by David Lucin
6
“Ah,” the Great Khan said. “They’ve arrived. How reassuring.”
Jenn’s blood turned to ice.
She dashed back to the window. Quinn, Beau, and Sam had taken up a position behind the Toyota, using the box as cover. Three pickup trucks, all with big tires, wide frames, and open beds, approached in a line from the north.
The Khan’s honor guards? Again, she wondered how they’d found him. He’d claimed to have no tracking device or drone, but he must be lying. How could his people have tracked him here otherwise? It didn’t really matter now, she supposed. Her team had an opportunity to slip out of Window Rock undetected and blew it. Badly.
Her cheeks flushed with anger. This was Dylan’s fault. If he’d listened to her in the first place, they might have outrun the Khan’s honor guards and made it safely to the convoy. But no, he insisted on stopping and interrogating the Khan here. When he ordered Sam to pull over, she should have stepped in and told him to keep driving, even taken the wheel herself. What would Dylan have done? Shoot her?
“Guys?” Quinn asked. “What’s the plan here?”
Dylan returned his switchblade to his pocket and stroked his beard. Calmly, she thought, and in a way that irked her. Did he not realize what kind of trouble he’d gotten them into? Did he not care?
“Jansen,” he began, “how far out are they? How much time do we have?” He’d at least unslung his rifle and looked ready to fight.
Outside, the trucks had parked side by side, straddling the width of Route 12. “They’ve stopped, two or three hundred yards from where the driveway meets the road.” Into the radio, she said, “Quinn, you got a visual on how many people are in those vehicles?”
Quinn peered down the scope of her rifle. A few heartbeats later, “Two in each for sure. There could be some in the back seats, but I can’t tell.”
“Copy that. Stand by. Anything changes out there, let me know.”
Dylan lifted his weapon and trained it on the Khan’s chest. For a second, Jenn thought he was going to shoot the man, but he backed away, toward the far corner of the office. She followed him, keeping an eye on their prisoner.
“What do you think?” he asked in a whisper.
Her retort spilled from her mouth: “Oh, so now you’re asking my opinion? Maybe you should’ve done that, I don’t know, like thirty minutes ago?”
He merely narrowed his eyes, which only made Jenn’s cheeks grow hotter. Regret hit her then. This was not a good time for an argument, and acting petty wouldn’t help her get out of here alive. And she really wanted to get out of here alive. “We could make a run for it,” she offered. “Throw the Khan in the Toyota and drive for the convoy. If we can stay ahead of his trucks, we’re in the clear. If they’re tracking him, so what? He doesn’t have enough manpower in Window Rock to take on a platoon of Militia.” She raised her voice so the Khan could hear. “Or we could do that strip search thing I mentioned earlier.”
The Khan had shut his eyes. If Jenn didn’t know any better, she’d say the creep had fallen asleep.
“That won’t work,” Dylan said with an ardent shake of the head. “Too much ice and snow on the roads. We’re just as likely to wind up in a ditch. Then we’d be sitting ducks.”
She hadn’t thought about that. Sam might be competent behind the wheel, but he grew up in Phoenix, Arizona—not the best place to develop winter-driving skills.
“Guys?” Quinn asked, and Jenn nearly leaped out of her skin. “How’s it coming on that status update?”
“Hold on. We’re figuring it out.” Jenn bit her lip. Her breath came in shallow gasps, so she focused on inhaling entire lungfuls and blowing them out through her nose. After three repetitions, her mind cleared, like those cords in the drawer had magically rearranged themselves. She whispered to Dylan, “We could take his deal.”
He shook his head again. “I’d sooner put a bullet in our friend here.”
You would. “And then what? Fight our way out of here? I hate to be a pessimist, but it sounds like he’s got more than we do outside, and this crappy office doesn’t look bulletproof.” To emphasize her point, she rapped a knuckle on the flimsy metal wall. “Right now, the most important thing is getting back to Flag. If we go down fighting, nobody’s gonna know about the White Horde.” She saw the indecision in Dylan’s flat lips and wandering pupils, so she risked saying, “I don’t know what’s going on with you today, but you need to get past it and think this through rationally.”
