The Life After War Collection

by Angela White

  Clearly sensing the intentions of the men at the table, Renda retreated toward the guards with a hand on her whip. “It would cost me a lot to order all of you put down, but I would recoup my losses eventually. Please don’t force that choice. Bullets are expensive, even for me.”

  Beside her, the sentries raised their guns in support, destroying any chance of an attack. They stayed that way as the rest of the team showered and came to the table.

  When all eleven slaves were seated, picking at their food, Renda slid a paper onto the table. “Those are the rules. Tell buyers anything different and we will cut off a toe each time.”

  She glided from the room with a cheerful grin.

  “She loves her job,” one of their rookies, Carl, grumbled.

  Tommy snorted. “Yeah.”

  “I’m still having trouble,” Ben stated loudly before the guard could protest against talking. “Someone read me the rules.”

  “I’ll do it,” Tyler stated. In their practice lessons, this was his role–the distraction, the decoy.

  “The Masters set prices. Do not make deals for yourself,” Tyler began reciting slow and loud.

  It gave cover for Josh and Scott to talk lowly. Their backs were to the guards.

  Tommy joined the conversation with their hand code, but kept his eyes on the tray so their captors wouldn’t know they were communicating.

  “Try anyway?” Josh asked.

  “No. Unarmed. No location,” Scott denied.

  Wait to be taken out of here, Tommy sent.

  The other two men gave curt nods in response.

  Tommy understood. He wanted to try attacking the guards too, but he also wanted to get everyone out alive. Their captors weren’t bluffing, Tommy was certain.

  “Eat!”

  The team tried to dig into the cold food, knowing they needed to keep up their strength, but cramping stomachs made it hard. The sounds of their cell being hosed out didn’t help. They remained at the table for almost an hour, studying the room, before the bossy sentry ordered them to a row of cots along the opposite wall.

  “Sleep!” Bossy ordered.

  The eleven men went slowly, casting glares and glowers that were not returned. Other than fear of their captive’s health failing, the sentries didn’t seem to have any emotions at all.

  “Let’s find out how far we can go,” Scott suggested, flashing quick gestures. Table goes up, blocks them. Half hold the table and the others grab guns.

  Tommy wanted to agree, but Bossy lifted his AK. “We do get paid for the bodies if you try to escape. It isn’t all about your well-being.”

  Frustrated, Tommy lay down on the first cot. That answer revealed intelligence, something he had been hoping their guards didn’t have. From this point on, Tommy would assume that they were being held by individuals with routines and schedules like the Eagles. It made the situation much worse.

  “This is gonna get ugly,” Josh remarked, taking the cot by their team leader.

  “What happens if someone actually buys us?” Dexter worried.

  “Meet here,” Ben told the rookie.

  “And our…owners?” Tyler needed to know.

  “Judge it based on the situation,” Tommy ordered, relieved that the guards were cleaning up the table and not paying the conversation any attention. “If she wasn’t bluffing about that tendon slicing, we’ll have to react before that. Be ready for my signal.”

  “Was she Iranian?” Ryan asked quietly.

  “I think so,” Tommy confirmed. “Bossy there isn’t, though. His accent sounds eastern. But not our eastern, if you know what I mean.”

  “I couldn’t place it, either,” Ryan admitted.

  Tommy didn’t tell his teammate that he was almost positive he had identified it. The answer was terrifying. He wanted to confirm it first.

  The team continued to gather information instead of going to sleep, all glad when their stomachs settled and their fine motor skills returned. In another hour, they would be in full control of themselves again and then this place was going to learn who they were.

  Tommy studied the features and the security, but he also listened to the noises. He could still hear voices in the room next to theirs, but the other side of the door held the most mystery. It sounded as if there was an entire town out there, functioning. He’d even heard laughter from children. It almost confirmed his theories. Only someone with organizational skills and brute force could accomplish this and keep it running.

  “Think we’re close to where we were?” another of their rookies, Ramer, asked. He was contemplating their trucks and weapons.

