by Justin Bell
“Let me check those out? Maybe my finely honed middle management office monkey skills could finally be useful.”
Fields handed the stack of folders over and Phil took them off to the other side of the fountain where there was better floor space.
“All right, hand over one of those press relations folders,” she said to Angel, and he swept some into his hand and tossed them lightly to her. Fields caught them and turned them upright, then began flipping through sheets of paper within the folder, peeling them apart and leaning forward to check inside. There were several newspaper clippings immaculately separated from their papers and inserted within, and about halfway through the folder she stopped flipping and pinched one between her fingers.
“Holy—” she whispered, pulling the article out. A large, black-and-white photograph was part of the full page write up.
“Whatcha got?” Rhonda asked, looking over toward her.
“Check it out,” Fields replied, handing over the clipping, which Rhonda read.
“It’s about Karl Green,” Rhonda said, reading through the words.
“Check out the photo. He’s at some gala event with the Assistant Director of the freaking FBI.”
Rhonda’s finger wound through the lines of text and then stopped partway through. “This says they served together in the Persian Gulf. Actually more than that, they were in Army Ranger school together even before then. This article calls them ‘longtime friends.’”
“I wonder who else Green knew at the upper level of American politics?” Rebecca asked.
“I suspect quite a few people. Many of them we’ll probably never know about. How else do you think Ironclad got all those lucrative contracts?” Rhonda flipped through more of the folder, looking for other articles. “Huh,” she said quietly.
“What?” asked Fields.
Rhonda pulled out another article and this time, handed it back to the former FBI Agent.
“Article about a domestic Muslim terrorist cell being exposed and broken up. Combined operation between the NSA and Homeland Security, using Ironclad operatives as boots on the ground.”
“This isn’t an article,” Fields replied. “It’s an internal memo. Most of this information is classified top secret. If the public had known about a third-party security company operating domestically, there would have been outrage.”
“Seems like it’s been going on for a while.”
“Bad mojo,” Fields muttered. “Big time bad mojo.”
“Yeah. Is this something we really want to wade into?” Rhonda asked. “I don’t see this possibly ending well, especially if Ironclad is associated with those at the upper echelon.”
“So, what? We’re just going to let them keep screwing with the system? Taking advantage of the American public at their weakest?”
“Rebecca, I hate to break it to you, but the American public doesn’t exist at this point. People are dead, dying, or reduced to functioning at their most basic instincts. I’m not sure what else this little group could do.”
Fields looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Are you sure about that?” she asked. “Our political structure still stands, last I knew. There’s likely already plans in place to begin rebuilding, and as long as Washington stands, the American military machine could be mobilized. Hell, they could already be mobilized and there could be boots on the ground in North Korea right now, for what little we know.”
“Mobilized to do what?” Angel asked, walking toward them. “What are we talking about here?”
“I don’t know,” Fields acquiesced, shaking her head. “I really don’t know, but something’s going on. Whatever has happened or whatever is happening, it’s not done yet. Ironclad and Consolidated are both still up to something, and we should all be petrified of what that something might be.”
“Uhhh, everyone?” Phil called over from the other side of the fountain. “I think we’ve got issues here.”
Rebecca looked at Rhonda, cocking her eyebrows as if to say “I told you so.” They broke off and walked around the fountain to Phil, who knelt on the floor. He had taken the entire contents of the shipping folders and arranged them in some kind of complex flow chart, one piece of paper leading to the next, then leading to the next, creating a strange, winding path of documents stretched out across the floor.
“What exactly are we looking at?” Rebecca asked.
“The path of a shipment. Specifically, three shipments.” Phil walked to the beginning of the makeshift flowchart. “This shipping manifest is from a week before the detonation, ordering shipments from North Korea to a facility in Mexico.” He walked over to a small stack of papers. “Here, those shipments arrived in Mexico, where one was routed to a local destination there, and the other two were pushed along to Springfield, Illinois.”
