A New World: Storm

by John O'Brien

  “Fine. Let’s go find a place to chat,” I say, slowly rising from the feathered clouds I was about to lay on.

  Finding a small conference room just inside the facility's offices, we sit around a wooden table. I fold my arms on the surface and start to lower my head.

  “Don’t you dare, Jack,” Lynn firmly states.

  “I can talk just fine with my head on my arms,” I reply.

  “I mean it, Jack. What is it you always say? ‘Sooner started, sooner done?'”

  I sit upright after nearly achieving my nap position.

  “Okay, shit. But I’m gonna need to sleep soon or I’m going to just fall down at some point,” I say, a plan forming in my mind.

  No, she’ll never fall for that.

  “Here’s the way I see it. We have to keep this facility up and running, at least until we get a relay station installed back at Cabela’s. With that, there are two things to figure out. One, do we leave Harold here with a couple of teams? We’ll require at least two, considering he’ll need the technicians to help out if he does stay. And two, what in the fuck do we do with the nearly three hundred people currently sitting on the concrete floor?” I continue.

  “I agree about the facility. I’m not comfortable leaving just a couple of teams out here alone. You saw what happened with Greg,” Lynn says.

  I feel a twang of regret and pain.

  “Sorry, Jack. I shouldn’t have mentioned that,” Lynn comments, seeing my expression.

  “No. I made a mistake there and you have every right to bring it up. You’re correct, though. I’m not sure how to handle that one and we don’t have much time to figure it out.”

  “How long did they say the satellite would stay functional?” Lynn asks.

  “Two months. After that, we’ll lose our chance to potentially remove two-thirds of the night runner population,” I answer.

  “Well, that kind of answers the one question. Harold stays to work on it. But how many teams do we leave here with him? It’s a fortified structure with few entrances. If we take care of the blind spots you worked your way through and set patrols, we shouldn’t need too many. However, that leaves us short-handed back at base. We have five new teams, but they are just that new. Tim’s group is prior military but they haven’t worked with any of us yet, and I don’t need to remind you that night runners are pouring south,” Lynn says.

  “No. I’m all too well aware of that. Will three teams stationed here really make that much difference back home? That one isn’t going to be won or lost with the teams. It will be a matter of whether we can divert the horde around us.”

  “Of course, that also depends on what you decide to do with the ones we are holding,” Lynn says.

  “Oh, so now it’s what I decide, huh? Nice handoff.”

  “Okay, Jack, whatever we decide. There, feel better now?”

  “A little, thanks. I guess the number of teams we leave here depends on what we decide about the ones we captured. And, thinking further, I guess that depends on what they know, or knew, about what was going on. Nahmer mentioned they were soldiers on assignment. I suppose there’s a chance they didn’t know what they were guarding or attacking, although I have a hard time believing that. Nahmer was good, but soldiers have scuttlebutt, which can worm its way through just about any security,” I say.

  “Well, then let’s go have a chat with them,” Lynn responds.

  “Before we go, how are the wounded holding up?” I ask.

  “A couple of them were pretty torn up in the blast, but they’ll recover. We have one being kept on morphine at the moment, as we pick out the shrapnel and clean the wounds. All of them will recover over time, though,” Lynn answers.

  “Okay. Are they well enough to make the trip home?”

  “They should be okay to travel, but let’s decide what we’re going to do first,” Lynn responds.

  My knees groan in protest as I stand and feel like they are grinding bone on bone.

  I’m getting too old for this shit.

  “Yeah you are,” Robert responds in my head.

  I’m so tired that I guess I left that part of my mind open. “You can come do this for me and I’ll sleep.”

  “No, I’m good, thanks.”

  I close that part of my mind down and think: When did I raise a smartass?

  Walking into the vehicle bay, I glance over at the control center entrance where Harold is attempting to get a grip on all of the equipment and files…and hopefully figuring out a way to get the satellite operational.