The Khan must have heard her, because he interjected, his voice echoing off the enclosed space, “You have my word you will not be harmed.”
“Your word, eh?” Dylan asked dismissively.
“Killing you now is of no consequence.” The Khan opened his eyes and lifted his head off the wall. A line of bloody saliva hung from his chin. “Whether or not you return to Flagstaff to warn your leaders of my horde’s imminent arrival matters not. You will perish, regardless. The White Horde has faced more formidable foes and triumphed.”
Was he referring to the National Guard safe zones he’d mentioned? Jenn thought to boast that Flagstaff had its own National Guard troops, plus two hundred additional trained soldiers in the Militia, along with the police, but she shouldn’t give him any intel. Well, no more than he already had. What else did he know about Flagstaff? He couldn’t have scouts lurking around town, could he?
Dylan made a clucking sound with his tongue.
Jenn decided what needed to be done, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Dylan had gotten them into this mess, and she had to get them out. If necessary, she’d order the others to march in here and bring the Khan to his people. She would most certainly lose her job and destroy her friendship with Dylan, but there was too much at stake now. The White Horde, if it proved to exist as the Khan had described it, represented a true army, a threat to Flagstaff’s very existence. The Major and his little gang of hoodlums seemed like petty pickpockets by comparison. She refused to risk everyone she loved and everything she’d fought so hard to protect because Dylan couldn’t, for whatever reason, see the big picture.
“Have you come to a decision?” The Khan spat blood onto the linoleum. “I must warn you that my honor guards are not as patient as I.”
Jenn dry-swallowed and held her breath while she waited for Dylan’s response. Please make this easy on me and do the smart thing.
“Fine,” he finally said. “You have a deal. But we keep you in our sights until we clear your trucks. If I think your people are coming for us, I’ll put a bullet in your back.”
Jenn did her best to hide her relief, though she couldn’t help but sigh, long and slow. Dylan hadn’t completely lost it; some semblance of the man she knew and respected still lived in there somewhere.
“Excellent!” The Khan almost sounded excited, the first hint of emotion he’d shown besides mild amusement. “You live to fight another day. A wise choice. I look forward to meeting you on the field of battle.”
Dylan didn’t dignify that with a response. Neither did Jenn. Answering would only encourage the Khan to keep rambling, and she’d had enough of his nonsense for one lifetime.
She held open the door while Dylan led the Khan outside and down the front steps. On Route 12, the trio of trucks waited. From this distance, she couldn’t make out the passengers, but the sight was menacing all the same.
“Walk,” Dylan said and gave the Khan a light shove from behind.
As they approached the Toyota, Quinn and Beau kept their weapons trained on the Khan’s vehicles. Sam lowered his M4 and angled it toward the ground. Jenn had gotten used to him wielding Espinosa and the Glock, but seeing him with a fully automatic assault rifle made her dizzy.
“What’re we doing?” he asked. “Are we taking him with us?” His cadence suggested he was hoping they weren’t.
“No,” Jenn told him. “We’re dropping him on the road, then driving out of here.” Rehashing the plan out loud, if she could call it a plan at all, flood
ed her with doubt. What was stopping the Khan from simply sending his guards after her team once he’d been rescued? He’d promised to let them leave safely, but was she really putting her faith in a man who wore deer antlers as a crown and spoke to an imaginary voice in his head?
Sam chewed on his thumbnail.
“It’s okay,” she told him, mostly out of habit. “We’ll be fine.”
Dylan sat the Khan on the open tailgate. “Novak, Davis, in the back. Jansen, you’re up front with Sam.”
She climbed into the Toyota and propped her M4 upright on the floorboard between her trembling knees. Sam took his spot behind the steering wheel, watching her out of the corner of his eye. He must have had questions, like why she’d decided to trust the Great Khan or what they’d discussed in the modular office. Answers would only distract him, though, and she needed his focus firmly on driving. In a few minutes, he might find himself in a high-speed chase.
“As soon as Dylan gives the word,” she said, “you rip out of here. Got it?”