“Where the Consolidated manufacturing plant is?”
Phil nodded, then moved toward another section of the flowchart. “Now, here’s where things get interesting. I’ve got a small stack of papers here.” He bent down and picked up a thick bunch of carbon copy shipping manifests. “These documents are all from the Springfield plant. They’re stop orders, telling staff at that plant they’re to halt all incoming shipments and reroute them.”
“Reroute them?” Fields asked.
“Yeah. Reroute them to Philadelphia.”
Fields took a step forward and slipped the documents from Phil’s clenched fingers. “They’re re-routing everything to Philly?”
“Kind of looks that way,” Phil replied. “Then look at these,” he continued, walking over to another stack of manifests toward the end of his rudimentary flowchart. “These are dated over the past few weeks, still ordering a shipment reroute to Philly.”
“So shipments are still coming somehow?” Fields asked.
“Somehow, by the looks of things,” Rebecca replied. “And being sent over to Philadelphia.”
Rhonda stood with her arms crossed, looking at the paperwork on the floor.
“What are you thinking, Rhonda?” asked Fields as she glanced over.
“Philadelphia. Cavendish mentioned something about Philadelphia. Right before Brad—” she glanced over at Brad standing across the aisle. He was talking with Max and Tamar, looking almost normal. “Before he got shot.”
“So whatever’s up, it sounds like Philly is where it’s at,” Phil said.
Fields nodded. “So we’re going to Philly?”
“We don’t even know what to look for,” Rhonda replied. “Don’t even know exactly what’s going on or who is really behind it.”
Fields looked over at Phil who returned her gaze.
“What?” Rhonda asked. “What are you two up to?”
“I think we’re just on the same wavelength,” Rebecca said.
“And that is?”
“Ironclad,” Phil replied quietly. “Whatever has been going on, and whatever continues to go on, they’re playing a major role. Still, even after the detonations, which tells me they had systems in place to work in the event that something like this happened.”
“Which means they knew it was coming,” Rebecca continued.
“Which means they probably made it happen,” Angel finished.
Rhonda’s eyes moved from one person to the next, to the next, then back to the first. It was like they had all made a decision without her and were now just expecting her to go along with it.
“You want to take the fight to Ironclad,” she said. “Are you out of your minds?”
“Their corporate offices are in suburban Chicago… pretty close to Consolidated Tool & Die,” Phil said. "Karl Green is here in the city. He probably knows where Lydia is.”
“So is that how this works?” Rhonda asked. “You’re just going to use Lydia as an argument to launch some fight against this global security company that could quite possibly wipe us off the map. They may have already wiped most of America off the map. But don’t worry! Here come the Frasers, we’ll be able to save the day!”
“Rhond
a, that’s not what I’m doing.”
“We only want Green,” Rebecca interjected. “He’s the cog in this system. We don’t need to take the fight to them, we just need to isolate Green and take him.”
“Oh, that’s all?” Rhonda asked. “The Chief Operating Officer of the second largest third-party security contracting firm in the nation?”
“He’s here in Chicago. Tamar has seen him. It’s a move they’re not expecting. We can do this, Rhonda. We can.” Phil stepped toward her, pressing his palms against her arms. He felt her muscles stiffen underneath his grasp.
“Phil, this is a mistake. It’s stupid. We’re going to get everyone killed.”
“If we don’t do this, we could get millions more killed. Maybe the last millions left alive in America.”
Rhonda dropped her eyes, breath blowing from pursed lips, every ounce of resistance slowly leaking from her pores. Her fingers closed gently into fists, but hung loosely at her hips and her chest moved in steady motions.
“Rhonda,” Phil said quietly, squeezing her arms. “We need to do this. Not just for now, but for the future. We need to leave our kids a world worth living in.”
“Is that even possible anymore?” Rhonda asked, not looking up from the ground. “Do we have that luxury?”
