“No? Well, you’re a good-ole-boy just the same. You think that when one side decides on rules, the others must obey.”
“I never made rules.”
“But you live by them. You protect the same people who were to have me killed—executed—for doing nothing more than trying to protect the values that they set forth.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about that. I wasn’t in Alice when you were there, and I don’t know or give a rat’s shit about whatever injustice you’re claiming.” It felt good, great, to be speaking frankly. Brian could see the wall, practically feel its hard side. He knew the closer he was to reaching it, the farther the demons would be kept at bay. “The fact that General Driscoll was my uncle is irrelevant. I came here, traveled across the US, for one reason and one reason only—to survive. The same reason Alice came together. For survival. How are our situations that different?”
The guard shrugged. “They’re not. After I was imprisoned inside Alice, then banished from the front gates, I did what I had to do to survive. Tom Byrnes can rot in hell. I had to—”
“And that justifies you taking Hightown and Alice for your own? That justifies you murdering men, women, and children by the dozen?”
“Again with that word. We’re not murdering anyone. We’re surviving. Just like you. And justifying?” He shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s just the way of the world now. Perhaps it’s all the injustices I’ve suffered that has brought us to this place and time, with you behind bars and me on the outside, tossing in scraps.”
Brian ignored his comments. “Tom Byrnes is dead. So is Nick. The Alice you knew has changed, mostly because of what your people have done; the fighting you’ve created.”
“Created? Ha! We didn’t create hostilities; they were always there, they never ceased to exist. And whether Tom and Nick are alive or dead is irrelevant. Alice is Tom Byrnes. It is everything he stood for. The people, their methodology and governing, their system, is what threw me to the wolves.”
“You’re wrong,” Brian said, although he wasn’t so sure if he was correct. “They would take you back. That’s the type of people they are. That’s the type of system we have. They would forgive you if you showed true remorse.”
“They’d never—”
“They would. They’d have taken most of you in, given you water and food, a job and a purpose. But instead, the Red Hands blindly follow a man who doesn’t care if you live or die.”
“Tom Byrnes didn’t care if I lived or died.”
“Tom Byrnes is dead. He’s dead and buried. Whatever you did, you said you were protecting Alice’s values. They would accept you back. You could continue to survive by living in peace, and not be forced to murder by the hand of a psychopath you obey without a second thought.”
The guard opened his mouth to speak, but then shook his head slowly. Then he said, “Not all of us are as blind as you think.”
Before Brian could respond, the guard turned and left.
***
Sleep was pulled away as quickly as it set in. Brian developed a cough, which only added to the miserable feeling in his head, chest, and body. Everything ached. When the pain and the cold didn’t keep him awake, his overactive mind didn’t help. The conversation he’d had with the guard played out over and over again in his thoughts. And when his mind stumbled into full exhaustion, his eyes would snap back open in a half-dream-like sensation of terror.
But this time, it was a noise that caused him to stir. Footfalls, and then a shadow covering the open slit. Something was pushed through and fell to the floor soundlessly. Brian waited for the footfalls to recede before reaching out and pulling the wool blanket over his lap, feeling the bristly fabric between his fingertips. Nothing had ever felt as comforting as the sensation of the rough, warm material in his hands. He pulled it over his shoulders and smiled, knowing the demons had lost a round.
Chapter Seventeen
Forty-Eight Hours
The operating landing ships were driven to the dock. Any beyond immediate repair were left to drift along with the corpses of those who did not make it ashore. Karl sat before a table on the second floor of a home along the steep bank that led to the water, watching his men inspect the idling vessels. From his vantage point he could see his marvelous warship in the distance, shimmering in the sun like an island of steel. In the other direction, the yard of the property gave way to pavement that stretched on throughout Hightown. The town center was a series of warehouses, each outfitted for a different task. Some housed soldiers; others garaged armored transport vehicles. They found a surplus of fuel and stores of canned preserves and military rations. Karl himself had entered the building turned into an office complex, and wove through the maze-like halls. Papers remained scattered atop tables, and computer monitors were still alive. The officials had fled before the Red Hands reached the vicinity.
