Wick - The Omnibus Edition

by Bunker, Michael

  “How well can we keep informed of the progress of the mission?” Duplantis asked. He opened a cigar box on his desk, and pulled a cigar from it. He rolled the cigar between his thumb and forefinger, and then held it up under his nose. He inhaled deeply, taking the scent of tobacco and cedar into his nostrils.

  “Our communications are fine between here and Mount Joy, but once the team is on the mission, they’ll be behind FMA lines, and it’ll be sketchy at best. We may not hear word until the team returns to their unit,” Rankin said.

  Duplantis struck a wooden match on the desk and then held the flame up to the end of the cigar. He puffed several times, holding the match still, twisting the cigar in his hand so that the entire circumference was burning properly. He held the match until it burned out upon touching his fingers.

  “If they return to their unit.”

  “Yes, sir. If they return to their unit.”

  “It will greatly aid in our extrication from Pennsylvania, if we can push the FMA out of Mount Joy, and eliminate the de-facto head of the independent militias in one fell swoop. If this Clive Darling is dead, we’ll sweep through Mount Joy next time like a knife through butter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Keep me apprised.”

  “Yes, General!”

  ****

  “Wow!” Natasha said, as she and the others piled into Clive’s RV. “What in the world is this thing?”

  “Yes,” Cole said. “Quite impressive. I see that someone has been able to avoid the world’s current… difficulties… in style.”

  Clive climbed over the console and into the driver’s seat. He turned to Cole and nodded his head. “We’ve managed to do alright, difficulties aside.”

  “I applaud you for your foresight, sir.”

  Clive laughed. “Napoleon said, ‘Forethought, we might have, undoubtedly, but not foresight.’”

  A gleam twinkled in Cole’s eye. “Oh, so we’re quoting Napoleon are we? Well, sir, that’s just my game.”

  It was shaping up to be that kind of ride. Natasha punched her brother in the arm. “Would you please shut up? Could the grownups talk for just a minute without you and your word gymnastics?” Cole turned away, trying to look offended. “Why, I am hurt, sister! Hurt, I say!” and they continued like this in their usual way, poking at one another. It was how they knew they were still alright.

  The others, too, settled in. Elsie and Peter slid into the plush, leather seats and buckled the safety belts around themselves. Elsie pulled little Charlie down onto her lap, and pretended to tickle him. Due to all of the equipment in the RV, Ace, Nick, and Calvin had to stand up and hold on to cabinets as the RV rocked and rolled along the rural roads of southern Pennsylvania. Bernice was moving at a high speed so no one was doing much talking now.

  Red Beard was in his customary co-pilot’s seat, and he stared blankly through the windshield as if his mind were calculating the ends of the universe. He’d greeted all of the newcomers warmly enough, but he didn’t say much as they traveled back to the farm. Clive could see that there was something still on Pat’s mind.

  Two well-armed, black APCs escorted the RV from the front, and there were two more coming up behind. A large portion of Clive’s local force was still cleaning up at Mount Joy—handing things back to the FMA—and would join the folks in the RV back at the farm. They hoped (they told Clive) to only be an hour behind, but with the snow and the mess at Mount Joy, Clive was hoping that they wouldn’t be too delayed. He hated moving Bernice without overwhelming force protecting her. He’d made a pact with himself that he would never let the RV, or any of his proprietary equipment, fall into the hands of any enemy force. He had a fallback, if such a thing were ever to happen, but now was not the time to think of that. Clive felt sure that there was no active aggressor—at least no force that he knew about—capable of taking the RV in transit. However, once they returned to the farm, and the vehicle was stationary… well… he worried.

  An hour later, when they pulled into the drive at Clive’s farm, the light was just beginning to fade to end the day. Driving up near the barn, Clive and Red Beard could see Veronica standing on the porch, looking out across the snowy fields of the farm. Her arms crossed over her chest, and she clutched herself in a way that communicated everything, and nothing.

