by D. J. Molles
“Maybe you got theirs. Maybe they don’t have yours.”
Baker sniffed, becoming slightly irritated. He stood. “Ain’t no color around here, Harper. No color but green. In the eyes of Uncle Sam, we’re all just olive drab.”
Harper grunted. “Uncle Sam is dead, last I checked.”
“Nah, you’re wrong about that.” Baker shook his head. “Why do you think we’re here?”
Baker turned to walk away.
“You said you didn’t think this was right,” Harper said desperately.
Baker hung his head but didn’t look at him. Harper felt his pulse quicken. Could he have pushed the right button? Maybe Baker was the only ally that they had. He’d been the only one to verbalize any sort of objection. And was it coincidence that he brought Harper water?
“You didn’t think it was right,” Harper said again. “You guys murdered my team, Baker. You fucking murdered them. Your brothers murdered mine. We trusted you guys. We put our faith in you. And you waited until our backs were turned and you gunned my people down.” Harper had to stop because he could feel the memory of it tightening his throat. He didn’t want to sound weak or emotional. He choked off the rest of his words.
Baker nodded, slowly. “Yeah. That was badly done.” Finally he looked at Harper. “But it’s been done. And this? Right now? This is necessary. This needs to be done. Because there’s a whole lot more going on out there than just your little camp of survivors. There’s a whole nation.”
Harper shifted against his restraints, frustrated. “What are you even fucking talking about?”
Baker turned away. “I’m sorry about your people, Harper.”
Harper sat there, sullen, quietly shoving down the rest of those emotions, whitewashing the images of his team out of his mind. There were only a few dead faces that he clung to—Annette, Miller, and sometimes Mike and Torri—but the rest he cast aside. He did not have room in his soul for so many ghosts. He could only stand the company of a few at a time.
Julia stirred behind him.
Harper turned his head. He could not see her, but he could press their numb fingers together. Baker was the only Marine in the barn at the time and he was standing over by the smoldering fire. “Jules,” he whispered. “You awake?”
Her voice was scratchy and dry. “Yeah.”
“You okay?”
“No. We’re still here.”
Harper put his head against the wooden post and took a deep breath. “I know. I know.”
“Are we gonna get out of here?” she said.
Harper didn’t know. It seemed a far-gone hope at this point. He was no special forces soldier. He did not know the things that Lee and Tomlin knew. He could not even figure out how to get out of these ropes, let alone how to overpower a squad of Marines. Were they getting out of there?
No. No, we’re not.
His silence was his answer.
Julia sighed heavily. “Shit.”
The silence dragged for a while. Harper’s mind wandered. At his back, Julia breathed heavily in discomfort and fidgeted a lot, trying to relieve some of the pain in her leg. She seemed determined not to request more morphine, though.
Good job, Jules. You keep a clear head, Harper thought. I don’t know what good it will do us, though. Maybe you should just take the drugs and live comfortably for however long we have left to live. Because I’m not sure what the fuck we’re doing here and I feel like I could scream, I’m going mad, but it’s best to be quiet. Just be quiet and watch.
The first sign that Harper had that anything was happening was the rattling of some tools against the steel siding of the barn. He perked up, searching for the source of the vibration, thinking maybe some Marines were on the outside of the wall, banging on it. But there was no banging noise to accompany the vibration.
“What’s that?” Julia asked.
“I dunno…”
Their question was answered. The vibrating turned into a rumble and then the very clear sound of a helicopter came through to them. At the fire, Baker stood up and slung into his rifle. He did not move quickly. He moved as though he was not surprised that a helicopter was on top of them. He’d known that this was going to happen.
Is this their helicopter? Did they call for it? Is that what they’ve been waiting on? That would make sense. Where are they taking us? Camp Lejeune? Fuck. Does Lee know about this? Is Lee still working with the other Marines? Why have they taken us captive? Jesus, maybe they’ve taken Camp Ryder…
The noise became overpowering. Dust thrown by the rotorwash crept in from under the walls where there was a one-or two-inch gap from the ground. The door to the barn was flung open, and wind and dirt came sweeping in. Kensey stood there, a shemagh pulled up over his mouth and nose, his eyes covered by goggles. He yanked the cloth down from his mouth.
