Alec shook his head. “Not once things have been put in motion.”
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Something that will turn the tides,” he said, feeling like he’d heard the line before. Likely from Tom. He hadn’t known Tom for too long, not the real man. The one that had kept his chin up and his mind focused in Detroit a few years ago had been a phony. The true man was harsh, firm, and unrelenting. But he was also Alec’s uncle, his one connection to the parents he’d lost. To his life before the Occupation. And now he was dead.
“Whatever you need, I’m your man.” Scott patted Alec on the shoulder, and he forced a grin at the ex-cop.
“Good. I might take you up on that.” He pointed to the map. “The line starts after you cross the fields.” His finger moved along it, reaching a large square beyond, away from the ocean.
“Then we’d better get moving,” Scott said.
Alec rolled the map up and jammed it into his back pocket. Even though his stomach felt a little raw feeling, he grabbed an apple and took a bite.
They moved through camp, which was a little quieter after the shift change, telling him it was an hour past noon. They staggered from five until one, and one to nine. It was a demanding schedule, but with so many mouths to feed, it was necessary. It helped that no one seemed to mind, that working for themselves rather than the aliens pushed everyone to act harder and smarter.
Alec smiled at the guards along the fence, and they let the two of them pass with no interference. The fields were widespread, and Alec found a path leading between the golden wheat. The crops danced in the breeze, and the rain began to fall harder, turning the hard-packed dirt walkway into mud in a flash.
They chatted as they walked quickly, and Alec found himself liking Scott. He thanked Alec for saving them a few weeks ago, and Alec told him a little more of their plans. When they reached the cover of the forest beyond, Scott stopped, turning to face him.
“You really think this’ll work?” he asked, eyes squinting.
“I hope so. We don’t have much choice in the matter.” Alec took a deep breath of fresh forest air and searched for a sign of the trail from the map.
“I think it’s a damned brave idea, but if you can pull it off, I’ll buy you a beer.”
There was nothing but trees, and Alec’s hand found his hips as he stared at the forest bed. There were a few mushrooms along the lower trunks of the redwoods, and a rodent scurried from a fallen log. Alec and Scott walked in the direction marked on the map for at least three miles, the canopy dense enough to keep most of the rain from finding them.
“This is too far. If he made this to scale, we’ve gone past it.” Alec grunted in frustration.
“Maybe it was just an idea for expansion,” Scott suggested.
“I don’t think it would be the same color lines as the others if he…” Something clicked in Alec’s head, and he grabbed Scott’s arm. “This way.” He jogged now, pumping his legs toward the field they started at. By the time they arrived, he was out of breath, and Scott panted beside him.
“What is it?” the older man asked.
Alec had thought the fallen tree looked out of place. It was the only rotting log in the forest that he’d seen. The rest would have been taken for firewood by the camp. “Give me a hand.” He grabbed hold of a broken branch on the log and tried to move it. Scott bent over, heaving with Alec, and together they moved it a few feet. It was enough for Alec to see a glint of metal beneath a pile of moss and leaves.
He knelt in the damp forest bed and brushed the foliage aside. This was it. He stared at a circular hatch and glanced up at Scott, who wore a big smile on his face. “If we were on the force still, I’d have to recommend you be promoted to detective.”
Alec spun the wheel, and it groaned in protest. He lifted the lid, and it squeaked open. It was dark inside, and Alec fumbled in his pants pocket to reveal a tiny flashlight. “Want the honors?” he asked Scott, who shook his head.
“The pleasure’s all yours.”
Alec stepped in, his feet finding long metal rungs, and he climbed down them, thirty in total before locating solid ground. He shone the beam through the corridor they arrived in, and saw nothing but a dirt floor and walls. “Come on down,” he called to Scott, and the man didn’t have to be told twice. He arrived and dusted his hands together as they stared into the abyss.
“Where do you think it leads?” Scott asked.
