Rebel Guns of Alpha Centauri (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 3)

by John Bowers

  The boys chattered happily, cute as puppies in their miniature black hats and suspenders. Cult kids or not, they were full of life and energy, and it pained Nick to think that, if the shooting hadn’t stopped—or if it started up again—these kids might be on the other end of incoming ordnance. War was such a waste!

  Ahead of them, small amphibians leaped into the water as they approached, creating splashes and ripples that spread through the reeds like tiny tsunamis. They followed the trail along the edge of the cornfield for two hundred yards; the cornfield gave way to alfalfa, and Nick saw another farm off to his right. To his left the road was still visible, Carrie King keeping pace.

  “How much farther?” Nick asked the boys.

  “A piece.”

  Nick glanced at Pickard. “Do they always play this far from home?”

  Pickard glared at him. “It’s our country,” he said. “We know everybody.”

  The alfalfa ended at a treeline. Beyond it the land was wooded, uncultivated. The river ran right into it. They continued following the trail, but the road was no longer visible. Nick slapped at a stinging insect. The air was humid among the trees and he began to sweat. They walked another hundred yards.

  Nick heard the car horn and stopped. He activated his comm unit.

  “What’s up?”

  “The road turns west,” Carrie King told him. “I can’t see you anymore but even if I could, I can’t follow you without disturbing the terrain.”

  “Okay. Set it down and wait for us.”

  They plowed deeper into the woods, still following the trail even though the river angled off to the left.

  Suddenly the boys pulled up short and stood silent, staring intently forward. Nick surveyed what lay ahead of them and noticed a change in the foliage. There had been a fire here sometime in the past, but it hadn’t spread very far—possibly it had been started by lightning and extinguished by rainfall. The trees looked dead and leafless, their trunks peeling bark. New growth had begun but would take years to reach maturity.

  “Is this the place?” Nick asked quietly.

  Joel Pickard looked at him with wide eyes and nodded. He pointed.

  “It was right up there, just left of the path.”

  “How do you know this is the right spot?”

  The boy pointed to a tall trunk that had snapped off twenty feet above the ground. It looked rotted and hollow.

  “We were playing bell tower. I was up there when it happened.”

  “You were playing what?”

  The boy looked at him with innocent eyes. “Bell tower, like the one in town. I was the sniper and Jacob and Johnny were trying to sneak up on me.” His face turned pale and he swallowed. “That’s when it happened.”

  Nick felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach. He knelt quietly beside the boy and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Joel, I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Tell me every move Jonnie made.”

  Joel nodded somberly. He pointed at the tree again.

  “I got in position in the tree—I had to climb up the other side—and Jacob and Jonnie went that way…” He pointed to the left. “They wanted to get far enough away that I couldn’t see them before they attacked. I was watching from up there and pretty soon they were hidden by the grass.”

  “Exactly where was Jacob?”

  “I was there!” Jacob pointed, eager to get in on the conversation. “I went behind those bushes to wait for the signal.”

  “And where was Jonnie?”

  They both pointed to the same spot, forty degrees off the path.

  “He was gonna get behind those trees.” The trees were thirty yards away, a cluster of splintered oaks. “But he never made it.”

  “What happened?”

  Joel was silent for a moment, staring at a spot in the distance. Tears glimmered in his eyes.

  “I just saw the grass moving,” he said quietly. “Jonnie was running toward the trees, and then…”

  “Something blew up!” Jacob interjected.

  “…and I didn’t see Jonnie anymore. I just heard him screaming.”

  Nick felt his scalp tingle. It sounded too familiar.

  “What did you do then?”

  “I came down the tree and ran over there. Jacob got there first. Jonnie had stopped screaming by then. He was just laying there.”

  “We had to carry him,” Jacob added.

  “You carried him? Just the two of you?”

  Joel nodded. “There was nobody to help.”

  Nick shook his head in admiration. “That’s a long way. You must have been worn out.”

  The boy nodded. “It took a long time.” He wiped his eyes with his wrist.

  Nick patted both boys on the shoulder and stood up. He turned to Pickard.

  “Your sons are very brave,” he said quietly.

  Pickard stared at him in surprise; his granite features cracked slightly as he acknowledged the compliment. He just nodded.

  “How far do these woods go?” Nick asked him.

  “Couple of miles, maybe three.”

  “What about that direction?” Nick pointed to the west.

  “Several more miles. This is the edge of our community. There are more farms a few miles over.”

  “Does anyone live in these woods?”

  “No. They’re pretty dense. Some folks do a little hunting. Deer and wild boar.”

  Nick nodded thoughtfully. “Mr. Pickard, thank you for your cooperation. I think you should probably take your boys home now. If there are any more mines in this area, it could be dangerous for them.”

  Pickard stood there a moment, looking undecided. His hostility had faded some and he looked a little more human.

  “What’re you gonna do?”

  “I have some equipment in the car for detecting mines. I’m going to see if I can determine how big the threat is. If there is a minefield here, I’d like to determine its perimeter and later I’ll mark it to keep people out.”

  Pickard pursed his lips and frowned. He glanced at the boys, then back at Nick.