“Baker! They’re here.”
Baker threw a thumbs-up. “Roger.”
Kensey disappeared outside again, leaving the door open. The sound was much louder, thunderous. And then it began to wind down. The whine of turbine engines overtook the chopping sound of the rotor blades, and then that too began to die.
Harper realized his pulse was beating hard.
They’re here. Who’s “they”?
“They” are whoever wants you, Harper. You and Julia. Though I have no idea why. Why do you want me? What good am I to anyone but Camp Ryder? I don’t know anything special. I serve no practical purpose. I’m just another guy with a gun. I’m a dime a dozen. Who wants me?
There was the sound of talking from outside. The voices were raised, but the dying helicopter engines made it so that Harper could not tell what they were saying. The voices were drawing closer. They seemed to be all business.
A shadow fell across the barn door. Kensey stepped through, then stepped to the side. He looked first at Harper, and then to someone standing outside the door. The sergeant made a gesture with his hand. A welcoming gesture as though to say, Come and see what I have for you.
The next man to step through was not a Marine, Harper didn’t think, which only confused him more. He was a tall man with a shock of blond hair that was close cropped and looked like it was recently trimmed. He wore a uniform and gear, though Harper could not identify any of it. The uniform was camouflage, but different from what the Marines were wearing. It was the same camouflage he’d seen Lee wear when he first got to Camp Ryder, and Captain Tomlin as well. The gear and the uniform had some wear to it, but not to the battered level that he’d seen the Marines’ equipment in. The rifle that the man had slung on his left side looked to be similar to an M4, but with some slight differences, and some things attached to the rails that Harper didn’t recognize. It, like the rest of the man’s gear, was in better shape.
He stood there for a moment, sizing Harper up, just as Harper was sizing him up. The man did not appear malignant, or cruel. Harper could not see in his eyes any harshness. Honestly, he looked on Harper with what looked like regret and pity.
“What are their names?” the man asked.
Kensey pointed to them, each in turn. “The man is Harper. The woman is Julia.”
The man nodded and stepped forward. He kept his distance from them, standing several feet away. Even if Harper lashed out with his legs, he wouldn’t be able to reach the man. Not that he would. It would be a futile effort, and if he didn’t get killed for it, he’d be beaten senseless at the very least.
“Harper. Julia,” the man said in an even tone. “My name is Major Tyler Bowden. I’m a Coordinator for Project Hometown. I’ve been sent here by President Briggs to deliver a message to Lee Harden. You are going to help me do that.”
Lee stood in the center of Newton Grove. All around him was the evidence of a group of survivors that had been there once, and were no more. Brett’s and Mac’s groups had cleared the worst of the carnage when they’d taken the town as their own, but like a crime scene, Lee could still see the blood and bullet holes.
Brett, Mac, Georgia, and all
their people had gathered in the center with Lee. They had been able to carry twenty rifles—four strapped to each of them—and a decent amount of ammunition and magazines to load them with. There were still a few people that did not have firearms, but they could make themselves useful in other ways.
“Does anyone have any questions about how to use these rifles?” Lee asked, loud enough for the whole group to here. “Everyone have a good understanding?”
There was a lot of mumbles and nods of assent. Nobody appeared to have any questions. Lee had been told that a few of the people from Mac and Georgia’s group were former military and had experience with the weapon system. If anyone decided they had questions, or if there was trouble with one of the rifles, Lee figured these people would have to step up.
“All right.” Lee nodded. “You got your guns and ammo, and you got a base for your operations. Start hitting the roads and patrolling.” He turned to Brinly. “Your convoy on the road yet?”
Brinly had just got off the satellite phone again. “Yeah. They were Oscar Mike about ten minutes ago.”