“We’re about to find out.” Alec stepped forward, walking cautiously through the dark corridor. There were long wooden posts bracing the tunnel roughly every ten feet. Whoever built this had done so with care and purpose. He imagined Zhao was behind it, but his intent was unclear.
The tunnels went on and on. Alec slowed and shone the light behind them, no longer able to see the steps or light of the exit. It was too cramped here, and so stale, he struggled to breathe. The air was musty, and a rat scampered by, noisily protesting their presence.
“It reminds me of the sewers back home,” Scott said, and Alec wanted him to keep talking. It was a good distraction. “We had a killer when I was in my first year on the force. Kept leaving bodies down there for the sanitation department to find. When I was a rookie, the sarge made me do sewer patrol at night. Nothing like spending eight hours alone, underground, in the dark. It turned me into a man really quick.”
Alec shuddered. “Did you find the guy?”
“We did. Wasn’t during my shift, though.” Scott sounded disappointed about not cracking a case from at least thirty years ago.
Their conversation went dry, and Alec tried to repress his fear of a cave-in occurring. The ground had steadily declined in elevation, and he wondered how far down they were now. He set a hand on a wooden beam and saw an end to the corridor finally. They moved to the entrance, and Alec let out a whistle.
The room was massive and nothing like the crudely constructed corridors. The walls were supported with brick and beams, large light fixtures hung from the thirty-foot ceilings. He couldn’t even see the end of the room from there, and he entered cautiously, as if he might startle a trip wire.
“Looks like your friend Zhao had a backup plan.” Scott moved to the left, and they found a great kitchen. Cupboards were stocked with preserves, jars and jars of food. Along the wall, he discovered a tap, and he turned it, cool water pouring out. They moved on, entering three more rooms just like this one, each larger than the last, connected by short tunnels.
The second had weapons in it, lots of them, as well as survival gear: axes, tents, tarps, ropes, flint, all categorized and stored properly.
“This is impressive,” Scott said as he picked up a first aid kit.
The last section was full of beds, bunks lining the entire place, and Alec counted room for five hundred bodies, more if they doubled up. “How will they all breathe down here?” he asked, and Scott pointed to the ceiling. Alec’s light followed Scott’s finger, and he saw the pipes, jutting from the ceiling. Vents to the surface.
“I don’t think anyone would want to stay here long term, but this is one hell of a hiding spot,” Scott said.
“It sure is.” Alec wondered why the old man had kept this from them. Did Izzy know about it? There was only enough room for Zhao’s people in here, though, and that would pose a problem.
“There’s another room,” Scott said, finding a half-closed door hidden behind a bunk.
They dragged the metal-framed bed across the floor with a squeak, and Alec shoved his flashlight inside.
“What is this?” Alec asked.
“Looks like one hell of a party!” Scott shouted, a smile on his face. There were stacks of crates, labeled with things like explosives, danger, and caution. More than a few had the trefoil symbol, indicating radioactive materials.
“What’s he doing with all this stuff?”
“No idea. Now what?” Scott asked.
“We have a chat with Zhao.”
Chapter 12
Sylvie
The last f
ive days had been long. Each hour stretched out in front of Sylvie as she plodded her feet ever forward. Maxime strolled beside her, his face wearing the mask of someone older. He hadn’t spoken since breakfast, and come to think of it, neither had she.
The roads were dusty, and she turned at the intersection, noticing a train car parking along tracks a block over. Maxime followed her with casual disinterest, never having an opinion of their direction or mission. Gabriel had been her friend, but he’d been Maxime’s mentor. His wounds were fresh, and now, covered in dirt.
She wiped her pants, shaking some of the roadway off her, and waved her companion to the shade. The landscape was undulating in southern Spain, and since they were a good twenty miles inland, the air was growing drier. She took a swig from the canteen and pressed it into Max’s hands.
“Drink,” she had to tell him, and he obeyed without a word. “We’re close. This isn’t going to be easy. We’re there to gather intel for the Reclaimers.”