  “I was in the rear of our Tahoe,” Ryan offered. “I keep getting flashes of my kit rolling around against the tailgate. They have it all.”

  “We have bigger trouble than missing wheels or rifles,” Tommy informed them gravely. “I may have figured out who these people are.” He gestured toward their captors. “That accent was Dutch. Hers was Iranian. The man on the end has a Russian flag tat on his palm. They’re foreign soldiers.”

  “People who were visiting family or government workers who got trapped here after the war?” Ben questioned. “You know it’s very unlikely that they would all put aside their differences, even to survive.”

  Tommy shook his head, glad when it hurt a little instead of a lot. “No. See the blue helmet tattoos the guards have? The woman has one on her wrist. I saw it when she handed me a towel. That’s a UN logo.”

  “UN!” Ryan exclaimed lowly. “Does that mean someone made it through the war? I thought the rest of the world was as bad off as we are.”

  “I don’t know,” Tommy stated. “But for right now, we have to assume that America has been invaded.”

  “We have to tell the boss,” Josh reminded. “Can anyone try it yet?”

  “Maybe in a few hours,” Tommy replied. “I’m the only one here with long range skills. She had me in private lessons.”

  Instead of being jealous, the rest of the men were relieved. Angela’s classes had been hard, but useful. This team could use the mental connection over short distances, but they hadn’t had success in the longer tests they’d done on their own.

  “I passed them all,” Tommy admitted, reading them through the headache. “I wasn’t allowed to tell you. Now we know why.” That was a reminder not to let their captors know either.

  The men all went quiet. They had a simple plan in place, most of them were together, and all of them were uninjured. They already held the advantage. Their captors just didn’t know it yet.

  2

  “It’s morning.”

  Kendle jerked awake, hand going to her knife.

  Conner resumed his perch on the dresser while she got herself together. He gave her three full minutes of quiet.

  Kendle tried to rush herself awake, but the haze of sleep in small chunks instead of a full night was already pulling on her. Once the adrenaline kicked in, she would be fine today, but tomorrow could get dicey if she didn’t get them all out of here.

  “The market opened. I heard the bell,” Conner stated. “And our host is on his way here now.”

  “Good.” Kendle pushed to her feet. “Follow my lead. Don’t let them use your emotions to add costs to the total.”

  “I’ll try hard,” Conner promised. He’d already heard cries that had forced him to hold himself in place. He was certain they’d been young. Only Kendle’s pain-filled whimpers from the closet had kept him from insisting they do something.

  Kendle placed a hand on his shoulder in sympathy, but she didn’t offer platitudes. She didn’t have any. They couldn’t attack and risk their men, but more than that, Safe Haven didn’t need another war and they had no idea if these folks were a serious threat yet. From all appearances they were, but Kendle also couldn’t challenge the leadership here without permission from the boss or Marc.

  There was a tap on the door. “You ready in there?”

  Kendle motioned Conner to follow as she opened it.

 
“Food first, or the market and then lunch?” Rice asked happily.

  Kendle knew Conner was hungry, but they still had a few supplies from the kit she’d taken out of their truck right before it had been stolen. “The market.”

  Rice didn’t argue. He’d already eaten.

  “Where do I go when we get in there?” Kendle inquired, adjusting her jacket over her guns.

  “She’ll come to you,” Rice informed her. “This is a large load of slaves. She’s very happy with me.”

  “A woman owns my team?”

  “Renda is one of this town’s masters. She’s the nicest of them.”

  “When did the masters collect this town?” Kendle asked, nodding politely to the family members on crusty floors and grungy couches who watched her passage suspiciously from their plush blankets and thick sleeping bags. The mix of poverty and extravagance was odd.

  “Six months or so,” Rice answered as they went down the creaking wooden steps. “Feels longer.”

  “Slavery usually does,” Kendle remarked. “Tell me how the market runs.”

