured!”

  “Yes, I am,” Cindy whispered. She held the girl as tears streaked her face.

  Pepper stood on the top step. She watched without a word. Danny went to her and slid his arms around her waist.

  “God, I missed you. Can you put up with me for a while? I told Tom I’m taking some time off. I need to be home with my family.”

  A slow, easy smile spread across Pepper’s face. “I think I can handle that. I missed you, too."

  She nodded toward Cindy.

  "Is our family growing?”

  Danny examined her face. “If you’ll take her in. We’re not married or sleeping together or anything, but she followed me home. Can we keep her?”

  “I'm no stray puppy,” Cindy said, one arm around Ella. She still held her rifle in her other hand. “It’s up to you, Pepper. You’re the wife. I’ll understand either way."

  Pepper hesitated. She gazed from one face to another. Her family. She could add another.

  “Come in," she said, "but be quiet. All the babies are asleep. Oh, and… I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  The small crowd followed. Pepper flipped a switch on the wall, and the room lit up with a soft, warm glow.

  Danny's jaw dropped.

  “We got lights?” he whispered.

  “We got lights," Pepper confirmed, "and a furnace and hot water.”

  “Wow… civilization is back,” Cindy said.

  “Well, it is here, anyway. Some places, not so much. But we’ll enjoy it now that we’ve got it. The other towns on the loop are tied in. Even the River Rats down in Henry have moved off their houseboats back into town.”

  Danny grinned. By spring, maybe life would be back to some form of normal. Two years. A long two years had flown past like the river itself. They'd just have to see what spring would bring.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Snow rolled off the right edge of the plow in a giant wave. Windshield wipers beat time as they tried to keep up with the blizzard we were driving through. We slammed though another pothole. Everyone in the truck grunted.

  “You’re going to bring this child into the world early if you’re not careful, Dan,” Pepper said from the seat beside me.

  “Want me to drive?” Cindy asked from the back seat. “You can sit back here with the babies.”

  “Funny, girls,” I said. Snow rattled against the window. “We’ll stop up here in Geneseo and drop off the last gift. We’re only a few miles out of the Arsenal then.”

  The plow behind us pushed more snow out of the way. Gibson drove it. Catfish rode with him, along with Shar in the backseat with Ella. The girls played with Cat’s little boy, named for Tony.

  We’d dropped off deer and hog to the different towns along the trade route as we went. Geneseo was the last town before we hit the Quad Cities. We'd finally settled a hundred people there from Kewanee that we rescued in late October. They were the remnant population of a town of over fourteen thousand. What the Zeds hadn’t killed off, they'd done to themselves in a nasty little civil war. They were part of the Alliance now, and we needed to make a social call on Christmas Eve. Food was still a priority, and we had two hogs and deer for them.

  We followed Route Six into town. Ours were the only tracks in the snow. Along I-80, folks had done what we did in Princeton: dragged as many dead cars and trucks up to block all of the off-ramps. Scavengers couldn’t get back into town, and any Zeds stumbling along come spring would have a heck of a roadblock to climb though. Locals would know the way in, and the canal was open for business when the ice was out. It would be the first time since it shut down in the 1950s that it’d seen any kind of commercial traffic.

  We turned off the highway and rumbled into downtown. At a large iron gate, courtesy of Tom, we stopped. Two guards stood bundled against the storm, rifles in hand. They motioned for us to get out.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said to Pepper as I jumped out of the cab.

  A quick conversation later, and the guards dragged the gate open. It ground through the snow and screeched against the frozen pavement. I drove through with Gibson behind me. We plowed our way past the storefronts until we came to a former real estate office in the middle of the second block. Several people came out to meet us.

  “Jose radioed ahead,” said a short, black woman as she stuck out her gloved hand. A scar ran the length of her face from left to right, and she was missing a front tooth. Torri was tough. That’s why she lived. That’s why she was put in charge by the Kewanee people. “Says you got something for us, Cap’n.”

  “Merry Christmas,” I said, grinning. “Bring your people around back of the truck. You’ll need some help with it.”

  She nodded her head in my direction as I walked the length of the big, orange mechanical beast. At the back, I climbed up a ladder into the dump bed and called for a couple of the men to give a hand. Together, we handed the meat over the side. First the deer, then the two hogs. Torri sent for some of the people who knew how to butcher. There were tears in her eyes as she shook my hand.

  “Thanks, Danny. This’ll get us through until we get some more of our own.”

  “It’s okay, Boss. What’s left of us have to look out for each other.”

  From behind the buildings, people started to appear. They hung the deer up on the overhang of the office and began to peel the hide off.

  “You folks got time to stay an’ eat?” Torri asked.

  “No, we’re actually on the way to the Arsenal to have Christmas with my brother Tom,” I said. Pepper climbed out of the cab. Cindy followed.

  “You got power now?” Pepper asked.

  “Yep, got the windmills workin’,” Torri said.

  Two windmills sat on the hills a mile out of town. They'd been nearly completed when the Z-virus hit. Tom had sent some of his engineers to finish the project. Now, as long as the wind blew, these folks had power. If there wasn’t wind, there was a grid system to store surplus.

  “How you holdin’ up, girl? Baby jumpin'?”

  Pepper rubbed her belly under the heavy coat. “He’s keeping me awake some nights, but not bad.”

  “You think the time gets close, you need a midwife, you just get me word.” She turned to Cindy. “He made an honest woman out of you yet, girl?”

  Cindy blushed bright red. So did I.

  “We’re still talking things through,” Cindy said. “We don’t want to rush things.”

  “Girl, you don’t rush things, you’re gonna die cherry.”

  I grinned and pointed the girls toward the truck. Pepper was laughing so hard she could barely stand. “Goodbye Torri.
We’ll stop in for a visit some other time.”

  She laughed and waved as we climbed into the cab.

  We drove the rest of the way with the radio on. One AM station in the Quad Cities broadcast now—no set format, just whatever the d.j. on duty wanted to play, mixed in with the news when they could find some. It was a bit like listening to a college radio station. That was life in a dead world.

  Rachel stirred and fussed a little. Cindy pulled a bottle from under her coat and passed it to my daughter. We rolled to the Arsenal as the disc jockey spun "Silent Night." For a moment, the world fell away, and it was just us, going to visit family for Christmas.

  On the island, the streets were plowed. Troops jogged along the road doing their P.T. In the distance, I could hear the crackle of rifle fire. Tom had started a training program for people who wanted to join the service on a full-time basis, along with the irregulars in the towns that fell under his jurisdiction. The Arsenal was a going concern again.

  I turned into the drive of the Commandant’s home. Tom was waiting for us on the porch with Star on one side and Tess on the other. They came to greet us as we shut off the trucks. Hugs, laughter, and questions made the rounds again. We bundled up babies, baby gear, and presents and hauled them inside. Rifles crackled behind us on the other end of the Island. I looked at Tom.

  “They’ve got tomorrow off,” he said, grinning. “They want a taste of the real military, they’re getting it.”

  “How’s the Alliance?” I asked.

  “Good. Last count, five thousand or so people in two hundred towns scattered out to Iowa City, north to Dubuque, and across the river out past you to Ottawa.”

  “Pretty good size… anything officially left of Washington?” I asked as we walked to the house, bundles in arms.