Once Hightown fell and the defenses were secured, he claimed a home along the shore to reside. Here he sat, bottle of dark liquor on the table before him. He grabbed it by the neck and refilled the glasses belonging to Liam Briggs and Priest Dietrich.
“Not much greenery here,” he told them.
“Reckon not,” Liam replied and drained back half the glass.
“Rather drab, if you ask me,” Karl said.
An assortment of dried meats, canned smoked clams, and sardines were on a plate on the center of the table, and the men used their combat knives to cut at the meat and spear the seafood. They faced the large window and leaned back on their chairs. In the town center, the men had taken to a restrained revelry, waiting for Alice’s army to counterattack. If given the choice, Karl hoped that they would. It would be much easier to cut them down before Hightown’s walls rather than stage another invasion, even with his armored superiority.
But Alice did not attack like he hoped. Those bastards were hiding behind their walls. Even with a little coaxing, they didn’t seem ready to budge. Karl had thought that fear would be enough to make them march, as often, fear turns to anger. He’d dropped a busload of severed heads along the line, and risked one of his helicopters to do so. At the same time, he’d used his second tactic: General Albert Driscoll. Upon finding him on the battlefield, he was brought before Karl, bound, gagged, and beaten. Karl unholstered his pistol and aimed it at the old man’s head, when Liam said, “You might want to reconsider. He’s valuable.”
“I’m not here to play games, Mister Briggs. No longer will we wait and plot. Killing them all as fast as possible is our best recourse. Blitzkrieg, I believe it is called. Lightning war.”
General Driscoll’s white hair was wild and streaked with red, and he looked up at Karl defiantly.
“True enough,” Liam said. “I agree on all accounts. But him, he’s their leader. Might be worth holding on to.”
And so, General Driscoll’s life was spared.
When the truck full of severed heads and C-4 was brought outside Alice’s gates, Karl said, “They’ll never go to the truck themselves. You’re wasting your time.”
“They probably won’t,” Liam replied. “But if they do, we can make the battle a little easier. And maybe we’ll snag one of them.”
They were referring to the slim chance of Jeremy, Simon, and Bethany falling for their far-fetched ruse. At this, an image of Bethany rose in Karl’s mind. Her dark hair fanned out on the bed down in Nick’s basement, her hands restrained. The way she cursed and fought the guards.
But Liam’s plan had failed. Neither Jeremy Winters nor Simon Kalispell had been killed, and Bethany escaped.
Karl picked up a manila envelope taken from the office complex.
“Well,” he said, then finished his glass. “If what we have here is correct, the next transport of fuel is scheduled in two days. That throws off our timeline a bit.”
Liam refilled their glasses. “Two days ain’t nothing,” he said.
“By all accounts,” the Priest added, his good eye hazy with alcohol, “it would appear that our steps are guided. We atta
ck as the Lord has prepared.”
Liam snarled his lip, but then shook his head and laughed. “You know, I sorta missed you talking all crazy.” He turned his head and spit a trail of tobacco juice to the floor.
“You missed me?” the Priest said with a smile. “Oh, by God, we’ve made a soft one out of you.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Liam raised his glass, and Karl and the Priest raised their own. “It’s good to have you back, Dietrich.”
They clinked glasses and sipped.
“Even more,” Karl added. “You’re much more fun to be around now that we’ve made something of a drinker out of you.”
The Priest laughed. “If the Lord’s blood is wine, then whiskey must be his tears.”
“Well,” Liam said, and paused to drain his glass. “He can go on crying then.”
***
There was no doubting that Alice had scouts snaked throughout the woods. Invading unannounced would be impossible. Now, days after Hightown fell, it was apparent that there would be no counterattack. The Red Hand’s own scouts, led by a man named Bishop, who had such an ability to walk undetected in the wild that he could traverse a lawn of crisp, newly fallen leaves without making a sound, had not detected the indication of movement from Alice’s line. They were staying put.