  Rice held the front door for her, glaring at the other occupants of the building who were craning their necks down the stairs and over banisters. One of them was the beaten decoy from their ambush. Before Conner could be rude, Rice shouted, “Get to your jobs! We have quotas or the others don’t eat!”

  Kendle frowned, not shading her view against the dim dawn sky that had finally dried into grudging clouds of ugly gray. “What others?”

  “You’ll see,” Rice muttered.

  As they stepped out into stinking, damp air, their host fastened the home with a padlock.

  Kendle stopped Conner from asking why. She looked pointedly upward, where uniformed troops were visible in the cloudy light of dawn. There were large towers on every corner of the tall, thick, wooden wall that surrounded the town, each with four large men or women. In the street, there were small security posts with pairs of heavily armed men roughly every hundred feet.

  “Wow.” Conner was surprised by the size. They hadn’t been able to discern much last night, and he still couldn’t view the end of the wall for all the apartments crammed around a long, rectangle wall with more towers and guards. It was like the front of a fort, with thugs instead of soldiers. “How many people live here?”

  “Hundreds. More will come after the next town is added.” Rice gave a friendly hello and good morning to a large man and woman coming from a bakery that had pastries in the frosted glass window.

  The couple, carrying heavy baskets laden with sweets, returned the greeting as they passed, giving Rice approving glances after scanning his company.

  Conner’s stomach growled.

  “The next town?” Kendle asked distractedly, watching other locals come and go through a main gate located not far from the residence where they’d spent the night.

  “Rupert, Georgia was approached last month and given 30 days to decide. If they say no, the masters will set the troops loose there, which keeps them happy. If the town agrees, the masters double their labor force and still gain some new slaves from those few who always refuse to conform.”

  “Sweet deal,” she remarked sarcastically.

  “It actually is,” Rice insisted, leading them past the first security post with his warty chin down and words low. “All these towns are starving. Here, they will toil and they will be fed.”

  “What about those who don’t have a skill?”

  “And the elderly?”

  Rice didn’t answer either of them.

  The town around them was haunting to both of the descendants, who could also sense the misery. The trash fluttering on the wind swept against the bare feet of dozens of hollow-eyed men and women lingering in openings and alleys. They hadn’t detected them last night in the dark and rain. Their sallow, bruised skin implied a terrible drug problem here.

  There were other problems in view as well. Human and animal waste ran down the street, telling them there wasn’t water or power for the slaves. Kendle doubted the masters were exposed to their own excrement.

  “Don’t talk around the soldiers,” Rice ordered lowly as they approached the market entrance, where a sign declared the hours as Dawn to Dusk.

  Kendle didn’t plan to. The hulking thugs were everywhere, watching everything.

  She and Conner walked behind Rice as he led them to the gate guards. One black, one white; both sentries appraised them warily.

  Rice slowly held up his hand and pulled his sleeve aside to reveal a brand. “This gives me my quota for the month.”

  The short, white sentry wore crossed ammo belts and overalls that hadn’t been washed in a long time. Dirt fell from the creases as he examined Rice’s mark and then wrote something in a wrinkled book.

  Kendle scanned the other troops in sight, comforted by their boredom and worries of low ammo. Both could work to her advantage.

  “How are we playing this?” Conner asked, admiring the black sentry’s attire. Even his tie was made from leather.

  “Like any other trip into hostile territory,” Kendle answered as they were waved through the opening gates. “Eagle rules.”

  Conner didn’t know what that meant. He wasn’t really an Eagle yet.

  “You will be. She has plans for you.”

  They went quiet as the gates opened fully, revealing another small town.

  Rice led them toward the center of the circular encampment, through town members and the guards around these better-built shacks. Kendle assumed the furniture in them would be above Rice’s in quality, as would their blankets. She also doubted these folks would need the sleeping bags. They could afford two blankets instead. The two women at the open café to the right of the market gates were wearing enough jewelry to be visible from space if the sun ever hit them. The bodyguards hovering made it simple to conclude that they were wealthy–not enough to be a trader or a master, but certainly enough to be supervisors or mates of traders and masters.