  Red Beard looked at Clive, and the cowboy pursed his lips and lowered his head.

  “Stephen,” Red Beard said. He clenched his jaw. “Dang it! We should have been here, Clive.”

  “We can’t be everywhere, Pat.”

  “Well now, isn’t that convenient?” was all that Red Beard had to say to that.

  ****

  It was just a moment, just an exchange at the end of a long day. Everyone else had already cleared out from the RV and they were gathering in the yard in front of the farmhouse to talk, and Clive and Red Beard lingered back for a moment, as if something must be said to clear the air.

  “Now you listen to me.” Clive Darling shook his finger in the air. He had made his fist into a kind of ball and he was pointing out into the growing night. Pat Maloney was listening to him.

  “I didn’t make the world,” Clive said, “but I am damned determined not to lose control of my own. I know you have your limits, Pat, and I have mine. I do.” He looked at Pat to see if he believed him, and with the look, there was an overlong pause.

  The other man smiled, but shook his head a moment. He let Clive know by the way that he shook his head and smiled that that he did believe him, but that the limits they were speaking of were way beyond any he could contemplate for himself.

  “You know, Clive,” Red Beard said, “I think maybe you had to live down there, down in that prison,” he paused, “like I did.” He paused again, as if to say perhaps you needed all those years of research, to know what that really means.

  Red Beard took in a breath, and looked as if he were about to speak out of anger, but then he caught himself and exhaled. A face came to mind—the face of one particular young man he’d met in the city. No one knows why such memories occur in such moments, but they do, and this one did. Red Beard thought of the young man he’d met on the bridge. Clay was his name. He thought of the nice talk they’d had together. It had been such a pleasant time of conversation, but the look in that young man’s eyes… Red Beard shook his head. He recalled that Clay looked odd. So hurt, so defeated. He thought of the pain in the young man’s eyes, and he thought of the authorities and the expression of brute power that had put that hurt there, and he felt a tear rise up in his own eye.

  “Clive, I’m not ready to use that kind of power.”

  Clive was going to argue with him, but he looked at his friend at that moment, and thought that he looked like Tolstoy, or Rasputin, or both. He was just a mad monk—a good friend, but not one built to make decisions.

  The two pals had just reached an uneasy peace, when the shots rang out.

  ****

  The APCs opened fire into the tree line that ran along the river’s edge. The single rifle shot that had felled Nick, seemed to have come from that direction. Elsie instinctively grasped hold of Charlie, who was pulling and fighting against her, trying to get to his father’s body. Peter shouldered his AR-15 and popped off two rounds for effect, hoping to keep any sniper’s head down as he pulled Elsie and Charlie towards the farmhouse.

  Ace had started running as soon as he heard the first shot. He bolted towards the RV, deciding to use it as cover so that he could make his way behind the house. From there, he hoped to find some high ground so that he could use his rifle and bring some aggression to bear against the unseen enemy.

  Running toward the RV, he spotted Clive and Red Beard, and he shouted for them to get down. When he reached the two older men, their only response to the gunfire had been to lean in to one another in a frightened bear hug. They were crouching down in surprise and fear, but they were certainly not under cover. Seeing this, Ace put the full weight of his body to use as he crushed into the two men, col
lapsing them to the ground.

  Red Beard fell into the snowy gravel and he let out a howl—not out of pain—but out of sheer surprise.

  “Wow!” he said. “Who is that firing at us?”

  No one answered his question. Clive was now sliding backwards across the ground until his back rested against the RV.

  “Thanks for the hit, Ace. We owe you one. I… I just froze."

  “It happens,” Ace said.

  “Why would anyone shoot Nick?” he asked. “It must have been a missed shot, or something.”

  Ace checked his weapon and cycled a round into the chamber. He looked around the RV and fired a round in the direction of the tree line. By this time, there was fire coming in from at least three directions: from the tree line that ran along the river, from a cluster of trees and a high ridge just across the road to the west, and from the north—from an unseen sniper near the woodpile where Stephen had stepped on the nail.