Phil released her arms. “As things stand now? No, I don’t think we do. But we owe it to Max, to Winnie, and to Lydia to do whatever we can to get us there.”
“And you think taking down one man can do that?” This time Rhonda did lift her eyes, looking not at Phil, but Rebecca. The former FBI Agent’s gaze didn’t waver, it was firm and gray steel, glaring right back at her.
“I honestly don’t know, but it’s the best shot we’ve got.”
Rhonda turned to look out into the wide aisle carving through the center of the mall, her eyes settling on Max, Brad, Tamar and Winnie talking in a tight group. Tamar was saying something to Winnie, who was laughing hard, while Max made some sort of gestures to Brad, who was smiling softly. For one brief snatch of time they looked like normal kids, members of a normal family, living in this pocket outside of the nuclear holocaust, and for that second of time, Rhonda realized that Phil and Rebecca were right. They owed it to not just their own children, but all the children of America. All the people of America.
“So,” Rhonda said quietly, then looked up at Phil and Rebecca. “What’s the plan?”
***
“Are the adults always so grumpy around here?” Tamar asked, stepping next to Brad with Max at his heels. “Seems like they’re wound pretty tight.”
“Well, it is kind of the end of the world out there,” Brad replied.
Tamar rolled his eyes. “C’mon, bro. Don’t be like that. It’s rough out there, sure, but life goes on, right?”
“For some of us,” Brad replied, his voice low.
“Hey, man,” Tamar said, patting him on the shoulder. “I feel you, okay? I lost my mom and sister. Never had a dad around. So I get it.”
“Did you see them get shot?” Brad asked. “Watch them fall to the ground, blood staining the pavement while you laid there tangled in their dying bodies? Did that happen to you?”
Tamar drew back. “Daaang, man. Nah, none of that happened to me. That how it went down with your folks?”
“Yeah,” Brad said. “That’s how it went down.”
“You’re still kicking though, right?” Tamar asked, smiling. “You’re stronger. You can hack it.”
Brad looked up at him out of the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?”
Tamar leaned in to look at him. He was about a head taller than the younger boy with a youthful exuberance unhindered by recent events. “I see it in your eyes, bro. You’re rolling with it. You see something like that, nothing else in this world gonna faze you.”
“Brad’s tough, all right,” Max agreed, then leaned in close to Tamar. “He found the guy who killed his parents and shot him dead.”
Tamar stepped back. “Daaaang.” He held out a palm and Brad slapped it, smiling slightly. “I’m glad you’re on our side, brother.”
“What are you boys yelping about?” Winnie walked over from the other side of the aisle, eyeing them curiously.
“Ah, just boy stuff. Get outta here, Winnie,” Max said.
“Don’t be like that, kid,” Tamar interjected. “Come on over, pretty girl.”
“Hey,” Max hissed. “That’s my sister you creep.” He whacked Tamar in the chest and Tamar laughed out loud.
“How old are you?” Winnie asked, stepping toward the group.
“Sixteen. What about you?”
“Fifteen,” Winnie replied. “I’ll be sixteen…” her voice trailed off as her eyes wandered. It occurred to her that she didn’t even know what day it was.
“It’s all good,” Tamar said.
“Did you guys really jump in a tree to get away from Ironclad?” she asked, smiling crookedly at Tamar.
“Well, yeah,” he replied. “What else were we going to do?”
“Max is more a ‘spray and pray’ kinda kid,” Winnie said, nodding toward her brother.
“Hey, I saved your butt more than once,” Max replied.
“What about you, Brad?” Tamar asked, turning to face the youngest in the group. “What’s your philosophy? Live to fight another day, or go down blasting?”
“Blasting all the way,” Brad replied, smirking and everyone laughed. He swept his hand over the pistol on his belt, snatched it up and held it in a firing pose, then mock fired it a few times to a chorus of wolf whistles and laughs.
