Alice was lost.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Moon over Water
The food turned into energy the moment it passed Brian’s lips. A mental image formed of the protein, vitamins, and calories on a molecular scale, sucked in like a sponge on his tongue, to his blood, and delivered to every inch of his body with each heartbeat.
The calorie count was substantial, and Brian debated whether to save half of the pouch for later, but then thought better of it. A full MRE would have consisted of more side items, perhaps tortillas for the spicy beef, bean, and vegetable mixture he was sucking out of the package. It also would have included a dessert of some sort, like a cookie, but the entree portion alone was enough to refuel him at least for a while.
A funny thing happened as he swallowed the last bit of food and licked a trail of gravy off his finger: he got tired. Not just the ordinary sleepiness after a big meal, but an all-out exhaustion. He gathered the plastic wrappers and placed them under the bed, in case a different guard would check on him. A pleasant dizziness overtook him. His knees buckled, and he fell onto the mattress. His mind swam fast to the void of unconsciousness, when a thought occurred to him that it was entirely possible he had just been poisoned. Jacob’s kindness could have been veiled in an attempt to either help him out by letting him die a peaceful death in sleep, or a more malicious motivation—that he simply wanted every member of Alice dead. But the razor blade? It didn’t add up. Why offer a way out if he was planning on doing it himself?
These thoughts were only fleeting, as the draw to sleep was overwhelming. Brian pulled the blanket to his chin, his hands barely able to hold the weight, and let his mind wander to the depths.
***
A voice awoke him.
“Ain’t dead, I see.”
Brian didn’t open his eyes.
The crinkling of the wrappers followed, and he was halfway between worlds when the voice returned. “It’s a pity. There’s not much more I can do for you.” The door creaked shut and locked.
There was no way to decipher how long he’d slept, but despite his grogginess and lethargy, Brian felt better than he had in days. His mind was sharper, his muscles had regained some strength. Even his knee felt better than it had in weeks, but that was probably due to the inactivity. He was hungry again, but nowhere near the starvation madness he had experienced.
Slowly, he turned and sat up, letting his tingling feet dangle over the side of the bed before standing and stretching his back long and tall. His spine popped and cracked, and he envisioned the same going on in his brain and organs, things crackling back to life.
There was no way he’d kill himself, that was a certainty. Not as long as Carolanne and Bethany were still alive. Not as long as there was a sliver of hope of ever seeing them again. Back when he’d reached their bunker in Aurora, Brian swore he would do everything in his power to protect them. For their survival. It was what sustained him on their journey to Hightown, and it was what compelled him to fight on during the battle on Nick’s lawn. No matter how bad his situation got, if the girls were alive, he would do everything in his power to stay the same. If they did not survive … he shook the thought from his mind.
***
That hippie shit that Simon Kalispell preached wasn’t his thing, but Brian had to admit, maybe there was something to all that lecturing about meditation and being at one with nature … not that he really knew what that meant. This ordeal might be a bit more livable if he could find an area of his mind to help him escape his immediate confines.
Carolanne’s strawberry-blonde hair fanned out on the bed played in his thoughts, bringing just as much torment as pleasure. Her natural scent, like the ocean; her mischievous smile as his hands explored her stomach, thighs, and breasts … it was taken away from him. There was no way to process the Red Hands’ intentions. There was no way to understand their brutality. He had to get out of there. He had to escape, somehow. The things they would do to Carolanne if Alice fell, if they got their filthy hands on her. Oh, Christ …
This room was his tomb. He was going to die here. His heart jumped every time he heard footsteps from the hallway, thinking that Karl Metzger was on his way to torture, maim, and kill him. Instead, he was starting to believe that Karl had forgotten him entirely. Soon enough, the rations and water would stop arriving. He’d wither away and die, alone and insane, far below ground. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, or if it was day or night. The only indication of time passing was his developing beard and his body’s increasing fatigue. If given the chance, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to fight his way out. His muscles were becoming soft, consumed to maintain his brain’s functioning.