  “Might you need help?”

  Nick’s eyebrows lifted. He didn’t try to hide his surprise.

  “I can’t ask you to do that. It could be dangerous.”

  “Could be dangerous for you, too.” The man took on a stubborn look.

  “Well…if you’re volunteering, it has to be with the understanding that you do so at your own risk. And you have to send the boys home. I don’t want them anywhere near this place.”

  Pickard nodded once, as if the question had been settled. He turned to his sons.

  “Joel, Jacob, you get on home now.”

  The boys looked disappointed, but didn’t argue.

  “Yes, Papa!” they parroted.

  “I will ask your mothers what time you got back, so if you deviate I will know it. Get going!”

  The boys turned and began to trot back down the trail. Nick watched until they disappeared among the trees. He turned to Pickard again.

  “If you want to give me a hand, let’s get the equipment from the car. I’d like to get this done before dark.”

  Chapter 25

  The mine detector was a simple affair, a small node at the end of a long wand that one held a few inches above the ground. The node transmitted a weak radar beam ten feet in all directions; anything the beam touched returned an echo that appeared as a bright pinpoint on a digital map attached to the handle. Thus Nick was able to locate nine mines in a few minutes along a narrow corridor twenty feet wide.

  His starting point was the trail where the boys had stood as they pointed out what had happened to their friend. By veering off the trail at a forty degree angle, Nick reached the spot where Jonnie Hawkins had blown his leg apart—congealed blood was still visible on the ground—and from that point forward he began finding more mines, moving forward in a straight line until they became so thick he didn’t dare proceed any farther.

  He backtracked to the trail where Pickard
was waiting for him, and started out again, this time staying on the trail as he moved carefully, slowly, forward. The trail itself seemed to be clear, but he began picking up mines on either side. It looked almost as if someone had been setting up an ambush…let a column of troops come down the trail, wait until they were deep inside the minefield, then open fire. When men dived off the trail for cover they would blow themselves up on the mines hidden in the deep grass.

  Nick felt a cold trickle of sweat slide down his spine as memory flooded back. His breathing became labored as his eyes roved the thick trees and underbrush, as if looking for a machine gun position.

  But he didn’t see anything.

  He spoke to Pickard in hushed tones, explained what he was finding, and advised him to wait back at the starting point. Pickard refused. Nick told him to stay on the trail and keep back a few paces.

  Nick kept moving forward, staying on the trail, eyes intent on the digital map. His gut told him to back completely out of the area and call in the Federation authorities, but curiosity forced him to keep going—he needed to know how far the minefield extended and, just possibly, what it was protecting. Could it have been left over from the war? Groening seemed to believe all the minefields had been cleared after the shooting stopped, so what was this one doing here?

  Taking a deep breath to still his jitters, he continued moving forward.

  So far he hadn’t actually seen a mine. They were hidden, possibly buried, and he wasn’t trained in digging them out. He’d seen men use bayonets in the war to dig out mines, but one or two had accidentally triggered them in the process. Some mines had electronic encryption that rendered them deadly unless the person removing them had the proper equipment to shut them off, and others would explode if anything at all touched them; the latter could not be removed, but had to be detonated in place.

  He had no idea what kind of mines he was dealing with. Certain types exploded with a massive blast, spraying metal fragments over a wide area, shredding anyone within range. Others were less lethal, designed to blow off a leg or a foot. Few fighting men died from those mines, but were permanently out of action and tied up medical resources to care for them. That was probably what Jonnie Hawkins had blundered into, considering the condition of his leg. Prompt medical attention could have easily saved his life and possibly the leg as well.

  As Nick and Pickard moved slowly along the trail, the day gradually became darker. The trees were taller here, forming a canopy overhead that blocked much of the sunlight, creating a gloom that brought to mind the term “deep, dark woods”.

  The digital map continued to blink with bright pinpoints of light, yet the trail directly in front seemed to be clear. At no time had he detected mines within six feet of the path on either side.

  “How far does this trail go?” he asked Pickard over his shoulder.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never followed it this far.”

  Nick scanned the woods again. Was someone using this trail for something clandestine? Were the landmines to discourage intruders?

  “You don’t know of anyone else ever stepping on a mine?”

  “I never heard of it. If it happened, everyone would know.”

  Nick nodded absently, his concentration intense. He kept moving forward, through the trees, through grassy areas, and then the trail turned. To the left. Thirty degrees. He stopped and studied the digital map. The trail was still clear, but the concentration of mines looked thicker. He began moving forward again, slowly.

  Five yards, ten. Another ten, then twenty. The mines were now twice as thick as before, covering almost every square yard. Nick felt his adrenaline pumping, sweat rolled down his cheeks. Old, familiar fear flooded his veins, leaving him cold. This was too familiar, this cold dread, this overpowering certainty that something was about to happen. Another thirty yards, and then he stopped so suddenly that Pickard almost ran into him. Nick stared through the trees, through the brittle foliage, and swallowed involuntarily.

  “Jesus Christ!” he whispered.

