“This is supposed to happen tonight?”
“Tonight.”
“What time?”
“What does time mean here, Cole? I don’t know. My brother just said tonight, and it’s already late.”
Cole quietly placed his tray back in the stack, nodded at Robert, and then walked out of the dining tent and into the cold and dark of the Carbondale evening. Anyone who had met him on the way and tried to stop him or impede his progress would have received a beating so severe that it would have made that person wish he were dead rather than in Carbondale on that night.
****
Sergei Dimitrivich Tupolev stood in the dark and waited for the soldier to arrive. He kicked a small clump of snow, and, as he did, he thought of the time he’d spent in the camp. He thought of the events that had brought him here, and the adjustments he’d made to just keep going. Steve. He hated that name. He spit it out with contempt under his breath. A man does some things during times of crisis or emergency, which he normally would not do. Things not altogether honorable. Sergei had been tallying up the column of his crimes—sins he’d committed under the name of Steve. Since escaping from Warwick, he’d rationalized that Steve would do things that Sergei never would. But now, even Steve had found his limits. He’d always been a follower. He’d always let Mikail push him around. He’d done wrong things for what he thought at the time were right reasons. But now he’d had a belly full of it.
No more.
A few seconds later, he handed a roll consisting of all of his pay chits to the man in uniform. The two were in the dark shadow of the infirmary, not far from the dining tent. Their transaction was relatively safe here. No one went to the infirmary, and if they did, they didn’t live very long. The smell of death and disease in the air suggested that it was a place to go to die rather than a place to heal and get better. This provided an advantage, as there was little likelihood of this illegal transaction being interrupted by curious persons from within the medical tent.
“It’s not enough,” the man in uniform said.
“That’s what I figured,” Steve said. He reached into his coat and withdrew a napkin. He handed the man the folded napkin, then put his hands back in his pockets. Wrapped up in the napkin were four wedding rings and two gold necklaces.
“You stole these from the bodies!” The soldier said, emphasizing his point while still trying not to be heard.
“What?” Steve replied. “Are we obeying the law now? I got these in another, similar transaction to this one, and just as illegal. Are you really surprised at how this black market system works?”
“No,” the soldier said with a sly grin, “but… I could take these from you and walk away and there’d be nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t report it now, could you?”
“Well, that would make things problematic for you. I’m sure your commanding officers would be upset if they found out that you were selling weapons and other hardware out of the armory. They might ask what I was trying to buy with these misappropriated items.”
“Nobody would believe you,” the guard said. The look on his face told Steve that the guard wasn’t sure if he believed that. Steve decided that he didn’t.
“Mike Baker and I come from the same town in New York. Warwick, New York. You ever heard of it? You want to check that out?” Steve laughed. “I bet he’d vouch for me against you!”
The soldier stared at Steve awhile before finally handing over the package that he’d held at his side throughout their conversation. Steve opened the package and looked at what he’d just purchased.
“These better be good, buddy. If not, I’ll be in really bad shape, but I’ll make sure that you are in even worse shape…if they’re not good.”
“They’re good,” the soldier said. “Took them out of the crate not ten minutes ago and brought them directly here to you.”
“Alright then,” Steve said with a nod. He looked in the bag and counted the items.
“If you plan on using those things, make sure you stay away from tent 43. That’s my tent. My shift is over and I’m going straight there now.”
“I’ll stay away from tent 43.”
“What’re you gonna do with those things, anyway?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m just using them for leverage. Chances are you’ll never hear about them again.”
“Whatever you’re doing, just leave me out of it, okay? I’m just trying to get by—just like everyone else.”
“Yeah, I can do that,” Steve said. With that, he walked away, leaving the guard standing alone in darkness.
****
Natasha stood facing Mike who sat in his chair with his feet kicked up on his desk. The light from three kerosene lamps basked Mike’s office tent in an orange-yellow glow, and a small kerosene heater clicked rhythmically as it pumped out heat that made the tent comfortable and warm.
“So you want me to be your girlfriend? Are you serious? Are you kidding me, Mike? I detest you! What is wrong with you?” Natasha then broke into a long rant in Russian. She emphasized important points in her speech by pointing her finger in Mike’s face at the appropriate moments.
Mike just stared at her, unmoved by her outburst. “Just a bit of advice,” he said coldly—and in English, “I’d cool it with the Russian-speak, unless you want to start a riot in this place.” He paused and let her consider the truth of that. “Nobody—and I mean not one single person in this place—is a big fan of the Russians right now. You’d do well to try to remember that.”
“You are an idiot if you think I’d ever throw in with you,” Natasha said, now speaking in English with a perfect American accent.
Mike clasped his hands in front of himself, and brought them thoughtfully up to his chin. “It would get you off dragger duty, and probably even save your life. Surely you don’t detest me so much that you’d die to make a point?”
“Don’t be so surprised.”
