She answered, “I’m not mad at you.”
A little girl’s head jerked up, her round face framed by auburn braids. She gazed at Wren with wonder.
I just heard a thought! Wren shifted toward Coru and murmured, “I just heard a thought.”
He blinked rapidly but gave nothing away. This was amazing news; this was monumental news. If she could get her abilities back, it meant everything to their success.
Then he frowned.
Why? Oh—he’d probably said something to her in his head, testing her out and it had failed.
Her hopes collapsed.
Maybe not? But she’d could have sworn...
She reached out her sensors, searching for and finding the uncomplicated mind of the child—the little girl with the tightly braided hair who was still studying her and wondering if she were a fairy.
Mattea insisted, “Weapons and we’re out of here. Simple as that.”
Inside the child’s mind, Wren saw where the weapons were hidden.
She said, “Under the bed upstairs, first room on the right.” She glanced toward the steep steps that hugged the wall on the left that led up to the room the child had pictured.
Everyone’s eyes were on her now.
Is she a witch? a frightened woman thought, pressing herself closer to the man next to her. Her brother, Arron. Another woman shifted, closer to the second man standing. She was in her mid-thirties, big-eyed and wary; her child’s name was…Paula. The thoughts were coming now in fits and sparks. A phrase here, an image there. Emotions: fright, exhaustion, longing, poured into her head.
The leaders name was…Garth. His son was…Nelson. Nelson was married to Amanda, the big-eyed woman, and Paula was one of their daughters, Gia was the other.
Realizing her face must be telegraphing what she was seeing and hearing inside her head, Wren worked quickly to neutralize her expression. She’d been free of mental invasion for weeks and had already forgotten how to manage her appearance. That stopped now.
She turned her face away and murmured to Coru. “These are good people. They didn’t know what they were going to do with us. They were worrying about having enough food to share. They’re no threat to us.”
Coru nodded once, relaxed his stance and signalled for the Hansons and Mattea to lower their weapons. “She’s right. Close the door.” Tony and Mario tossed their two-by-fours out the open doors, front and back, and closed them against the cold and the possibility of unintentionally signalling a possible enemy.
Coru addressed Garth and Nelson. “You having troubles with POE?”
The two nodded. Garth answered, “They make regular sweeps, take all they can in supplies, then hightail it back to New Pacifica. They don’t kill us. They need us to farm, to produce food. They leave enough for us to scrape by on, then return later to see what we worked hard to get.”
Coru shook his head. “Nice.”
Garth cocked his head towards Coru, shrugging. “They can’t steal what they can’t find.”
He and Coru grinned at one another, and a muted wave of laughter swept the room.
Garth waved Coru and Wren forward, to sit, for them all to sit. “Have a meal before you start out, at least.”
The Bear Lake Outlanders exchanged a quick look then moved into the group, sitting where they could find room. Bowls were filled from the central pot and passed over.
After a few minutes of shoveling in the tasty stew, Coru asked, “You have numbers?”
Garth asked, “Of POE?”
“Yes.”
“Couldn’t say, but I’m guessing in the thousands, if what we see is a sampling of their power. The food they haul from the locals could feed hundreds, and that’s what we know about. They undoubtedly steal from everyone. They’re well supplied with weapons, ammunition, transportation, and communication. Everything we don’t have. We go along with it. We stay alive.”
Nelson added, “The strange thing is, they’re all male, seem to all be in their mid-twenties, are all strong and healthy, and are armed to the teeth. We think this isn’t just an army of Boy Scout Virus Survivors. This is a well-trained army, one that’s been meticulously thought out.” He looked around the room, his eyes glowing fiercely. “We’ve come to think they were somehow shielded from the virus, which means they were immunized ahead of time. They’re too well trained, too organized, too prepared.”
Nelson and his father exchanged looks before Nelson added, his tone muted, “If we’re right, and they were preparing for this all along, that means the virus wasn’t a mistake, but deliberate. The pandemic was orchestrated. Not only that, the cure was withheld.”