Lee nodded, doing some quick calculations. “I don’t know how long it will take them to get here, but I anticipate it will be before nightfall. Hold this town. Hold the roads to the east and the west, leading toward Smithfield. That’s all you folks have to do.”
Brett gave a thumbs-up. Where Mac and Georgia seemed reticent, Brett seemed eager. “We got it locked down, Lee.”
“First Sergeant Brinly,” Lee addressed him for the huddled gathering. “Could you pass along the reports of the Followers?”
Brinly folded his arms across his chest. “Our Marine reconnaissance patrols have been pushing out around Camp Lejeune, where historically the Followers of the Rapture have been camped around us. So far, they’ve made zero contact. All the usual places are abandoned. There’s a lot of directions they could have gone, but we all know that they’ve been moving east. So there’s a good possibility they might be heading this way.”
Lee nodded along with him until he was finished. “If you guys make any contact with the Followers whatsoever, I want to hear about it over the command channel, okay?”
Brett was the one Lee had provided with a manpack. He slapped the gadget that hung on his side. “I got it, Captain.”
Lee looked to Brinly. “Anything else you can think of before we head out?”
Brinly considered it for a few beats.
As he stood there, watching Brinly, Lee heard a squawking from his shoulder where the radio handset was hooked. It almost took him by surprise to hear the radio going off. He didn’t anticipate that either of the bait trucks had made contact yet, but perhaps they’d made quicker progress than he’d thought. Or maybe it was Angela, back at Camp Ryder, trying to hail him for some reason.
His mind coursed through myriad nightmares in the time it took to grab the handset and bring it to his ear. Nobody ever had good news to say over the command channel.
As he brought the earpiece to his head, the squawking became a voice, and the voice became familiar. Lee caught the very tail end of the transmission.
“… anyone on the command channel. I’m trying to reach Captain Harden.”
Lee almost fumbled the microphone. He clenched the PTT button. “Harper?” he almost yelled. “Is that you? This is Captain Harden to the last transmitter. How copy?”
“Yeah,” the voice came back. “This is Harper.” The voice was heavy.
Something’s wrong. Something is really wrong.
There was silence and static. Harper was still holding the transmit button, but he was struggling with words.
Julia’s dead. The crew is dead. Everyone’s dead.
“Lee… myself and Julia have been taken hostage…”
Lee’s ears were humming. He looked at Brinly and found the man staring back expectantly. Taken hostage taken hostage taken hostage—but who were they with? They were with Marines. They were with Brinly’s men…
“… Everyone else is dead. It’s just me and Julia…”
… the Marines, the Marines, does that mean they’re dead, too? Everybody died…?
“… It was the Marines, Lee. They took us hostage and killed the rest…”
Lee held Brinly’s gaze. Since he was holding the handset to his ear, Brinly could not hear the transmission. The two men stared. He knows. He knows. Lee felt cold and prickly hot. Like his skin was ice-cold under hot water.
“… There’s someone else that you have to talk to.” Harper’s voice sounded dead and cold. “I’m handing you to him now.”
Still and silent. Thrumming, humming, buzzing, blackness turning to red. Lee looked away from Brinly for a second, doing another head count. One, two, three, four, plus Brinly made five of them. Five Marines. Versus Lee, four Delta operators, and all of Brett’s and Mac and Georgia’s people. Lee felt his hand sliding toward the rifle strapped to his chest.
Brinly was trying to speak to him. “Everything okay?”
Lee didn’t respond.
On the other end of the radio transmission, there was rustling, crackling, and then a new voice came on. Another voice that was familiar and unfamiliar at once. Lee knew it, but it did not fit into the files of his recent history. He knew it, but he didn’t know it from Camp Ryder.
“Lee, there are men holding guns on Harper and Julia. Do not react poorly. When I ask you if you are copying this transmission, that is not your opportunity to get mad at me. Just say whether you understand my transmission, and then let me speak again. Do you copy?”
Who are you? I know you. I know your voice.
The line went dead. Lee pressed the transmit button. “Copy” was the only word he sent back.