“Perhaps,” Karl said to Liam as they inspected a box full of munitions in one of the warehouses, “they want a war of attrition. They do maintain enough water and food to last indefinitely.”
Liam shrugged and scratched at the developing beard on his wide chin. “Maybe.”
“We, however, cannot endure indefinitely. Not without ownership of Alice. Think of it now … all of the water, food to last millennia … and we won’t have to lift a finger. There will be more than enough prisoners to keep the gardens prosperous. All the battles we’ve fought together, all the people we’ve conquered; it all comes down to this. One last war to claim our fruitful home.”
“So,” Liam said, inspecting the sliding mechanisms of a brand-new assault rifle from a crate, “let’s get on with it.”
Karl smiled and laid a heavy palm on his shoulder. “Oh, Mister Briggs, I do appreciate your enthusiasm.” Karl checked his watch. “Make sure the men are mustered and waiting. We proceed as planned. I’ll meet you at the gates.”
“Yes, sir.”
Karl turned and left, navigating the maze of stacked boxes toward the exit. Outside, the lots before the warehouses were scrambling with activity. Bright spotlights illuminated the droves of soldiers, all checking and rechecking their supplies. Rifles, sidearms, knives, grenades, and explosives. Some strapped axes over their backs, many had machetes, and a few dozen were responsible for carrying sharpened spears bearing strips of torn red cloth to flutter in the wind as they were held aloft.
The army never looked better. His legion of terribles. They fed well on Hightown’s plundered goods, and their spirits were high. As Karl walked the perimeter of the lot, the men nodded or saluted. “General,” they said.
Back at his home overlooking the bay, Karl found the Priest sitting in the kitchen along with the chief medic, Alexander Pearl, and Bishop.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “What are you still doing here? The men are waiting.”
“General,” the Priest said. “Going over some last-minute numbers.”
Karl’s eyebrow rose. “Oh? Do fill me in.”
“Yes, sir,” Bishop said, clearing his throat. “I was just relaying the last reports from the scouts.”
“And that being?”
“The men positioned on the opposite side of the reservoir have a fair advantage in places, overseeing the shoreline. There’s been nothing to suggest activity by the water. The scouts to the south, east, and west are too far out to see the town, but there have been no reports of movement. Everything suggests Alice is sedentary.”
“When did the last communication come in?”
“The scouts changed shift at seven … so”—he checked his watch—“six hours ago. I’ll have the men radio in before the assault.”
Karl nodded.
The Priest spoke up, “And Doctor Pearl here has something he would like to add.”
Karl turned to the young man. Long beard. Uncombed hair. His uniform was ruffled and hung loose over his meager frame. Oh, Doctor Freeman … why did you go and try to kill me in that bunker of yours?
“Yes,” the doctor said. “We were going over supplies. We have an excess of basic medical goods: scalpels, scissors, and bandages. Our number of antibiotics is also good, thanks to Hightown’s infirmary, which was well stocked. I have a limited amount of amphetamines to dole out to the troops prior to the battle, but our surplus will be meager at best following the attack. We used most of what we had prior to invading Hightown. As far as blood, every man filled a bag two days ago, and we drained the dying in the hours following the invasion of Hightown.”
The doctor went on to give precise numbers, and Karl found his mind wandering. It was time for action, not preparation.
The doctor was saying, “Plasma is—” when Karl stood from the table. “We’re in good supply then, Mister Pearl.” The other men stood on Karl’s cue. “Mister Briggs will be arriving at the gates about now. The time has come. Ready the men.”
The doctor gathered together the loose papers on the table, and the men all said, “Yes, sir,” before turning to leave.
Karl waited for the front door to open and close, and the air to be still.
He closed his eyes. Felt his blood beat hot in his veins. Then he opened his eyes, and turned to the hallway on the other side of the kitchen. He followed it up the stairs and past bathrooms and bedrooms, to a closed door in the rear. He knocked gently and pushed it open. “Good evening,” he said.