To have Coru’s worst fear expressed so simply and clearly by these honest country people was another nail in Payton’s coffin. Wren had not quite believed it, had held out hope the pandemic had not been deliberate, that it was all a horrible mistake. To admit it was set upon the population on purpose was to acknowledge that men could be monsters.
Were Garth, Nelson, and Coru right? All evidence seemed to point to the fact: The Boy Scout Virus was no fluke; it had been planned and let loose into the world for one reason. To kill.
Moses Zhang’s ultimate solution had not been to develop better environmental guidelines and encourage responsible changes in the past to save the future. His solution was to rid the world of who he believed were the cause of that environmental disaster: the people who lived here. Not the greedy multinational corporations, not the corrupt governments. Zhang had targeted everyone, every man, woman, and child. In Zhang’s world, everyone was guilty. Everyone had been chosen to die.
Except Zhang’s, or what they now suspected, Professor Red’s, immune and well-heeled POE army. A select army had been spared and were now being used to control those who had somehow been immune and remained free and outside Zhang and Professor Red’s influence.
Tom Hanson broke the long silence that enveloped the crowded little farmhouse. “Why don’t you join Freeland, then? They can protect you.”
The expressions on all the faces around the room hardened.
“We’re free here, in our homes,” another man answered, his voice that of a long-time smoker, his hair and beard an outrageous mane of red-gold. He stood and hitched his belt over a limp flannel shirt and loose, thread-bare work trousers. Everything about the man looked worn to the bone, except his piercing eyes, which now raked the room. “We are stolen from, yes, but we’re independent. We’re Indies. We stand for one another. We live our own lives, raise our own food, teach our own children. We bow to no one.”
Many of the country folk nodded, their expressions just as determined as this man’s.
His name was Waylon, Wren read, and he was much loved by this gathering of family, friends, and neighbors. She felt a rush of affection and admiration for these people, flashes of their determination and love for one another and their farms slip-sliding into her head, a wave of independence and pride showing her the heart of this community. These were made up families now, survivors regrouping, coming together, supporting and encouraging one another. Here was the spirit of the new world.
Wren asked, “How many of you are there here? In your community?”
“There are forty-one of us,” Garth answered, pride in his tone. “We stand together, as a family.”
“So ‘no’ to Freeland?” Tom prodded. He wasn’t being rude; he honestly wanted to understand these people’s decision to remain out here, unprotected.
“No to Freeland,” Nelson confirmed, after checking with his father. “It doesn’t feel right. It was prepared ahead, like the POE. Ask yourself, why did they build that monstrosity in the Kootenays, years ahead of the Virus? How did they know to prepare? What did they know they didn’t warn the rest of us about?
No one answered.
“When did they start building?” Coru asked.
Nelson’s wife, Amanda answered this time, standing up to collect the empty wooden bowls with an impatient clatter. “A decade ago.”
“Ten years,” Cor
u said softly, his eyes growing dim, drawing into himself.
As she neared him, Mattea handed Amanda his bowl with a nod of thanks. “We believe you’re right. We believe Freeland is a false choice, built to gather up those who don’t fall under POE influence. We believe we’re being played on both sides by the same man.”
“The man who refers to himself as Professor Red,” Garth concluded, his disgust plain in his tone and face.
Wren slipped her hand into Coru’s and squeezed it. She felt sick for him. They were quite possibly talking about his brother, a brother he had loved once, a brother he believed he had failed.
Mattea rose from the table, his lean body tall in the flickering candlelight, dark eyes burning like coal. “We came from the north, in search of sanctuary, in search of order, opportunity. Of others like ourselves, willing to live in peace together. To restore law and civility, justice, safety. We went to Freeland, and many of our numbers are there still. But like you, we do not trust Freeland.