“Can you shoot like that, girlie?” Tamar asked, turning back to Winnie.
“I do all right,” she replied. “You should talk to Fields, she’ll get you straight. She’s a bad woman.”
Tamar looked over in her direction, spotting Fields standing there, still wearing her tactical vest, bare arms crossed, rounded biceps folded over each other, her red hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.
“Yeah, I can tell,” he said. “You think she’d teach me how to shoot?”
“Sure,” Winnie replied. “Heck, I can probably teach you a bit.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Tamar said, nodding appreciatively. Winnie’s cheeks flushed red and she let a thick clump of hair spill over her face as she turned away.
“Hi! Winnie?” Daisuke Shimizu walked over to them, smiling, with Jiro and Kaida close behind.
“Hey, Daisuke,” Winnie replied. “What can we do for you?”
“What is going on over there?” he asked, waving toward the other group. “Do you think they’re planning for something?”
Winnie looked where he pointed and saw the adults in a pretty intense conversation. Well, four of the adults. Angel, Rebecca, and her mom and dad were speaking in harsh, hushed whispers. She noticed then that Clancy Greer was leaning against the wall a short distance away and not involved in whatever conversation was going on. That struck her as a little odd.
“Looks like they might be, I don’t know,” Winnie replied. “By the way, you did good earlier. At Consolidated. Nice driving.”
Daisuke nodded. “Thank you.” Jiro and Kaida sort of hovered around behind him as they had for most of their time here.
“Jiro?” Winnie asked, looking over at him. “Are you doing all right?”
“Hai,” Jiro replied, nodding. “Yes, doing all right. Kaida and I are good, aren’t we Kaida?” he asked turning in her direction. She smiled and nodded, but did not speak. Winnie walked over toward her and lowered into a half crouch while she glanced up at Jiro.
“Does she talk?”
Jiro nodded and Winnie turned back to meet her eyes.
“Hi, Kaida. I don’t think we’ve met.”
Kaida nodded and waved bashfully.
“Do you speak English?” Winnie asked.
“Yes,” Kaida replied softly.
“Are you hungry?” Winnie asked. “We got some food from the grocery store the other night, I might be able
to get something for you.”
“Any cereal?” she asked. “I haven’t had cereal in a long time.”
Winnie looked back at Max. “Yeah, some Cap’n Crunch. That’s about it.”
Kaida smiled widely. “I love Cap’n Crunch.”
“No milk,” Brad interjected, shrugging. “Gotta eat it dry.”
“Okay,” Kaida replied, sounding even more eager than before.
“Come on with me,” Winnie said, “let’s go back and get some for you.”
Jiro smiled and watched them leave, heading across the floor back to one of the abandoned shops that had been converted to food storage.
“She’ll be fine,” Brad said. Jiro turned and nodded.
“I know. You have all been very good to us. Only good thing.”
“Where’s her mom?” Max asked, nodding toward Kaida. “Daisuke said you guys lived with his wife and son.”
“This is true,” Jiro said, nodding. “My wife, she died of cancer. Two years ago. I thank God every day she did not live to see this.”
“Sorry to hear that, man,” Tamar said.
“Okay,” Jiro replied. “It’s okay. She died believing the world was still a beautiful place. That her daughter would grow up and do whatever she wanted. She died not knowing the future. I prefer it that way.”
The harsh statement left even Tamar temporarily speechless. What kind of world did they live in where someone was glad their spouse had died so they didn’t have to experience it?
“Hey, kids,” a voice echoed over the quiet air of the mall, and Max was the first to turn toward it.
Rebecca was leading the small group of adults, followed by Rhonda, with Phil and Angel taking up the rear.
“We need to get you in the loop on something, okay? Something big.”
Brad and Max looked at each other. Something big was usually just that. Max looked back at the group of adults, his eyes landing on his mother. She held her shoulders straight and firm, but something in her eyes looked sullen. Defeated.