“Well,” Mike said as he reached over on the desk, picked up a pencil, and rolled it slowly between his hands, “things are about to change around here, Natasha. I mean radically change.” He pulled his feet down off the desk one boot at a time, and then leaned forward in his chair to speak conspiratorially, “I’m taking over this place in the next twenty-four hours, Natasha. Maybe sooner.” Mike fidgeted with a folded paper that was sitting on the edge of his desk. The paper had rows and columns of numbers on it, and looked official. After a moment of silence, he looked up at Natasha to see whether she believed him. He could tell that she believed just enough to keep listening. “Now that you know that little piece of information, Natasha, you will either agree to my proposal, or…,” he paused for effect, “…your body will be in that picker pile for your friend Steve to drag tomorrow.”
“Why are you even asking me? People like you—people who would threaten to kill a girl because she won’t be his girlfriend—they usually just take what they want.”
“I’m not a rapist, Natasha.”
“So, you’ll kill me if I don’t become your girlfriend, but you’re not a rapist?”
“No. I’ll kill you because you know a secret that could harm me and damage our plans. Natasha, I am not going away. We are headed for a worldwide socialist revolution. I am going to see to it that I am at the head of that revolution. This is my reason for existing, Natasha. I only trust you with this secret because I would like you to be by my side.”
Mike looked at Natasha and smiled, before continuing. “Listen… we come from the same place. We have things in common. That’s all this is. It really is as simple as that. Let’s not make this into something it isn’t.”
“You are a piece of work, Mikail.” Natasha spit the words out in anger.
“I’m just trying to help both of us make the best of a bad situation. And, do not address me by that name. One slip like that could get us both killed.”
Natasha ignored Mike’s answer and pointed a finger in his face. “And what makes you think you can take over
this place? You failed with your coup at Warwick.” She looked at him and saw that her words cut him. He swallowed before answering.
“I’ve learned a lot since we left Warwick. I won’t make the same mistakes again.”
Natasha paused. “But why? Why take over? You have a powerful job right now.” She let that hang in the air, not understanding why for some men no amount of power is ever enough. “You could help people, Mike! You could do good. These people need help, not another tyrant, so why feel like you need to seize power?”
“I’ve been biding my time,” Mike said, as if he hadn’t even heard her speaking. “I had expected that our friends in the new Red Army would be here by now. An invasion was planned to follow the EMP and the nuke attacks.” He ran his fingers through his short hair and exhaled deeply. “This has been planned for a very long time, Natasha.”
He stood up and walked around the desk, and as he did, Natasha walked to the far end of the desk to increase the distance between them. “Apparently, the invasion has either failed, or it never came off.” Mike waved his hand as if it were all water under the bridge now, and of no importance to his plans. “Whatever the case, we’re on our own here, and we need to act.”
“We?” Natasha snarled. “We? I’m not with you, Mike. I’m not with the Red Army.”
Mike paused for a moment and stared at Natasha through narrowed eyes. “You are Russian, Natasha, just like me,” he whispered.
Natasha looked away. Her mind flashed back to what seemed like only hours ago, when she’d insisted to Steve that she was Russian.
“I’m not Russian,” she whispered.
“Yes, you are, Natasha. Yes, you are.”
She shook her head, as if she were shaking off the remnants of an old life and an old identity. Strength boiled up in her blood, and hardness returned to her gaze. She clenched her jaw in finality. Onlyshe would define who and what she was. She spun around and fixed Mike in her angry glare.
“So what’re you going to do, Mike? Operate a death camp? Is that how you want history to remember you? As a Gulag Commander? That is very Russian of you!”
“No!” Mike said. “I’m going to liberate this so-called ‘death camp.’ That is how history will remember me. The Americans built this camp, just like they built the Charm School. I didn’t destroy our homes and loved ones with a drone attack. The Americans did that. The Americans killed Lang, Natasha, not me! Don’t you blame any of this on Russia!” he hissed. “This prison is being criminally mismanaged for the financial benefit of the one American man who is in charge. Hardly a proper socialistic set-up like the one I will soon implement. The commander is also wasting all of his resources in this fruitless war against the FMA. I have almost 100% of the Missouri National Guard officers supporting my takeover. Any officer that does not support me, will be taken care of pretty quickly. They do not know that I am Russian and, of course, I’ve had to offer them the world in exchange for their allegiance, but we’ll see how that all turns out when the time comes. Promises can be adjusted once power is consolidated.”
“How are you going to end the war, Mike?”
“Easy. I just won’t fight it any more. Once I am in power, I will negotiate a cease fire, and then I’ll withdraw our forces and let the FMA have this useless real estate.”
“Oh? And then where will you go?” Natasha put her hands on her hips in frustration. “Your plan is to take over the camp, then abandon it?” Natasha looked at Mike as if her objection was obvious. “That sounds like a brilliant plan.”
“You haven’t even heard the plan.” Mike said calmly, looking at Natasha with no discernible expression on his face.
“So tell me then,” Natasha said. “Where will you go? Where will you take all of us prisoners?”
“Settlers.”
“Prisoners!”