“We have a plan. We’ve split into two groups. The larger group is back in Freeland and are now spies. They will learn the truth. Suss out those who think like you do, like we do. People who believe we should live freely, with honor. Our people will gain control of Freeland.” He looked down at his russet hands, held loosely together as was his custom when he spoke before a crowd, a talent he had employed at pivotal times in their year of fighting side-by-side to survive. After a moment of silence, he looked up again. “It is a very dangerous game our people are playing. Our hearts are with them.”
“So, why go after the POE?” Nelson asked. “Why not take over Freeland and attack from that stronghold. It’s impregnable. That’s the smart move.”
“We have reason to believe there is more danger coming our way. We think Professor Red has yet another weapon to turn upon us. We must learn of his plan and stop him before he can move against us.”
“How do you know this?” Garth frowned.
Mattea’s dark eyes locked on his. “A POE soldier, before he died, told of another virus coming our way in a matter of days,” he lied—not about the message, but the messenger. “There will be an offer. Join Professor Red willingly, pledge your loyalty to him and be immunized to the new virus, or reject his protection and die of this new disease.”
People were on their feet, chairs scraping the wood floors, a few toppling, reaching to one another, talking—comforting, denying, protesting, their eyes flashing with fear. They had all lived through the Boy Scout Virus and knew well how that had gone down. A candle was nudged, tipped, caught the edge of a woman’s skirt. The flame was doused quickly but added panic to the room. Sensing the change, the few children present began to cry.
On his feet like everyone else, Coru raised his hands. “Please, stay calm. We didn’t come to scare you. We…” He looked around the room, waiting for everyone to calm. “We’re fighting for our lives. For your lives. We have people in Freeland, in the viper’s nest, poised to take over when the time is right. The danger they are in is… is immeasurable. We have only ourselves, this small group you see here, about to slip into the city, to learn the truth and maybe, if we’re lucky, to find a way to stop it. This virus is due to be unleashed in eight days.”
“Why are you running toward the enemy?” Nelson demanded. “You should be running away, back to the north, out of Red’s reach.”
Didn’t he get it? Wren snapped, “You can’t outrun a virus.”
Coru’s gaze locked on Nelson’s. “The POE soldiers will be immune.”
They stared at one another for a telling moment.
Then Nelson inhaled sharply. “An antidote.”
“Yes.” Coru nodded. “Eight days left.”
Garth said, “You’ll need numbers. We’ll give you numbers.”
He stabbed a gnarled finger around the room. “Kelly. Smith. Simon. Waylon and Nelson. You all suit up. You’re going with—.” He stopped. “I don’t know your names!” He laughed then, his face changing from stern to kindly in a heartbeat. This man was someone’s grandfather, someone’s father, someone’s husband. This man had once had an ordinary life—before the virus. “I’m Garth. This hot head is my son, Nelson, and this is his wife, Amanda.”
Coru smiled and pointed to himself. “I guess we’re all Indies now. I’m Coru.” He pointed out the others. “Mattea. Tom and Gary, Doug. Mario, and his father Tony.” His eyes softened. “And Wren.” The change in his tone when he said her name left no doubt how he felt about her.
Everyone’s eyes snapped to Wren, wondering why she, a woman, was included in the group. They would never know of her telepathy. They would have to go on the assumption she was Coru’s woman.
The old man’s eyes swept the group again. “Anyone here who wishes to do so should seek sanctuary in Freeland. I’m thinking of the children. I know the others won’t go; they’re proud and stubborn, and I can’t criticize them for it. That strong backbone is what’s kept all us Indies alive and fighting to stay free.”
Amanda frowned, “You’re not coming, Papa?
The old man shook his head. “No. I won’t run before the POE. I’ll stay and fight for my home. But you go, take the children. Spread the word across God’s Country as you go. If you can, urge other Indies to join us in defending our land or in seeking protection at Freeland. Either path is valid, and a personal choice. Those who elect to go should trickle in over the next several days, but be safely inside in five days, no less.” He furrowed his brow and glanced at Mattea. “Who should they ask for when they get there?”