  “They didn’t miss,” Ace said.

  “How do you know, son?” Clive said, spitting out the words.

  “Because, I do this for a living. They don’t miss their first shot. That’s the shot they had all the time in the world to make.”

  “Then why would they shoot Nick?” Clive shouted.

  “From the age, size, build—I’m guessing that they thought he was you,” Ace said. He pulled his pistol and fired two more rounds into the thick trees along the ridge to the west.

  Clive looked over at Red Beard, who was now pressing his body tightly against the black metal of the RV’s slick sides. Red Beard’s eyes were rolled up towards the sky, as if he were praying.

  “You two get inside the RV and stay low,” Ace said. “If they came here to kill you, Clive, then it’s best that they think they got you.”

  Clive reached up and pulled open the door to the RV. Rising to his feet, he pulled Red Beard up and hustled the man into the vehicle. The RV was armored, and the glass was bulletproof. Then Clive cursed, because if he’d been thinking, he could have gotten everyone into the vehicle. Too late now, he thought. They’ve all scattered.

  Ace fired another shot towards the ridge, and then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew what a good sniper could do—even in a low-light situation like this one. Then he ran, sprinting as fast as he could towards the back of the farmhouse. Shots plunked into the snow and earth around him, but they were un-aimed shots, and desperate. The fire coming from the Armored Personnel Carriers was successful at keeping the attacking force busy.

  ****

  Cole and Natasha made their way to the barn. Cole didn’t know if the barn was safe or not, but he figured it had to be safer than standing out in the open. When they got inside the barn, Natasha noticed several tractors, some with front loading buckets attached to them. She got Cole’s attention and pointed to them, and both of them dove behind the large buckets for safety.

  Peter was able to get Elsie and Charlie up to the porch of the house, and Veronica held the door as Peter rushed them all inside.

  “Come with me!” Veronica said, as she bolted into the drawing room. She rolled up the carpet, pulled up the flooring panel, and then yanked up the door that led down to the fallout bunker.

  “Ah, man!” Elsie said, with disappointment. “I’m sick and tired of being underground!” Her protest was interrupted as bullets pierced the walls and windows, and Peter—not willing to discuss it—hustled them all down into the cellar. Veronica told Peter how to pull the floor back in place, and, when everyone was clear, Peter handed down his backpack to Elsie who took it from him, and then looked up to see that he was closing the door on the cellar.

  Elsie looked at Peter and at last it occurred to her that Peter was not coming down into the bunker. “Peter!” she shouted, “you get down here!” It was more a plea than a command.

  “I can’t, Elsie,” Peter replied. Veronica was standing at her shoulder. Peter continued closing the door, only slower now. “My friends are fighting out there. You know I have to go.”

  Veronica put her hand on Elsie’s arm, as if to indicate that it would be foolish to argue with Peter, and also to remind her that there was a hailstorm of bullets pouring in through the windows upstairs. With that, Elsie smiled at Peter in a way that told him to be safe, and he closed the door. He pulled the flooring back over the bunker door and then rolled the carpet back to its place. He made sure it obscured the entire entry to the cellar.

  Then he exited the drawing room and ran out the back door of the farmhouse, a bear of a man, facing a conflict he had only just begun to understand.

  ****

  The standoff lasted most of the hour. There was one, brief attempt by the attackers to advance on the farm. It happened just after the APCs had stopped their fire in order to let the gun barrels cool. The opposing force took that opportunity to break cover and move towards the farmhouse.

  The gloaming of early dusk was falling, and that made target acquisition harder, but Ace was able to pick off two of the attackers in short order from his perch near the roof at the back of the house. He was glad that there were no enemies to the east of the farm. Of course, they might try a flanking action, and if they did, he’d probably be taken out. Nevertheless, he needed to keep the enemy from advancing. He put their numbers at less than ten men. Now, even if the APCs and other offensive fire hadn’t hit any of the attackers so far, they should be down to eight or less.