The transmission came back again, unmerciful. “Lee, this is Tyler Bowden. I’ve been sent by President Briggs. We know what Abe did. He killed Eddie Ramirez and took back your GPS. According to our systems, you just accessed one of your bunkers earlier today, so I can safely assume that he made it over to you and delivered the GPS. Is all of that true?”
The Marines. The Marines. How are we going to take them without a firefight? Or maybe we should just do it. Gun them down…
“Yes,” Lee said. “That’s true.”
“Lee, we have more things to discuss… but Abe and Lucas were friends of mine. And of yours. They still are, just like you are. No matter what. And I’ll get back to business in just a minute. But right now I need to know…” For the first time, Lee could hear what sounded like fear in Tyler’s voice. Not fear of Lee, but fear of the truth. “Are they still alive? Abe and Lucas?”
“Abe is injured. He might be dead by now,” Lee said, feeling detached. “Lucas… he’s dead. I killed him.”
There was a long pause on the other end.
Directly in front of Lee, Brinly shifted his weight on his feet, looking uncertain.
He must know by now. He must’ve figured out what has happened. They were probably in communication. Hell, he’s been on the sat-phone all day.
When Tyler’s voice came back, the fear was gone, replaced by the same level of calm that he’d spoken with before. “I’m sorry that it went down this way. But we all have a job to do. This is about doing what we were supposed to do—rebuilding the United States. President Briggs is the lawful president. I’m sworn to obey my commander in chief. So are you. In order to support the interests of the new United States, we need that GPS device back. You’re going to stop accessing bunkers and surrender your GPS within twenty-four hours, or I’m going to kill Harper and Julia. Just like you killed Lucas. Do you have any questions about that?”
“Why are you doing this?” Lee said quietly, almost in a whisper. “Why didn’t you just come after me?”
“Because you were my friend. You were my brother. That doesn’t change for me, though apparently it does for you. I don’t know why you killed Lucas. But it doesn’t matter. I just want the GPS device. Once I get it, I don’t care what you do after that. I don’t care if you keep trying to establish y
our little dictatorship out here or whatever it is that you’re doing. All I know is that you’re not welcome west of the Appalachians. And eventually your time will come.”
A pause, but Tyler held the line open.
“We could argue all day. Maybe one day we will hash this out. But not today.” Tyler’s voice became cold and hard. “You know what the deal is, Lee. I’m disconnecting this radio, so don’t try to reach me on it. I have nothing else for you right now. You’ll receive further instructions in a moment.”
The line went dead.
Lee kept holding the handset to his ear. Then he gradually pulled it down. He looked to his left. Carl was standing there, watching Lee with a look of reservation, eyebrows knit together as though he wasn’t sure what mind-set Lee was in at that moment.
Lee hung the handset back on his shoulder. As calmly as he could manage, he stepped to Carl’s side. He didn’t look at Brinly, had to fight every instinct to look at him and his Marines. They were the threat now. They were the enemy. He leaned into Carl and spoke in a bare whisper.
“We need to detain these Marines.”
Carl pursed his lips, but nodded. “Okay.”
“I’ll explain in a minute.”
“Okay.”
Lee turned and swung his rifle up. Beside him, it was a chain reaction. Carl initiated off of Lee, and then Rudy, Mitch, and Morrow reacted off of that. None of them knew what was going on, but they knew their lead man was pointing his gun at someone. And when the friend that you trust points his gun at something, you point your gun at it, too.
Lee sighted his rifle at Brinly’s head.
“Let me see your hands, Brinly! All your Marines! Hands up!”
To Lee’s right, Mac and Georgia stood, stunned, but Brett swore and swung his rifle on the Marines as well, and then a few of his people followed suit, and then all of them. In the matter of a single second, the four Marines had more than twenty rifles trained on them.
“Hands on your heads,” Lee said again. “Do it now, Brinly!”
Brinly showed his palms and raised them. His face devolved into a look that seemed to be made from shards of volcanic glass. His voice ground like boulders rubbing together. “You stupid motherfucker. What the fuck is the meaning of this?”