He took a final bite of his thumbnail before putting his foot on the brake and shifting the truck into drive.
The rear window banged open, letting in a rush of crisp air. “Sam,” Dylan said into the cab. “Let’s move.”
In her side-view mirror, Jenn saw the Khan seated on the tailgate. Dylan sat beside him, gripping his restraints to keep him from falling off or trying to run. Quinn and Beau had each taken a knee, weapons locked on the trucks. Jenn waited for them to tear forward, motors whining, tires squealing, while armed men popped out of the beds and opened fire. But they remained still, unmoving, like they were part of the landscape.
At the road, Sam turned left, orienting the Toyota toward their escape route. When he’d come to a stop, Jenn watched through the rear window as Dylan hopped off the tailgate and motioned for the Great Khan to follow. He did, awkwardly lowering himself onto the ground and ambling forward.
Dylan cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted at the trucks, “Here’s what’s going to happen! We leave your boss here, and you let us drive away! Any sign that you’re following us, we take him out! One of you, flash your brights if you understand!”
The Khan bowed at the waist, likely to communicate that his people should comply. A second later, the middle truck flashed its high beams twice.
At that, he dropped to his knees. Dylan leaned down and said something into his ear. A final threat? A word of warning about attacking Flagstaff? Jenn didn’t see the point. The Great Khan wouldn’t listen. He was beyond delusional, but that only made him more dangerous. The Major she understood. Even Vincent Grierson, to a lesser extent. For them, killing served a purpose; it was simply the means to an end. But for the Khan? Killing was the end. A man like that couldn’t be bargained with or bought off, not with all the food in Flagstaff. Only force could stop him. Only war. The prospect filled her with dread, but if war came—no, when it came—she would be there, on the front lines.
Dylan slammed the tailgate shut, unslung his rifle, and climbed inside. With Quinn on his left and Beau on his right, he pointed his weapon at the Khan’s back and gave a quick nod toward the cab.
“Go time,” Jenn said to Sam. “Let’s get out of here.”
Gently, he pressed the accelerator and pulled away.
Heart pounding in her chest, she waited for the trucks to lurch forward, but as agreed, they didn’t move. Not yet.
Sam picked up speed, cracking twenty miles per hour, then thirty. The smaller the Khan grew in Jenn’s side-view mirror, the more she wished Freddie were here. With his M24 sniper rifle, a gift from the National Guard, he could hit a target from several hundred yards away.
After a few minutes that felt like hours, the Khan and his trucks were mere specks on a canvas of white, gray, and brown. Then, as the Toyota eased around a bend in the road, they vanished entirely.
Jenn almost melted into her seat. “Okay, I think now’s a good time to punch it.”
* * *
The next few hours passed in an adrenaline-saturated blur, and Jenn found herself back in Flagstaff with the rest of the convoy, shocked the Great Khan had kept his word and let her and the scout team leave.
Curious troops bombarded her with questions as she unloaded her gear at HQ, but Dylan had ordered her and the others to keep quiet about the council chamber, the Great Khan, the White Horde, all of it. I don’t want to freak everyone out, she vaguely recalled him saying before he rushed off to meet with Liam.
Afraid she would crack and blurt everything out, she ran off, shutting herself in an empty office. Thankfully, Quinn, Beau, and Sam offered to join her; she needed their help to process what she’d seen and experienced. She told them about the bodies, about the massacre, yet still, it all felt so surreal, like a dream she couldn’t fully remember.
A glass wall separated the office from the study-room-turned-barracks, where mattresses, cots, and about a platoon’s worth of troopers crowded around the central barrel stove. The office itself was devoid of furniture, filled instead with cardboard boxes and plastic bins. Night had fallen, and besides the white glow of an LED lantern in the barracks, darkness engulfed HQ.
And it was cold. Freezing, actually. Barely any heat from the barrel stove radiated this far. Jenn and Sam, seated on the floor, their backs to the wall opposite the door, shared a blanket. Quinn and Beau shared a blanket of their own nearby.
“He sounds like a mental patient,” Quinn said, much of her face concealed by her hood.