  “Wow.”

  Kendle nodded at Conner’s awe, but not for the same reason. The boy was impressed by the upbeat music and booths, by the flowers and the perfume. Kendle respected the brute force being used in an open display to those who came here to trade. She hadn’t been exposed to such a display of guns since they’d fought Donner’s men. Many of her plans were now useless. The only way they could fight this was with their powers, but even if they won and escaped with their team, the townspeople, who were abundant, would be killed. They also couldn’t remove this problem without Angela or Marc’s permission. It was a no-win situation.

  I feel it again, Conner sent.

  Kendle used a subtle gesture to tell Conner not to use that form of communication. They hadn’t asked Rice if the masters had any monitoring methods in place for magic users. Mental conversations might be recognized.

  “You have to make an easy choice now,” Rice told Kendle. “Normally, I would take you on a tour to encourage you to come and trade again. Some folks demand to be taken straight to their missing items, but they almost never get them. They usually become slaves for their unwillingness to deal.”

  “We’ll tour,” Kendle chose over the chatter of marketplace residents and shoppers. She looked at Conner. “Stay about five feet behind us and watch my back.”

  Conner did as he was told, trying to appear as intimidating as his dad.

  “The item we discussed is in the same area your team will be, if you make a deal,” Rice warned. “They may be there already if someone made an early bid. That happens sometimes. Be careful not to draw attention. You’re on camera in every section and it will drive up the prices.”

  Kendle wasn’t concerned with that yet. She needed to examine the layout and verify her team was okay. As she did that, she was hoping to discern something to trade with or at least a weakness to exploit. If she didn’t, she would offer up the next two locations on the map that Angela had given her. One was a stock of bottled water. The other was a DHS office that had been armed, but
not used. Kendle estimated those would meet the cost of the trade. Once that was handled, she would need to see where this mystery descendant was being held so she could develop a plan for it. She assumed she would figure that out while going for the supplies. These market thieves were very organized and Kendle didn’t expect to find something here to use as currency. Which meant she would be at least a week behind schedule, even if that all went smoothly. She would have to contact Angela soon. Kendle was dreading the call.

  “Was this a school?” Conner asked. He recognized the basic design.

  Rice took them up long, wide stairs toward another gate where school doors had obviously been. “Yes. Now, it’s our market. You can get anything here,” he boasted.

  The musician with his top hat and keyboard on one side and the busy face-painting booth on the other was almost too much for Conner and Kendle to accept. They didn’t reply to Rice’s comment.

  “Ah,” a female drawled from nearby. “I’m glad you have the patrons, Rice.”

  They all turned to face the short woman with scars on her cheeks and a long braid. She was sitting at one of the stools that lined the front of an outdoor bar. Her exposed skin, what little there was, boasted almost as many scars as Kendle’s did.

  Rice bowed to the female. “This is our slave master, Renda. After the tour, she is the one you’ll ask to speak with.”

  Renda nodded her approval at how Rice was handling things. “Carry on.”

  Kendle lingered a moment to give the French-braided woman a hard stare. Trying to convey her evil nature, Kendle was careful not to reveal more.

  Renda smirked. “I look forward to your bid.”

  Kendle turned away, following Rice. “If they’re injured, you won’t get one. I’ll buy new stock and spread the word your slaves aren’t cared for.”

  Renda jumped from the stool, arm rising. “My stock is the best in the state! They eat better than I do!”

  Kendle shrugged, not repeating herself. She was only guessing about how to handle the short, muscle-bound woman. This could all blow up with little provocation.

  Renda watched the scarred fighter disappear through the market gates, scowling. After a moment, she marched toward her private entrance, muttering under her breath. She wanted to check on her slaves, be certain the guards were obeying their instructions. A bad reputation would get her removed from the market and she didn’t feel like killing for the slot again. The first time had been tiring. Her sister hadn’t wanted to stay under the water.