He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, and let his head fall into his palms.
Footfalls from the hallway caused him to recoil. They grew louder until stopping at the door, and then the lock turned.
Jacob entered, half his body bathed in the dim hallway light.
“Here,” he said, handing across a hiking backpack. “Let’s go. Hurry up.”
Brian didn’t move. “Go where?”
“Alice is about to fall. You’ve lost.”
An awful pang struck inside his chest. Carolanne …
Brian opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It couldn’t be over. They couldn’t have lost … everything they’d fought for in the last conflict, all of the death, people slaughtered, just so a select few could go on living …
“Look,” Jacob said, “I’m never going to forgive your people for sending me to the wolves. Tom Byrnes can rot in hell, for all I care. But Nick, he had enough compassion to sneak me out.”
Compassion … Compassion! The man was solely responsible—along with the naivety of the townspeople—for letting Karl inside Alice and murdering countless numbers of his own people. He was a monster, and not a compassionate one at that.
Jacob continued, “When we move out, you’ll be left down here for days or maybe weeks. Some of the dockworkers are organizing the release of other prisoners kept near the line, who were to be used as leverage if the colonies had won the last battle, and were approaching Hightown’s walls. When Karl finds out, he’ll be mad as hell. However, your name hasn’t been mentioned in days, so I’m going to give you the same opportunity that I was given. Follow me.” He turned and headed out the open door.
For a moment, Brian didn’t follow, thinking that certain death lay outside. Jacob’s friendliness must be a ruse. But then he stood and shouldered the heavy bag. His legs felt the weight, but the spike to his adrenaline had him forgetting his body’s fatigue.
The hallway was narrow, and as he proceeded a few feet behind Jacob, they passed the sole light that illuminated the cell. The bulb appeared it would die at any given moment. Through another doorway was pure darkness. A flashlight came to life, and Brian followed close behind the beam of light. His heart was now beating so heavy it felt like it would burst free of his chest.
“Quiet,” Jacob said. Brian didn’t respond.
They paused at the doorway of the police station, and Brian could now see that it was nighttime. “Most everyone’s stationed at the defenses or mustering to move out, but still, keep your head down. If we pass anyone, just keep on walking like you’re one of us.”
The door was opened, and a cool breeze greeted Brian’s skin. The shock of fresh air invigorated his mind and body, washing away some of what the solitude had done to his psyche.
Brian was familiar with this area of Hightown, from his time living in the colony. They were far from the front line, among stretches of vacant buildings, with the warehouses nearby. They were traveling east, to the bay, and they saw no one along the walk. It was difficult to make out the rough trail through the wooded section that brought them to the old path running the length of the waterside, close to where the Red Hands had begun their invasion. Sticks crunched underfoot, and he used his hands to shield his face from the branches; yet still, his face was stung by th
orny brush and pine needles. Jacob’s flashlight did little to help.
Once on the trail, they veered right, continuing to the easternmost section of the bay. A few minutes later, Jacob stopped and crouched down. “This is it,” he said, and felt around in the brush.
Brian dropped to his knees, helping remove leaves and debris from a small rowboat.
“Don’t return to Alice,” Jacob said. “By the time you’d get there, the battle will be long over, and the town will be ours. This is as far as I’m willing to help you. Row your way past Hightown’s defenses, and dock well out of sight.”
They pulled the rowboat to the water’s edge. “Come with me,” Brian said. “You can leave this all behind and rejoin Alice. You broke me free, and I can’t thank you enough. Please, leave with me. You’ll see that we’re not the monsters that you think we are.” Brian dropped the backpack inside the boat and began pushing it beyond the breaks. The water was cool as it filled his shoes and soaked his pants.
Jacob shook his head. “I can’t go with you,” he said. “My fate was decided a long time ago, when I took the life of my fellow man and was excommunicated to face the crumbling world alone. Karl might be the leader now, but one day the power could shift, and the Red Hands might be led by a more compassionate general. Alice and Hightown will be at peace.”