“Why did we have to leave?” he asked, his voice cracked and hard like the road they stood on.
“Because there comes a point in everyone’s life when they need to fight,” she told him, frowning.
“Like how Adam fought, or Gabriel. What did it do for the—” Her slap cut him off, and he held his red cheek, tears forming in his eyes.
She raised her hand again, but he stood firm. “Stop it, Max. You and I are about to march into one of the alien encampments, and you’re sniveling about like a child. We’re tasked with this mission, and we’re going to fulfill our end. They are seeking a way to end this, don’t you understand?”
He shook his head.
She calmed herself with a deep breath and took his hand. “Sometimes I forget how young you are. If they can stop the shipment of misters, the aliens will run out of supplies.”
“But they’ll make more,” he said, and she realized that Gabriel hadn’t shared the entire plan with the youth.
“They will, but they won’t last long. And when the others disable the gateways, it will be over.”
“Won’t they fight?” he asked.
“Of course. It will be bloody. But it will be over, one way or another,” she told him, and saw the resolve firm in his spine as he stood up straighter. His eyes lost the glazed look, and he blinked quickly, taking the lead.
“Then what are we waiting for?” he asked, approaching the overgrown train tracks.
They walked along the old route. This one would have carried supplies from the former iron mines toward the coast, probably for Murica, and then on to bigger hubs. In an hour, with the sun beating down on them, she first heard the sounds of the Occupation mine. Another half hour passed, and they slowed, moving off the tracks and into the sparse forest alongside it.
It was loud, the terrible thrusters burning through the air. It smelled of metal here, almost like blood, and she sipped water to clear the taste from her mouth. Maxime’s eyes were wide as they neared the edge of the trees.
The mine was gigantic, the roads carved into the exterior of the canyon, and the machines burned into the ground below. Drones floated in the skies, but different from the Flyers; these were harvesting the ore.
She’d been so preoccupied with the sight of the mine, she hardly noticed the massive circular structure a half mile beyond it.
“That’s the Gateway,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she stared at the monstrosity. They had built more, as the Reclaimers and the leader of the Barony suspected. It was powered off, resembling nothing like the images she’d seen in the Tom Mason video.
“There.” Max pointed to their left, and Sylvie braced herself against the tree to keep her knees from buckling. There were aliens, hordes of them standing together in rows. One of their loud space vessels was landed nearby.
She took a guess at how many were there. “Three hundred. I see at least three hundred.”
“Do you see any humans?” Max asked, and she used her scope to check. The aliens were watching one of their own walking up and down the lines, speaking to them. What she wouldn’t give to know what they were saying. The strange creatures were in tight gray clothing, but it didn’t appear as though they were armed.
From a distance, they didn’t seem that intimidating, but up close… their eyes were dead, their limbs long and powerful. Those thick legs with the backwards knees would allow them to jump, to run fast, she’d bet on it.
“What do we do?” Max asked.
She slid a tablet from her pack, and followed the instructions from the Reclaimers. She found a signal the drones over the mine were connected to, latched on as if she was one of them, using a code supplied to her. She sent the message to the Reclaimers before moving back in the direction they’d come, where she’d wait for three days until the interception.
Dex
New York City. It had been ages since he’d visited the metropolis, or what was left of it. He rolled along the New Jersey road, peering over the Hudson River at the rubble that used to be Manhattan. It was hard to believe the most iconic city of their country had been destroyed so quickly. That had been shown on the news feeds while they still had access to them, and it was the moment everyone in the States knew without a doubt that they were boned.
Dex pictured the footage, seeing the two Overseer vessels rain a fiery hell on the defenseless city. The bridges were blown out, the Empire State Building teetered over, crashing over Fifth Avenue. He also recalled watching the FA-18s bearing down on the invaders, only to be swatted away like flies.
That was how the Overseers dealt with everything, as though they were all nothing but a nuisance, a bug to be squashed. His destination was close, and he drove there slowly, not really wanting to see Hansen again. Every time he thought of the human leader, he saw Tom being executed.