Chapter Eighteen
Menu Twenty-Four
Hunger was gnawing its way through Brian’s stomach, and his senses were dulled. If he stood too fast, his head grew dizzy and his knees felt weak. Still, he refused to eat. The slop they were feeding him, the rancid and chunky brown gruel, it was likely made from corpses butchered after the battle. The Red Hands weren’t so generous as to feed him something proper.
“What puts you at odds with Alice?” he asked the guard as the tray was taken off the cot.
The man paused, then said, “Killed someone.”
“Don’t seem that strange, these days. Must have been someone important for them to commit you to execution.”
“No one important.”
“I killed plenty of unimportant people. Never brought me to the gallows. Well, except for this predicament.” Something strange happened. Brian felt a tickle from deep in his stomach, and he let out a laugh. A small, yet undeniable laugh.
The guard looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Something ain’t right with you,” he said.
“There’s a lot not right with me. Shit, it was my own cousin who brought you all to us, here in Alice. At least, he’s partially to blame.”
“That so?”
“Sure is. You want to hear what’s more?” Again, Brian laughed. “I’m the one to blame.”
“How’s that?”
“I smashed his head in with a stone out in the woods …” He was laughing so hard tears came to his eyes. “I bashed in his head with a fucking rock! Left him there for dead. He was picked up by you all and made into a monster.”
The guard let out a stifled laugh. “Ain’t that some shit. You’ve gone plumb mad, haven’t you?” He took the tray and turned to leave, leaving Brian alone to laugh in the dark. “But he wasn’t the only one who brought them here. I told them about Alice, shit … right after I left. Your cousin had little to do with them invading.”
***
The next meal was placed on the cot, and Brian looked up through foggy eyes. He hadn’t bothered getting up to do his walking rounds since … yesterday?
“What’s your name?” he asked the guard.
“Here,” the guard said, reaching into his pocket. “I�
�ll be back in a half hour to take the wrappers. They’ll kill me if they find out.”
He passed a rectangular brown plastic pouch. Brian knew what it was before taking it; an MRE—Meal Ready to Eat. The pouch was cut open at the top, and the inside felt slim, about half-full. Brian opened his mouth to speak, but the guard spoke first. “The war has begun to the south of us. Alice will fall, I’m sure of it, and I don’t know what Karl will do with you after, if he remembers you at all. If he doesn’t, you’ll be stuck down here until craziness overtakes you or the guards are reassigned, and your meals and water are long forgotten. Either way, your future doesn’t look so hot.”
Brian swallowed and said, “Why not just kill me and get it over with?” The words weren’t mocking. “I’m dead no matter how this plays out. Why waste your time coming down here? Karl don’t need me, and we both know it.”
The guard sighed. “I’ve killed plenty enough. I don’t make a habit of murdering without justification.”
“Justif—” Brian cut himself off from sounding hostile. Then he said, “None of the others seem to care much about justification. I’ve seen what the Red Hands are capable of with my own eyes.”
The guard shrugged. “Some,” he said. “Not all.” After he spoke, a silence filled the room, as if those simple words held a great weight and were not to be told; an accident leaked from his lips. He looked up at Brian, his shadowy eyes locked with his own. “I’ve been with Karl for many miles. We’ve conquered towns together, survived for years, fighting as a well-organized machine. After the first battle in Alice, we lost, well, I don’t know how many of our men. Over half our numbers, I would guess. We recruited a colony up north—dockworkers, near-starved soldiers. Karl killed their Russian superiors and took charge. It was a blessing to them. They were fed, made strong, and told of all the plunders to come. But Karl made a mistake …”
In the pause, the guard swallowed visibly and looked to the ground. Brian was about to speak, but worried that if he did, the man would snap out of his revelation and remember he was not supposed to be sharing such intimate details.
Someday Soon Page 9