“I’ll be the senior commanding officer of the Missouri National Guard. I will assume the name of the man who currently runs the MNG. I will take his identity. Once that is done, we will go somewhere else. Maybe we’ll all go to Missouri. I’ve heard it’s nice there.”
****
Just then, Cole stomped into Mike’s tent and the wooden door slammed closed behind him. A smile crept across the bulldog’s face and his shoulders drew back in amusement. “Oh look, a hero!” he said with a laugh.
“Cole!” Natasha shouted.
“Natasha,” Cole said. He glared at Mike. “Time to come with me, sister.”
“Glad to,” Natasha replied, sneering at Mike as she moved behind Cole and towards the door.
The smile on Mike’s face grew, and he raised his hands above his waist with his palms out, as if to show that he’d committed no crime and that he intended no harm. “It’s funny,” Mike said, “that you two have a way of treating me like some kind of cartoon villain, when I’ve done nothing but protect you ever since Warwick.”
“Oh,” Cole said, his eyes half drooping as if he were bored. “We are so thankful for all you have done for us, Mikail Mikailivitch.” Sarcasm dripped from Cole’s lips as he spit out the words in a hard Russian accent. “We’ll remember you in our prayers every night. May all of Russia place you in the pantheon of national heroes! May your name be remembered alongside those of Stalin and Lenin, comrade Mikail!”
Mike sighed and his head dropped to register the undeserved abuse. “I should tell you both—” he said, shrugging his shoulders as if he had no other alternative, “—that if you leave this tent without reaching an agreement with me, neither of you will live until morning.”
“Yes,” Cole said, smiling, “you don’t sound a bit like a cartoon villain.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“We don’t need your help,” Natasha said.
Just as she said these words, the door flew open once again, and a cold icy breeze followed Steve into the tent.
“Great!” Mike said, “A Warwick reunion.”
Despite the placid look on his face, Steve brought into the tent with him an atmosphere of steadfast determination. The air was electric with tension as Steve quickly moved Cole and Natasha towards the door with his left hand.
None of them saw that in Steve’s right hand was a tire iron, gripped tightly and hidden up close to his right pants leg. None of them noticed the two lumps, one in each pocket of the pants he’d worn ever since the day that he, Mikail, Vladimir, and Kolya had first escaped into the tunnel that had brought them out of Warwick.
Steve ignored Mike and spoke directly to Cole and Natasha. “You two go directly to the tool shed at the southeast corner of the camp. Don’t run, but walk quickly. Wait there in the shadows until you hear my signal.”
“What will the signal be?” Cole asked.
“You’ll know it when you hear it,” Steve replied. Mike was moving toward him now, and Steve looked away from Cole and Natasha and fixed his eyes on Mike, arresting Mike’s movements for a moment. Both men froze and stared at one another.
“At some point, if all goes well, there will be a breach in the fence. That’s when you two need to make a break for it,” Steve said flatly.
Mike half-stepped toward Steve again before stopping. “Steve, your Chechen blood is rising up in you.”
At that, Steve turned fully to square up with Mike. “Shut up, Mikail.”
“I always said you could never trust anyone whose people came from Chechnya,” Mike said with a sneer on his face. He stepped defiantly towards Steve and this time Steve met him half way and swung the tire iron with all of his might. The iron struck Mike just behind his left ear, and the short, muscular man instantly dropped to the ground. A tiny trail of blood began to pour out from just above his right ear. He was unconscious.
Steve turned back to Cole and Natasha as if nothing at all had just happened. “Listen for the signal, and watch for a breach in the fence. When it happens, you go! Don’t try to take anyone with you.” Steve now looked directly at Cole. “Kolya, you made that mistake once before. You went back to the tunnel for your gl
asses and you got caught. Don’t make that mistake again. Once the fence is down, RUN!”
CHAPTER 44
“People have always thought that disease would end the world—some bug or some transmuted virus—and it will, eventually. At least that’s what I think. Disease will end the world. However, it won’t be like everyone has imagined. We will have to deal with things like tetanus again, and the rampant and deadly diseases of the middle ages will all return.” Red Beard said.
“Rats,” Clive said. He spat the word out and turned to look down the small hallway of the bunker.
“Ok, I want to clear up something right now, since we have time, and we’re just talking here,” Clive said. “Most folks have it wrong about the middle ages. Ignorance and disease killed many people, no doubt about it. But when you hear some historian talking about how industrialism and progress extended the length of human lives in our era, you need to really examine the fallacies in many of their arguments.” Clive looked over at Red Beard and smiled. “I’m not arguing with you, Pat, I’m just making a point, since we’re all just talking here.” Red Beard just nodded, encouraging Clive to continue. Clive did.
“High death rates in the Middle Ages were the product of a combination of about three things. One, the masses of people in Europe had moved to the cities. The cities were teeming with people, most of them trying to escape armies that had been crisscrossing Europe for a couple of hundred years, stealing crops and food and kidnapping young men to force them into military service. So the cities were packed full of people.” Clive shook his head and muttered, “It was a recipe for disaster.” He looked over at Pat to see if his friend was still tracking with him. Red Beard was.
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