A luxury yacht floated at the end of a pier, and it drew Dex’s gaze as he drove toward the river’s edge. A lot of these buildings had survived the years, their bricks crumbling and roofs collapsing, but they still stood, erect and tall. The group of humans were milling about near the dock, and Dex threw the car in park, slowly emerging from the vehicle.
“Lambert, nice of you to join us,” Hansen said from the middle of the huddle, his unmistakable lisp echoing down the block.
Dex sauntered over, walking with a bravado and confidence he didn’t feel. His gaze drifted to the right, where the Statue of Liberty had once stood. Now he wasn’t even sure if he could see the ground of Liberty Island.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. What are we doing here? Time for our tropical retreat?” Dex asked, pointing to the large boat. He hoped not. If they were leaving, it was going to be without him.
“Not quite yet, but how about a tour?” Hansen asked.
A thin older woman he’d met at Detroit during the Gateway opening set a hand on his forearm. “Pleased to see you, Dexter. Did you have any trouble with the farmers?”
“Good question. You’re here, and they’re not, so I take it everything went well?” Hansen asked.
Dex nodded, fighting the urge to punch the man in the throat. “Found six of them holed up. Wasn’t anything to worry about. They only wanted to hide.”
“But you…”
“I did as you asked, otherwise I’d be hiding in a barn right now with them,” Dex said. “And I much prefer the luxury of a yacht.”
Bernadette laughed as if he’d made a witty comment at the year’s hottest social event, and directed him down the wide pier toward the boat. “We’ll be leaving in a week or so, isn’t that right, Colonel?”
A week. Why the delay? He didn’t ask but assumed an answer was coming soon. Three days and the Masons were going to be in Spain, or at least the Detroit one was going overseas. The brooding one was going with Soares to try to sneak through the Gate. Dex couldn’t imagine anyone in their right mind visiting the alien world, but he supposed this wasn’t a time for cowards.
Being around these people, that was how he felt, though. He should be fending off the ba
stards beside Soares and Alec, instead of hanging out with these delusional nutbags.
Hansen turned to them as he stopped at the walkway leading onto the boat. Dex looked around, seeing there were only about ten of the humans. He knew half of their names, and they hardly returned his smiles. He was a grunt to them, a man on the outside, one they would cut loose after he was done doing their dirty work. It was clear to Dex as Hansen spoke.
“This is the Pegasus. She’s going to take us to our new home, but only after we check on Florida.” Hansen stepped aside, letting the people file onto the boat for their tour. Dex hung out at the back of the line, hesitantly joining the others. Hansen placed a hand on his chest and leaned in.
“We found an enclave of these… Vermin… these Reclaimers near Jacksonville. Rumors are they have hundreds there. We’ve been asked to exterminate them, and then we have permission to leave.” Hansen wiped his hands together, a maniacal grin to his scarred face.
Dex stiffened at the use of his ally’s name. Reclaimers. Was there a group in Florida? Tom hadn’t been very forthright with Dex, and that had been for the best, but now he wished he’d been in the loop. At least he could communicate to the west coast and warn them.
They took the tour, Dex lingering at the front deck, unenthusiastic about the rooms or the kitchen. All he wanted was to get this over with, so he could be on the road again. He’d never be returning, not unless it was to sink this damned boat.
The sun began its descent, casting long shadows onto the river from behind them, and Dex mingled with the others, trying his best to be affable, but the upcoming mission took over his attention. His tablet was hidden in his car, and once the booze started flowing, he found an opportunity to sneak off the boat and find his Camaro.
He slid into the car, grabbing the tablet from under the passenger seat. He powered it up, dimming the screen as it flashed on.
Dex quickly sent a message to the Masons about Hansen wanting to infiltrate a Reclaimer site in Jacksonville, and didn’t wait for a reply. He turned it off, put it away, and patted his jacket, making sure his gun was still there.
Rise | Book 3 | Reclamation Page 8