by Angela White
9
The sky was full of vivid shades of purple and green that were mesmerizing, and Adrian saw people taking long looks at the mysterious beauty as he headed to dinner. There was a large crowd in and around the Mess, most people talking of the shooting contest to come and of Kenn’s match-up with Doug.
There were still yells and groans from a late-running football game, garbage cans full of trash burning at the four corners of the camp, and two warmly-dressed women were playing their guitars softly around the large bonfire. It felt like early October as Adrian got his tray and headed for the already full middle table. The smell of salt came to him, bringing flashes of an angry sea, and he wondered where and how many they’d be come Fall.
The rookie guards were at a double table nearby, still congratulating and welcoming Seth, and the Level Threes were on the other side of the Boss’ table, looking glum, as they listened to the happy voices.
Doug and Neil sat across from Kenn, and when Adrian pushed his mostly finished tray aside, the others did too. “Mini meeting and we can skip it later.”
Notebooks and pens came out, and Adrian got busy, not lowering his voice. It was crucial to his plans that the camp thought they knew how he ran things. “Sitrep on your run.”
“We got everything on the lists, except gas. All the stations were dry or destroyed.”
“Alpine?”
“Just like all the rest. Nothing alive. We took pictures.”
“Okay. That’s it. Who’s ready to shoot something?”
The men laughed, the boasting loud, and Adrian saw Doug hand Kenn his envelope with an apologetic nod that he was glad to see the Marine accept casually, as if Doug hadn’t insulted him, when clearly he had. Things were looking up.
10
“All right, let’s get to it.” Bonfire warming his back, Adrian stood in front of two teams of men, his Army, and raised his bottle. “Rookies! Congratulations on passing!”
All the men cheered, one group much louder than the other, and they all drank together.
“You are now Level One Eagles. You boys get to choose your leader tonight and I’ll need a name before this meeting’s over.”
He raised his bottle again. “Level Three Eagles, congratulations on passing!”
There were a lot of surprised looks with the cheers and Adrian waved a hand at Kyle. “You made it past Kenn and while there were mistakes, you couldn’t have won anyway. Seth was the wild card that you can’t always be ready for. I consider it a success.”
Both groups cheered fully this time, drank, and Adrian held up a hand as it lingered this time. “We have one more challenge tonight, a personal level test.”
The leader waved a hand. “Come up here, Seth.”
The cop left his beer and new friends, approaching Adrian with pride and confusion.
“You have demonstrated great thinking skills, excellent teamwork, and an above average slyness that American men have used to protect this country for centuries. As a reward, Kenn will give you a test. If you pass, you’ll graduate straight to the top level and start with Kyle and his Eagles tomorrow.”
The men all cheered, glad for him, and Seth raised a brow as he grinned. “When?”
Kenn stood and Adrian grinned back. “Now.”
The leader tossed his dog tags at Kenn’s booted feet, and the wind immediately began trying to cover the shiny metal with sand. “All you have to do is pick ‘em up and hand ‘em to me.”
“That’s it?”
The newly-crowned Level Four men groaned, snorted at the question. Kenn’s look was menacing enough to make Seth get serious, as he realized this wouldn’t be a give-me. The Marine had beaten Doug.
“Just get by me, is all,” Kenn sneered.
Seth nodded, handing his gun to Adrian. The second he let go of it, he spun and dove for the tags.
He came close, but Kenn kicked his shoulder with the flat of his boot at the last second, sending him rolling through the grit.
Seth got easily to his feet, eyes on the prize, and this time when he rushed Kenn, the Marine used his own weight to throw him across the ring of now standing and shouting men.
He gained his balance, rolling as he landed. When the cop rushed a third time, Kenn planted a hard fist in his ribs that had him grunting.
“This is for real! If you don’t want it, quit now!” Kenn growled, not about to take it easy on the redhead even though he hoped for another ally in him.
Seth shook his head, side hurting and heart waking at the challenge. His body language changed, became intent.
Each of the Level men watched him, remembering their own tests, and that moment when they too had realized they wanted it almost more than anything - because of Adrian.
Seth moved closer, circling, no longer eyeing the metal under Kenn’s feet, but keeping track of it. This time when the redhead rushed, he came in low and hard, making the Marine take a step back as they shoved against each other.
Kenn quickly delivered a vicious kick to his knee, then another to his ankle, and Seth fell, grunting in pain.
“Just quit,” Kenn ordered. “Give up!”
Seth’s face hardened, and everyone watching knew that he wouldn’t. The feeling of failing Adrian was one that would never go away, not in this new life.
The redhead got to his feet for a fourth time, and Adrian watched with real interest, as fire grew in the cop’s eyes. Seth stepped straight at Kenn, like he meant to rush again, and instead, swung a roundhouse that landed on Kenn’s jaw, rocking him back.
The other fist came around, slamming into the Marine’s cheek, and then Kenn was hitting back, and Seth went to his knees in the sand as the Marine beat on his face.
Seth sank his head into Kenn’s hard gut, shoving with his legs, and as they rolled over, his fingers clutched at the dusty ground. His pinky snagged the chain and when he got to his feet, the dog tags were securely in his grip.