  If we could have worked with the group at the bunker earlier, we would be done with this mess. We could have identified the night runner lairs and wiped them out by now. With the satellites and the Spooky, this mess would never have happened. Nic and the others might still be alive. However, I doubt we could have worked together once we figured out what they were up to.

  While the thought of what the former owners of this facility did to bring about the downfall is disturbing, the thought that Nic would still be alive brings a deep anger. I can’t do anything about it, but fuck, there is no reason for these past few months to have gone down the way they did.

  Taking a deep breath to calm my seething anger, I follow Lynn to where our guests are being held. Seated on the hard floor near one wall is a sea of multicam uniforms, intermixed with a sprinkling of civilian clothes. With alert stances, several guards surround the group. Most of those captured have their knees drawn up with their arms across and heads down. Several look up as Lynn and I arrive.

  Looking over the sea of bodies, I’m again struck by how many there are. From what I can see, there are easily as many as our total number back at Cabela’s. Most of them are soldiers, which leaves us easily outnumbered in terms of combat capability, assuming they've had similar training. That fact doesn’t make me very comfortable, further complicating my ultimate decision.

  There are really only four options that I can see. We can turn them loose without their arms, either transporting them to a location or just showing them the door. That’s really a no-go from the start. Three hundred soldiers, perhaps harboring a notion of vengeance against us, armed or otherwise, doesn’t put us in a good situation. While I’m not sure what they know, I can only assume they know where our compound is. Plus, even as secure as the bunker is, they may attempt to retake it at some point. The possibility exists that we may just be delaying another fight.

  We can eliminate the potential threat, which doesn’t really sit well with me. They are unarmed prisoners and it would be the equivalent of murdering three hundred people in cold blood. It may come down to that in the end, but I’m not considering it as an option at the moment. Also, I’m pretty sure I’d have a hard time convincing anyone else to obey that order.

  That leaves incorporating them into our group, which could potentially leave us outnumbered. We could contact some of the other groups eking out an existence and disperse the force. That seems the most viable solution, depending on the attitude of the soldiers in question. Hell, they may not even be soldiers. If they are mercenaries and were complicit with what happened, that changes the playing field.

  I weigh these thoughts as I continue to watch the prisoners. I guess I’m hoping the right answer will just pop into my mind, but nothing of the sort occurs. One of Lynn’s team members approaches. He is about to say something to her when he suddenly looks startled and peers intently at someone in the crowd of people.

  “Perkins…Perkins! Is that you?” he asks, staring at one of the seated individuals staring at the concrete floor.

  The soldier raises his head and looks from side to side before settling on the Black Team member. His eyes go wide with recognition.

  “What the fuck, man? How did you get here?” the Black Team member asks.

  Looking to me, and then back, the soldier answers. “Dude, I was fucking assigned here. What are you doing in this outfit?”

  “I was in Kuwait, man. I was stuck there when this shit went down until Ca
ptain Walker here flew in and picked our butts up,” the team member answers.

  “You obviously know this soldier,” Lynn comments toward her teammate.

  “Yes, Sergeant. We went to basic and had our first tour in Iraq together.”

  “So, he’s active duty, then?” Lynn queries further.

  “As far as I know, yes. I don’t know how he got here, but he was when I last saw him.”

  Lynn nods. “What did you need?”

  “I came to tell you that the security station is manned and we’ve managed to get the cameras Captain Walker messed with back up and running,” the man reports.

  “Very well,” Lynn nods.

  The man turns to leave, but looks over his shoulder and gives a small wave to his friend. “Later, man.”

  Well, that’s at least a positive sign, I think, watching the exchange.

  It may not change things much and it all depends on whether they were complicit or not. As I mentioned to Lynn earlier, Nahmer was good at keeping secrets, but soldiers are good at ferreting them out. It’s hard to believe that they don’t have an inkling of what was happening here. I guess it’s time to figure that out.