  Just then, the APCs opened up again, taking out three more members of the advancing force. One of the APCs began moving across the farm’s yard, heading towards the sniper who was somewhere out in the field towards Henry Stolzfus’s place. When the APC got in range, they lit up the woodpile, and the fire coming from that direction ceased forever.

  The incoming fire slowed to a near stop after the failed advance, but it picked up again about ten minutes later. Ace was expecting another attack, and was readying himself and his weapon, when he saw to the north a column of military vehicles approaching.

  “I sure hope that’s Clive’s men,” he said to himself under his breath.

  ****

  Down in the bunker, Veronica tried to make her guests comfortable, but Charlie was beside himself in fear and anger, and it took everything the two women could do to calm the young boy down. Elsie was finally able to get the boy to lie down, and before long, he curled up on a blanket, sobbing into his arms. Elsie decided to give him some time, so she kissed the top of his head, and went to join Veronica.

  Veronica sat at the same desk where the inhabitants of the farm had spent many a day and night, holding long vigils after the bombs dropped. She’d sat at this desk, standing her watch over the Geiger counter readout, making tick marks into Clive’s notebook, and sometimes crying—much like Charlie was crying—over the condition of her own son. Now, she was leaned back in the chair. Peter’s backpack was sitting on the desk, and she was touching it softly, her mind in another place, when Elsie walked in.

  “I think he might eventually fall asleep,” Elsie said. “Crying takes a lot out of you. I lost my husband in an attack not unlike this one. What was it? Weeks ago?”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Elsie,” Veronica said. “My boy died only a few hours ago. Right next door.”

  “Oh, my—,” Elsie said, and put her hand over her mouth.

  “They’ll keep his body over there – the Amish will – in a cold room, until spring comes and we can bury him.”

  Elsie’s face was frozen in shock.

  Veronica raised her hand in gesture of peace. “It looks like all three of us down here have lost our families.”

  With that, there was silence for the span of a few minutes. Neither of the two women knew what to say, but they both knew that everything that had happened—all of it—was unspeakable.

  After a few more moments, Veronica looked at Elsie and smiled.

  “I know this backpack,” she said.

  Elsie blinked. “Really? Do you know Peter?”

  “I don’t know
Peter, but I know this pack.”

  “That sounds… impossible,” Elsie said, shaking her head.

  Veronica pushed the pack over to Elsie. She was still smiling.

  “Oh, I’m not accusing Peter, or anyone else, of stealing it. A lot has happened since all of this began, and I don’t pretend to know what occurrences have led us all here. I’m just speaking factually. I know that pack.” She pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face.

  “Do me a favor, Elsie, and unzip it. Unless something has changed, or someone repacked it, or… I don’t know… maybe I’m altogether wrong; anyway, there should be a blue box in there. Take it out and open it up.”

  Elsie was sitting in stunned disbelief. She didn’t know what to think. She unzipped the bag and, sure enough, there was a small blue box inside the pack.

  “What’s in it?” Elsie asked.

  Veronica smiled. “When I gave it to Clay, the kind and wonderful man who originally owned that pack, it was just a meaningful gift—a symbol of what I thought he was looking for. Now—,” she stopped. She took a deep breath before continuing. “Now, I’m guessing that Clay is dead, and what’s in that box could very well save this new world of ours.”

  “Really?”

  “I don’t know. You see, it’s a special variety of gourd corn. It’s a non-hybrid seed corn that grows well in almost any environment. It is disease resistant, and it resists crossing with hybridized and manufactured corn varieties. We’re going to need this, Elsie, to save the world.”

  Elsie carefully opened the blue box, and in it, was a hefty packet of corn seeds. There was a note too.

  Clay,

  Sometimes we just need to start anew. We need to plow, and plant, and harvest. Maybe that way, we’ll get past all that we’ve lost.