  Trimmer Springs – Alpha Centauri 2

  Suzanne walked out of Mildred’s Parisian Boutique with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step. She and Mildred Trimmer had just spent two hours reviewing their plans for a possible business deal. Mildred had been thrilled with Suzanne’s choice of merchandise for a trial run and they agreed on how to split the profit. If everything worked as they hoped, they would pursue the idea of a partnership. They would need a legal contract to make it official, but that could wait until they were sure the Vegan line would sell.

  Both were certain that it would.

  Suzanne marched down the sidewalk in her normal sensuous, unconscious stride; people parted to let her pass and stared after she went by—it would take time for the townspeople to get used to seeing her. Her passage still created a stir and not a little awe. Suzanne was thinking about her deal with Mildred and hardly noticed the stares, though she smiled at those who made eye contact with her.

  It was getting on toward lunchtime. Nick was out hunting for landmines and she was pretty sure he wouldn’t be back until late, so she debated what to do. The simple thing would be to head on home and make herself a sandwich, but she also had the option of eating out. She still hadn’t made up her mind as she crossed a side street to the next block and approached the police station. She was still a few yards from the front door when it opened and three familiar figures emerged.

  Suzanne slowed her gait as she recognized the three women. Her heart accelerated a little and a guarded look clouded her green eyes. The three figures were just ahead but hadn’t noticed her yet. They still wore the ancient designs favored by the Groaner cult—full skirts, corseted waists, and bonnets…even though Nick had told her they would probably be banned from their congregation. The old lady was wearing her left arm in a sling and held her right hand over her face, sobbing. The younger woman had an arm around her shoulders and looked as if she might also burst into tears at any moment. The girl looked just as miserable, but was at least alert to her surroundings.

  She spotted Suzanne.

  Maggie Downing stopped dead still as she stared at the approaching Vegan blonde. Her eyes were big and vulnerable, her thick red hair hidden by her bonnet. As she watched Suzanne approach, her chest began to rise and fall rapidly, as if the sight of her generated emotion. Suzanne ventured a gentle smile.

  “Hello, Maggie.”

  The two older women turned to face her and Suzanne stopped a few feet in front of them. The old lady—Drusilla, Nick had called her—made an effort to stop her crying and wiped her eyes with a tissue. The younger woman, Dorcas, appeared conflicted—she stared at Suzanne with a mixture of dislike and distrust, yet the open hostility from their previous meetings was absent.

  “Is everything all right?” Suzanne asked quietly.

  Drusilla fought back a couple more sobs, trying to control herself in front of the harlot, yet was unable to reply. Dorcas closed her mouth but didn’t speak. Maggie took a step forward and answered the question.

  “We just came to visit Nicodemus,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Nicodemus?”

  “My cousin.”

  Suzanne remembered now—Nick had told her the whole sordid story. She nodded.

  “I heard what happened. How’s he doing?”

  “He’ll probably go to prison for the rest of his life,” Dorcas said bitterly. “How do you think he’s doing?”

  Suzanne frowned. “I’m sorry. I understand he saved Maggie’s life yesterday.”

  The old lady found her voice at last. She looked at Suzanne with small, disapproving eyes, yet when she spoke the judgmental tone was missing.

  “He tried,” she said simply. “But it was your husband who really saved her.”

  Suzanne smiled sadly and shook her head.

  “He isn’t my husband,” she said. “We aren’t married.”

  Drusilla’s eyes narrowed in fresh disapproval.

  “You aren’t marri
ed?” Maggie exclaimed in surprise. “You aren’t his first wife?”

  “No.”

  Suzanne saw the girl’s eyes light with hope, and anticipated her next words before she uttered them.

  “He isn’t going to marry you, Maggie. He won’t even marry me, and we’ve been together almost two years.”

  “You’re living with him?” Drusilla said, a little of the old sharpness returning.

  “That’s right, Mrs. Downing. We’re living in sin.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  Suzanne smiled tolerantly. “Nick told me everything that happened yesterday,” she said. “I don’t think you’re in any position to judge me.”

  Drusilla blinked, and her rising hostility faded. Her right hand covered her mouth.

  “Mrs. Downing, I’m from a completely different culture. I wasn’t raised the same way you were. I practice a different religion entirely. In my religion, we respect the right of others to live as they were taught and we don’t pass judgment on them. I’m sorry that yours doesn’t do the same.”

  Drusilla blinked and lowered her hand.

  “Does your husb—I mean, your…marshal…believe the same way you do?”

  “He isn’t of my religion, but yes, in that respect we believe the same way.”

  Drusilla slowly looked her up and down.

  “You dress like a harlot,” she said slowly, “but…you seem like a nice enough girl.”

  Suzanne smiled again. “Thank you. I try to treat everyone the way I want to be treated. As for how I dress…this is the body I was born with and I see no reason to be ashamed of it.”

  “I like the way you dress,” Maggie said.

  “Maggie!” Her mother cast her a sharp glance, but Maggie refused to back down.

  “What’s wrong with wanting to look pretty?” she demanded. “You always taught me that God created everything, and that He said it was very good. If He created girls to be pretty, why should they hide their beauty under all this…cloth?”