  “Who’s in charge here?” I call out over the group.

  Heads that hadn’t risen to look at Lynn and me do so at my shout. They all turn and look across the others in an apparent search for who is in charge, or perhaps to see who is left. I notice one of the men seated near the front look down the line. He winces, perhaps from looking at how their numbers have dwindled, or perhaps from seeing who among them is missing…maybe some that were his friends. I certainly understand that expression and I’m sure that I would be wearing the same if the situation were reversed. Everyone has lost someone…friends and family.

  “I guess that would be me,” the man finally states with a half-raised hand.

  “And you are?” I ask.

  “Sergeant Montore,” he answers.

  “Come with me,” I state.

  He grimaces as he rises and I note several scratches of varying depths with streaks of dried blood across one side of his face. Lynn, Sergeant Montore, and I walk away from the group to talk privately.

  “Okay, I’ll come right to the point. What are you doing here? What was your mission?” I ask, staring directly at him, briefly noticing how much he looks like Drescoll.

  “We are, or were, the security force for this installation,” Montore answers.

  “Do you know what this facility was used for?”

  He stands and looks me in the eye, saying nothing.

  “Oh, come on. Surely you know what has happened in the world. Those kinds of secrets are long past. We already know what happened here. I’m trying to ascertain what you know,” I state.

  He pauses. “Well, it is a command and control facility for what remained of the government and was meant to oversee the reconstruction of it. If I may be so bold, sir?” he says, noticing the bars on my collar, “You’re obviously military, or were. What are you doing attacking a government installation?”

  “Do you know what the overseers of this facility were up to?” I ask, ignoring his question.

  “You mean besides providing a centralized command and control function?”

  “Yes, besides that,” I say, my impatience growing. I feel that we’re beating around the bush, or maybe he really doesn’t know what was going on.

  He searches my face, attempting to penetrate my meaning.

  “Is there anything other than that? You’ve seen the control center so you know that’s the case…sir,” he adds as an afterthought.

  Either he is holding out, which is entirely likely, or he really doesn’t know.

  “Let’s go at this from another angle. What if I told you that the people running this facility orchestrated the downfall?” I say, looking closely for any indication that he knows something; some betrayal of his expression.

  He gives a small snort and scoffs.

  “Do I look like I’m joking around, sergeant!?”

  Lynn, sensing my rising irritation, lightly puts a hand on my arm. It’s not really that I’m frustrated with the man standing in front of me; it’s the whole situation. The sergeant didn’t give a single hint of recognition that I had discovered a secret he was supposed to be keeping. Either he’s really good at concealing his subconscious reactions, or he just flat doesn’t know.

  Turning to Lynn, I ask, “Would you please go get Harold and have him bring the files pertaining to the vaccine.”

  Lynn hesitates. “You good, Jack?” she queries.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Just tired and frustrated,” I reply.

  She leaves, giving a quick backward glance. I turn to Montore who absentmindedly runs his hand along the injuries on his cheek. I’m not sure what is going through his mind. Perhaps he’s wondering if I’m for real, but what he’s about to find out may shatter his world. It’s going to be a lot for him to take. I know it was for me.

  “I want to believe what you say, sergeant,” I say. “I truly do.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, sir. I can’t believe that what you are alluding to is true.”

  “Just wait, then. If you truly don’t know, then I’ll warn you to prepare yourself for what you’re about to learn.”

  Lynn returns with Harold in tow, carrying a few folders under one arm. I introduce Montore to Harold, providing a little of his background.

  “Harold, would you give Sergeant Montore here a brief rundown of what happened, from the beginning? And I mean it. Keep it brief, but include the details,” I state.

  “Sure, Jack,” he says, pausing to collect his thoughts.