“That will never happen. You’ll all be dead before then. Karl Metzger will send you all to your graves.”
Brian stepped inside the boat, and Jacob pushed it gently out to sea. “There’s something …” he said, and then trailed off, shaking his head. Then he continued, “There’s something you should know. Inside Karl’s home, he has … a trophy of sorts.”
Brian grabbed an oar, using it to keep from floating further off as Jacob told him a dark tale. When he’d finished, Brian said, “Jesus Christ … save him, please. You can save him.” The boat was drifting farther, and Brian didn’t want to shout.
“There’s nothing I can do.”
Brian opened his mouth to speak, but Jacob continued, “Move on. Don’t come back—it will be the death of you.”
At that, he turned and left. Brian watched the flashlight beam return the way they had come. He found the second oar at the bottom and began paddling. The boat cut across the rippling reflection of the moon cascading across the water. Despite his fatigue, he felt strong, better than he had since first being taken. He was alive. There was hope.
Chapter Thirty
Thunder and Lightning
The western gates leading to Alice were thrown open, and a flood of residents streamed out through the wooded sections in Alice Springs Park, following the rapid retreat of the army. Simon’s Hummer had made a full turn and was in fast evacuation.
“Stop!” Bethany shouted from beside him, looking back through the rear window at the vehicles and people escaping on foot, terrified as the Red Hands broke through the northern defenses on the opposite side of the town. Most of the vehicles were used in the battle at the bridge, and any transports with room were stopping and becoming overrun by desperate residents clawing their way inside or on top. One truck—with people holding onto the roof, the side, the hood—accelerated fast, and two flew off to become broken among the rocks.
“Stop!” Bethany again yelled.
The driver glanced into the rearview mirror, and Jeremy took a pause in his hasty relay with a lieutenant.
“We can’t leave without Carolanne and Connor,” she said. “Stop the truck. Let me out!”
“Everyone’s been ordered to retreat,” Jeremy said. “If they got out safely, we’ll see them when we stop to refuel, or in Albuquerque.”
Simon envisioned his dog, his ears pulled back, his fur raised in fear at the sound of the explosions. He envisioned Carolanne, who had already lost Brian, now taking on the weight of both Winston and young Connor, who had also lost everything and everyone dear to him. Then he thought of Bethany, her cousin missing, her best friend in mortal danger, perhaps already dead … he began to open the door as the Hummer still moved.
“Damn it, Simon.” Jeremy reached over and grabbed Simon’s shoulder.
“Sir,” the soldier in the passenger seat said, holding out a long-range communications radio. “You have to take this.”
Jeremy held firm to Simon’s jacket and looked at the radio, then back to Simon. “Where the hell are you going? You’re in charge of—”
“Put Richard in charge. I’m getting out, one way or the other.”
“Sir,” the soldier repeated, “it’s urgent. It’s John Zur, sir.”
Jeremy’s eyes shot large. “Fine then, Simon. Pull over. You want to leave so bad, so be it!”
The driver came to a fast halt, the vehicles in front and behind that protected the general stopping as well. Simon opened the door into a swell of kicked-up dirt and grabbed his backpack. Bethany jumped out beside him.
“Do whatever the fuck you want, Simon,” Jeremy said with scorn. “Just keep a radio on you if you still give half a shit about any of this—any of us.”
Simon understood Jeremy’s frustration, but he couldn’t let it bother him. He said, “We’ll meet you at the refuel stop or in Albuquerque. I have not, and will not give up on you.” He shut the door before Jeremy could respond.
The Hummers peeled out, and Simon and Bethany took off running headlong into the flood of people escaping Alice’s downfall. In the distance, thick trails of smoke leaped into the sky, dark as storm clouds, lapping at the heavens like devilish tongues.
What am I doing? he thought, sprinting into the woods, clutching his rifle to his chest and feeling the weight of his backpack pulling him down by the shoulder straps. What if they’re already out? What if they’re in a truck, speeding away at this very moment? I’m leading Bethany to death!