Tony spoke up, answering in Mattea’s place. “My wife, Gayle Antonelli. She’ll help you. For God’s sake, be careful. That’s the mother of my children risking her life. Do not put her in danger.”
Mario nodded vigorously. “My mom. She’s cool.”
Amanda clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s get these people outfitted and on their way.” Her tone was authoritative, no longer the tentative, big-eyed woman they’d first seen when they’d broken in. “Together, people!” The group dispersed, each with a task not said but understood. Wren was impressed.
Amanda turned concerned eyes toward Wren. “Your heart is doubtlessly in the right place, but my dear, this journey is not for a woman. You go, you falter—these men will risk their lives to save you. It’s not in their nature to abandon a woman in times of trouble. You will be a hindrance, not a help. I will make a stand here with Garth. You are welcome here.” Her expression was not unkind. She truly believed what she was telling Wren.
“I’m sorry, but I will go. My place is with Coru, no matter what. Please understand.”
Amanda smiled sadly. “I understand more than you know.” She reached out and squeezed Wren’s hand with her worn one. “Good luck to you then.”
She turned away and hurried along the preparations, leaving Wren with the certain knowledge that if anything happened to her husband Nelson, she would hold Wren’s presence to blame.
Coru caught Doug’s eye and jerked his head. Together they went into a corner and talked quietly. Wren made herself useful by helping to tidy up after the meal, smiling and talking with the women and children, sharing out the taffy Catherine had made and tucked into her backpack what seemed to be a lifetime ago. Wren had transported the precious sweets thousands of miles and could not think of a better place to share them. The children’s eyes grew huge when they unwrapped and ate what she offered, their mothers’ smiling indulgently. It was so small, yet so big.
She was glad to hear through their chatter that the decision to transport the children to Freeland had already been made, the accompanying adults starting out tomorrow at first light. All other capable adults, both men and women would make their stand here to defend their homes.
Coru and Doug appeared by her side and drew her back into the living room area. Coru said, “Okay. Doug has agreed to take the first wave of Indies to Freeland. He’ll vouch for them with Gayle, so she can trust them right away and set them up for
their own assignments inside Freeland.”
Wren frowned. “Alone? Doug, are you sure you want to do this alone?”
The stocky music teacher grinned. “I won’t be alone. Get a load of that guy.” He pointed out a giant of a man who was hitching a huge pack onto his back as they spoke. This man had been sunk deep into a chair through much of the exchange with the Indies and it had been a surprise when he’d finally unfolded his long limbs and stood up. “Lars there will be in the first wave. He’s a black belt.”
Wren laughed softly. “Well, I guess there’s that.” She hugged Doug and whispered, “You take care of them and yourself. I want to see you when I get back. Promise me.”
“I’d never let you down, Birdy.”
And with that, suddenly everyone was ready, assembling outside in the yard, talking softly, outfitted with weapons, food, clothes, gear, ready to rumble. A collection of solar trannies was produced, walky-talkies, ropes, climbing gear.
“Why the climbing gear?” Wren asked Mattea over her shoulder, who was checking her pack, much heavier now with donated equipment.
“If we end up in the inner city, we may be forced to travel from roof to roof. I’m betting sections of the city are divided into gangs, which means block-to-block, hand-to-hand combat. Roof to roof saves time and manpower.”
“How do you know this stuff?” She turned to face him. “Time?”
“Midnight. We play our cards right, we should be back to the side-by-sides by two and be just outside New Pacifica in under two days. We’ll see when we get there if we can move during the day or will be confined to darkness. The good news is Nelson thinks he knows where Professor Red is holed up.”
“That’s fantastic! Where?”
“At SFU.”
“What’s SFU?” Coru had joined them.
“Simon Fraser University,” Mattea and Wren answered in tandem.
“What’s special about this place?”
Wren drew a blank. “Don’t know, honestly. The good news is it’s not right downtown, it’s on our side, the eastern side of the city. We’ll get there faster.”
Cursed Apprentice (Earth Survives Book 2) Page 17