  He then tells the story of what we discovered, pulling papers from the files to reinforce his statements. Lynn throws in the occasional detail, such as the assassination attempt and our own losses. We also cover the loss of Greg’s team by one of their companies and their subsequent destruction at our hands. Montore listens to the tale with a look of increasing amazement as the story unfolds. I study his expressions from the side, out of his line of sight, searching closely for any sign that he is hiding his involvement with the people that ran the facility. I see nothing. The only thing I note is a frown when Lynn mentions the destruction of the company.

  Several times, Montore asks to see a sheet that Harold refers to in support of the story. The conversation pauses as he reads through it, handing it back to Harold without a word. Even though I said to keep it brief, there is so much to tell that it takes some time to finish. Harold, almost out of breath, finally brings his report to a close. In the aftermath, there is a pregnant silence. A chill surrounds the four of us that can’t be wholly attributed to being within the underground facility.

  “Damn…seriously?” Montore says, staring at the group of folders in Harold's grasp. “That’s, well, that’s really fucked up. Excuse my language, sir. We were so close to…all of this, and knew nothing.”

  “One last question, sergeant. Are you all current military?” I ask.

  He looks me in the eye, his expression still stunned. “Yes, sir. I mean, except for the civilian technicians, we were all assigned here.”

  His statement and the way he is taking the news convince me that he’s being honest. The fact that one of our own team members knows one of the other soldiers also adds weight.

  “Harold, would you mind giving the story again, this time to the whole group? That is, if you have any wind left?” I ask.

  Harold readjusts his folders and nods. The four of us walk back to the group sitting on the floor. Standing in front of them, Montore shouts over their heads.

  “Listen up. What you are about to hear is going to be hard to believe, but you need to pay attention. Keep your questions to yourselves and we’ll have an answer session at the end.”

  He nods to Harold, who begins retelling the story. At the end, they all stare, stunned beyond compare that they could have been a part of what they just heard. They are so shocked that none of them ask any questions.
Though there are over three hundred people gathered, there is not a sound to be heard. I’m sure they are even holding their breath, each and every one. I pull Montore aside with Lynn.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. I honestly don’t know what to do with you. I’ve at least eliminated one of my choices. We appear to be on the same side, regardless of what circumstances might have been. However, we did exchange fire with loss of life. There are some who are going to hold some resentment over losing friends and comrades…including you,” I say.

  “Sir, if you don’t mind my asking, what choice did you eliminate?”

  I just stare at him, letting the silence provide his answer.

  “I see,” he continues. “I understand and am glad that possibility isn’t on the table anymore. I'm not going to pretend that I'm not sad at losing friends and part of my squad. But, after hearing what we were protecting, I get why you did what you did, sir. I have to admit that it’s not a very good feeling suddenly finding out that you’re the bad guy, or at least running ops for them. We're supposed to be the good guys. It's a pretty fucked up situation any way you look at it. Having said that, I'm comfortable with whatever you decide. Unless that still means a bullet to the head. I don’t think I’d like that decision much. The guys may be upset now at losing friends, but I feel the more upsetting factor is learning what was going on under our noses. They'll also be okay with whatever you decide.”

  “Then let’s talk trust factor. How well do you know these soldiers? What will they do?” I ask.

  “I can’t speak for everyone, but I trust the remaining squad leaders, and I know that the men and women will follow their lead,” he replies.

  “Very well, Sergeant. Thank you. If you’ll wait for us by your men, I’d like a word with Sergeant Connell.”

  Watching him walk away, I feel my exhaustion creeping back.

  “Well, what do you think?” I ask Lynn once we’re alone.

  “I believe he’s telling the truth. I don’t think they knew what was going on here,” she answers.

  "How far do you think we can trust them?”

  “That’s a different story. They’re soldiers and more than likely stunned beyond belief. However, we did just engage them, and killed or wounded friends of theirs. And don’t forget we wiped out a whole company from the air. While they may understand, they’re still going to be upset and some may carry residual resentment. Now, that may be directed at those who ran this place. But, as they won’t be able to focus that toward them, some of it could come back to us. I don’t know.”