Still, he ran, scanning the faces of the scared and weary as he passed.
“Carolanne!” he yelled. “Winston!” and he whistled, loud. Bethany shouted the same, “Carolanne! Connor!”
They ran past an older man clutching a cane with a younger soldier practically dragging him through the woods. The old man tripped, his feet moving like stones, and was pulled back up. Simon passed a gazebo used as a forwarding lookout, now with the machine guns and rifles facing Alice, and a few soldiers manning the guns while the residents fled, yelling, “Come on! Move it!” The guard towers came into view over a cluster of bushes. One was in the midst of reconstruction, blown to splinters during the last war. The other was manned, the soldiers making a foolish stand against the onslaught of the Red Hands, who, judging by the racket of warfare, were somewhere in the middle of town.
A half dozen soldiers remained by the entrance, and as Simon pushed through a cluster, one said, “Where the hell are you going?” Simon didn’t answer. He scanned the faces, yelled, “Carolanne! Connor!” He gave high-pitched whistles above the shouting and screaming and explosions and gunfire. There were people holding bandages to wounds, both soldiers and residents alike, some on stretchers, or held by their shoulders and dragged along. A soldier wailed as two of his comrades hoisted him up, his right arm ending halfway down his forearm and a bundle of red cloths wrapped with what looked like duct tape.
“Carolanne!” Simon yelled, sidestepping bodies, people who had bled out and were abandoned before they could make it outside.
A bullet whizzed by, striking the dirt. Soldiers just out of sight around a strip of buildings were emptying their clips.
“Connor!”
Simon whistled over and over. The Red Hands’ advancing line couldn’t be far off. Those of Alice’s and Hightown’s soldiers who either stood their ground, or couldn’t escape in time, were keeping them from overrunning the town in a flood; but still, the tide was overwhelming.
Through the thick air came a sound that pierced his heart. A bark.
“Winston!” Simon whistled again and ran diagonally across the properties. “Winston! Carolanne!” And then he saw his dog bounding from behind a home, his tongue dangling out of hi
s open mouth. His leash trailed behind him. “Oh, buddy!” Simon ran and embraced Winston, grabbing him around the scruff and feeling the dog’s trembling. Carolanne appeared from around the same corner, running with Connor in her arms, a duffel bag swinging from her shoulder.
“Beth!” she yelled, closer, her face flushed. The boy lifted his face from her shoulder, his cheeks red and wet. A waft of smoke like a shadow encompassed them.
Simon slung his rifle over his shoulder and took Connor from Carolanne’s arms, then unholstered his .45. “Here.” He passed it to Carolanne handle side first. “Keep your finger off the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot.”
Bethany tried to grab Winston’ s leash as they took off, but the dog ran ahead. Simon was worried about the leash getting tangled in something, but he didn’t call for Winston to stop. Every few yards, the dog would turn, checking on their direction, which was opposite of the never-ceasing gunfire. Onward they ran to safety, with certain death fast at their heels.
Chapter Thirty-One
Moonlit Shores
The boat cut across the long rippling reflection of the moon over the gentle swells of the bay. After rowing for an hour away from the shore, out of range from any wandering eyes along Hightown’s perimeter, Brian turned inland.
Blisters had formed on the pads of his hands, and he was reminded of summers spent working at old Frank Meyer’s farm back in Nelson with Steven, all those years ago. No matter how calloused their hands were at the beginning of the season, blisters were quick to appear after a few hours of holding rakes and spades. It was Frank who took the rake out of Brian’s hands and showed him how to properly hold it. The old man gripped the handle, his hands so weathered they seemed a part of the wood, with his thumbs on the pole and facing down instead of wrapped around in fists. His trick worked, and now as Brian gripped the oars, he attempted to do the same. But the back and forth movement was different, and it didn’t seem to matter how he held on to the wood; blisters formed and popped, and stung fierce.
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