He flashed them at Kenn, who was moving determinedly in his direction. “I got ‘em! It’s over, right?” he panted, and then ducked as Kenn swung.
“But, I’m done. I...”
No one spoke, waiting for him to figure it out.
His eyes narrowed at Adrian’s outstretched hand and then he was moving, ducking, darting, and shoving his way to the man whose life he often dreamed of giving his own for.
Kenn spun him back by the shoulder, and Seth threw out a fist, punching him hard and Kenn swung back, rocking the cop on his heels.
Pissed now, Seth returned the hit, putting his weight into it. When Kenn did the same, the Eagles watching were impressed that Seth stayed on his feet.
The two men kept swinging, trading blow for fast blow, but when Adrian gave him a subtle nod, Kenn delivered a nasty hit to Seth’s forehead that knocked him face down in the dirt at the leader’s feet.
When Seth’s hand rose, Adrian bent down and retrieved his property. “Pass. Effective immediately, you are a Level Four Eagle.”
“No.”
There was a shocked silence as Seth climbed to his feet, covered in sand and blood drops.
“Because?”
“Because…they...voted me team leader...earlier. Can’t have… that as a Level Four.”
Adrian grinned, and Kenn slung an arm around the cop’s tense, gritty shoulders. “If you knew you didn’t want it, why did you go through with the test?”
Seth grinned at his fellow Eagle, but the look in his eyes said his words were for Adrian. “To prove…that I could.”
11
The call came just as Adrian was grinding his hard body against a very willing ass, breath coming in short rasps. He pressed a quick, apologetic kiss to her neck as he stepped back, zipped up.
He left without a word, heading quickly through the blowing grit to the communications truck - sliding into the sandy seat a minute later.
As he keyed the mic, Adrian was aware of Kenn waiting nearby to help him. Good. The Marine would make it easier. “This is Eagle One. Go ahead with your
message.”
“We need help.”
“Tell me what exactly.”
“We have to leave no matter what, but we need an armed escort. Things are rough here.”
“How rough? Don’t send me in blind, but be careful what you say.”
“Slavers.”
That one word brought mutters from the half a dozen men now lingering around the radio truck and Adrian keyed the mic, “Do any of you know Morse code?”
“No... Wait.”
There were a few seconds of silence.
“We know it.”
Adrian waved a hand to Kenn and the Marine opened his notebook, slid into the other chair. “Get ready for a message. Word for word, Marine. Don’t miss one.”
“Go ahead, Safe Haven.”
Adrian gave Kenn the mic. “Say the number, five.”
Kenn tapped and they waited.
“Five.”
“Say the state, Nevada.”
“Nevada.”
Kenn gave Adrian a nod and got ready to work.
“We will fight for you, protect you, and feed you. In return, you’ll be expected to obey and work for it.”
There was a lot of tapping and silence, and Adrian waited impatiently for this part to be over so he could get to the information he needed.
“Agreed, but everyone goes.”
Kenn handed the mic back to Adrian, and the leader’s voice was flat, “We don’t leave Americans behind. I’ve got some questions. Ready?”
“Roger that, Safe Haven and thank you. You’re the first Americans we’ve heard, who aren’t in the same boat as us.”
Kenn took the mic back, frowning. “Tell exactly double the number of people you have. Include everyone.”
“Seventy.”
“How many fighters? Double it.”
“Ten.”
Both men winced. “Weapons?”
“Limited.” Tap tap tap tap tap. “A few hand guns. No ammo.”
“Have you seen the Slavers?”
“Yes. Twice, from a distance.”
“How many are there? Double it and add a hundred.”
“Not exact, four hundred?”
Adrian’s frown was deep. “Where are they now?”
The taps went on for a long time, Kenn’s hand flying, and then he was circling an area on the map and holding it up for the boss to see. Adrian counted quickly.
Tap tap tap tap tap…
He looked over his Marine’s shoulder, reading out loud: “Heard them this morning. They spend a few days each time they take a town. Most people here are from the places they’ve invaded.”
Kenn gave Adrian a look. “Based on his calculations, they’re only four towns away from Cheyenne. Two and a half weeks.”
Adrian nodded, the plan falling into place in his head. He didn’t like it, but it was the only thing he could do. “Tell them to be ready from the 21st. Radio silence until then, unless they see or hear of the Slavers reaching Wellington. Switch to channel 18 and say double the date I’ve just given you.”
“Forty two.”
Adrian took the mic back, hoping the Slavers weren’t listening. Hundreds of channels and both calls had lasted less than seven minutes total. Maybe they would get lucky. “Hang in there, Overloaded. Liberty and Justice will prevail.”
“Roger that, Safe Haven. Cheyenne, out.”
Adrian looked at his right-hand man, “It’s yours, Marine. Hope for the best, but plan for the worst.”
Kenn’s eyes were confident, “We’ll come and go like the wind.”
Chapter Twenty Four
March 10th, 2013
1
Still alone and once again in danger, Samantha’s heart was pounding, as she waited motionless in the dank basement of a farmhouse on the outskirts of Boulder, Colorado.