Jenn blew into her hands to warm them. “Oh, totally crazy. He’s obviously schizophrenic.”
“Or multiple personality disorder,” Beau proposed. He pulled his arms out of the sleeves of his jacket and hugged himself. For a guy who grew up in Boulder, Colorado, he had a humorously low tolerance for the cold.
“Could’ve run out of his medication,” Sam said. “My mom ran out of her antidepressants a few months ago. Imagine if she was schizophrenic or had multiple personality disorder and she was taking meds. Could be the case with the Khan.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” Jenn pushed herself tighter to Sam in search of some extra warmth. “But he sounded smart. Like, with the way he talked. And he had perfect teeth, so he obviously had money.”
Sam put a hand on her thigh, and she held it with both of hers. “Plenty of well-off people with mental illness. My mother, case in point.”
Beau tugged more of his and Quinn’s blanket onto his lap, which drew a sharp glare from his fire team leader. “So who was he?” he asked. “He’s got M4s. Military, you think?”
All eyes fell on Jenn. “It’s possible, but he was talking about fighting the National Guard outside Denver. You’d figure he wouldn’t attack them if he was really military, but then again, he’s nuts, so who knows?”
“He could be—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupted. “We could sit around all night and throw out ideas. He could’ve been a military officer, a teacher, a lawyer, or a freaking janitor. Even he might not remember who he was. Dylan asked him his name, and he said he lost it or something. Whatever he was before, he’s the Great Khan now.”
“Fair enough.” Beau yawned and smacked his lips. How could he be tired? Exhaustion tugged at Jenn’s eyelids, but she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep if she tried. “Any idea where he came from? He’s obviously not from around here.”
“He had an accent. It sounded like Minnesota, but I could be wrong. He also mentioned a bunch of random places: Rapid City, Casper, Sioux Falls, Denver.”
“Those places don’t sound random at all,” Sam said. “Rapid City and Sioux Falls are in South Dakota. Casper’s in Wyoming, and Denver’s obviously in Colorado. That route makes a lot of sense if he’s from Minnesota.”
“Minnesota,” Quinn mused. “Lots of snow up there. Think that’s where the name comes from? White Horde?”
“Maybe.” Sam didn’t sound convinced. “If the Khan’s really been to all those places, he would’ve been on the mov
e before it snowed.”
The possibility that the White Horde had been traveling across the country for the past nine months, destroying settlements of survivors, turned Jenn’s stomach. How many lives had the Great Khan taken in the name of Gaia? According to Allison, Santa Fe had a population similar to Flagstaff’s. The city was overrun by refugees from Albuquerque within days of the attacks, but some would have survived until recently. The White Horde might have killed thousands, even tens of thousands, in Santa Fe alone.
“This all assumes the White Horde exists,” Beau said. “How do we know the Khan’s not just making it up or he’s not imagining it? You said so yourself, Jansen: the guy’s nuts.”
“We don’t know it exists, not for sure.” At first, Jenn had thought the Khan was lying about the White Horde, but the more he spoke, the more real it became. Now she didn’t question its existence. She wanted proof, though. Hard intel. But how would she get it? Drive out to Santa Fe and check on the horde in person? Preferably not. Hopefully Liam would come up with a plan after Dylan briefed him on the events of the day. “But it’d be stupid to ignore him. We need to act like he’s telling the truth and he’s coming for us.”
Beau hummed in what Jenn thought was agreement while Quinn’s head bobbed beneath her hood. Someone opened the door to the barrel stove and threw on a new log, temporarily bathing the mattresses and cots around it in warm orange light. The troops in the barracks chatted in low, subdued voices. No doubt they were theorizing about what happened in Window Rock. The tension in the air was so thick Jenn could almost taste it.
Quinn pulled her share of the blanket back from Beau. He resisted, but another, sharper glare convinced him to relent. She said, “Okay, so I get we don’t know who he is, but what’s the deal with this Mother Earth stuff? Why does he hear her in his head? There’s gotta be a reason besides just being crazy. If I was crazy and hearing voices, I wouldn’t be hearing Mother Earth, of all people.”