Her worried eyes watched the drunken passage of a very large group of dirty, well-armed Mexican men, rolling down the street like they owned it. Praying none of them looked her way, she listened to shouts, glass breaking, and wild gunfire that made her duck down a bit more.
These were the stragglers, hurrying to catch up to the main group she had already watched go by, the sky behind them warning of another nasty storm coming. She ignored the throbbing leg that confirmed the forecast. Samantha had been moving very cautiously since surviving the battle with wolves, and her alert eyes saw the billowing, black smoke filling the air in the direction the Mexicans had come from. Were they the ones who had taken NORAD?
The small cellar room Sam had taken shelter in was cold and stank of mildew. The floor was covered in standing, stagnant water, but she only had eyes for the dangerous men moving through the devastated neighborhood bordering the big, dark city.
Samantha didn’t know who they were, but it was clear they were trouble. Not that she would have made contact even if they’d looked okay. She hoped to be left alone until she got to Cheyenne, and it never crossed her mind that this group might be headed there, too.
Samantha had seen more bodies around here than in other places, the dead carrying sores that made her push away horrible flashes of the bunker where she had killed her first man, but there had been live people, too - brief, distant glimpses of her fellow survivors that sent her dropping out of sight as fast as she could.
Sam was heavily-armed now, shame and paranoia her constant companions. The pair had settled onto her shoulders, making her prefer the lonely solitude to the conversations she would be forced to have. What would she say? “Hi. I’m Sam. I had a pass to the government’s safe bunker, but my chopper crashed, and now I’m stuck out in this hell with you common folk.” Not a good idea.
She did want to be with others again, longed for her normal life back, but there was only one type of people she could live with, she understood that now. The thought of being alone didn’t bother her nearly as much as how everything had changed, how dangerous even living had become.
Sam’s eyes looked over the last of the vehicles driving though the dirty slush, lingering on the very distant shadow of purple mountains with dull, white peaks. They would be full of lavender columbine by now, gigantic ash trees and evergreens providing homes for the rabbits, cranes, and larks she hadn’t seen down here. Up there was a whole different world.
Her leg had healed slowly and painfully, forcing her to spend two full weeks at a farmhouse just south of the hunting lodge. She was glad the morphine had only held out for the first six days. Any more than that might have turned her into a junkie. Almost had anyway, she thought, still wanting that liquid gold buzz, even though normal Tylenol was controlling the pain.
Traveling was hard though, and she had only been able to keep going because of the cart she’d found in a shed behind a vandalized golf course. She had been back on the road for almost a week now and still wasn’t sure if it had been hunger driving the wolves, or something else. The way they’d tracked her, surrounded her, and waited for the storm’s cover, implied organization.
“Almost like they planned it,” she muttered lowly, pulling her trench coat closer as the last of the muddy jeeps fell out of her view that was distorted by the light rain on the dirty glass, and the tier of dark Hanukah candles that would stay that way forever. “They were the hunted before. Now they’re the hunters.”
Her words, spoken quietly, disturbed the occupants of the dank basement that she hadn’t noticed when she’d quickly limped down the steep wooden steps, seeking refuge from the large group of obviously dangerous men. Suddenly, Sam realized her safe shelter wasn’t so safe.
There was movement in the corner and she froze, heart thudding. A soft slither around a cobweb-covered ceiling beam - long and drawn out as it slid closer, another ripple of movement along the floor, a dark, weaving shadow under the inches of water - and Sam’s paralysis broke. She had to get out of here!
Staying low, Sam swung the sharpened walking stick in front of her as she limped to the steps, able to feel the snakes gliding toward her from above. There was no hissing, no noises ex
cept for hers, and it was menacing.
Samantha took the steep stairs two at a time, seeing another, larger snake coming from behind the wooden steps and she lunged up the last three.
Unable to stifle a cry as she rolled, she lost her cane, her bad leg taking the brunt of her weight.
The air moved near her head, and she rolled again, hitting the wall. On her feet a second later, Sam quickly limped to the door, not able to see anything following, but sure the hungry reptiles were there.
The feeling was gone as she moved through the heavily-decorated front door, but she didn’t slow as the rain pelted her, only slid her goggles over haunted blue eyes. The ghost town around her was silent, smoking heavily in places, and Sam wondered if the fallout that was changing nature’s routines and habits, was also affecting the people.
She had seen things since the War that made even Stephen King’s stories seem tame, and it was everywhere. Dead corpses full of bullet holes, female bodies still lying with their legs spread and mouths open in mi-scream, the family dog impaled on a broken porch rail, blood smears in the shape of a small hand on the stone walk. Her eyes landed on these things and flew away each time, but she knew she’d see them ‘up close and personal’ in her dreams. There was no escaping it.
2
Cesar and his Slavers were indeed headed toward southern Wyoming, where survivors had been heard calling for help, attracting his attention instead. These refugees read the American Pledge of Allegiance and sang the anthems over the radio. Cesar couldn’t wait to show them who this new America belonged to.
Chapter Twenty Five
March 11th, 2012
Pitcairn Island
1
Kendle winced at a brilliant bolt of white lightning forking across the cloudy sky, her stomach churning as the storm roared down on them.