“What are you talking about?”
“It’s not lost—it’s just different now. Controlled.”
Payton barked a laugh. “By who? You?”
Zhang simply raised one eyebrow and smiled.
“You’re not serious!”
“And why not? Given to the world when the time is right, it can be guided, controlled.”
“You’re insane.”
Zhang grimaced and smiled sadly. “Why not stick around and prove me wrong? It’s less than an hour in WEN 2341. If I’m wrong, I’ll willingly walk back into the Bore with you.”
Payton frowned at him, surprised. “You’d come willingly?”
Excited, Zhang grabbed Payton’s shoulder with his good hand. “Give me a year, Payton. Work with me. Prove me wrong or prove me right. You’ve been given an unprecedented opportunity here, never to happen again. Why throw it away? Why not see it to its conclusion? One hour of our WEN, and a lifetime here. By working together, we have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Dream your biggest, boldest dream and we can make it happen, I promise you.”
“One year?”
Zhang’s eyes were alight with hope now. “To have someone who really understands what’s at stake by my side would mean everything to me. Together we could change the world.”
Work with this madman? Impossible. Unacceptable.
Then that inconvenient little voice of cold reason pushed through the first flush of his indignation. Wait, Wait, Wait. You want to walk him into that Bore, and return to Cloud Rez one hour after you left, right? This way he goes willingly. Plus, you’d have input; you could control the damage here, in this time. You’ve got this, you know you do.
Payton stared back at Zhang and could find no argument to the man’s logic.
12
INDIES: DAY THREE: WEN 2047
THIS POE RAID was for women.
Comfortable in their position of controlling the city, and basically the interior of British Columbia, their own private produce and meat market, the POE soldiers’ thoughts of late had strayed to the women they encountered when they swept the countryside for supplies. The Indies were dirt poor, and too stupid to protect their livestock and fields, so why did they deserve to have women while the POE went without?
Here was the fatal flaw in Zhang’s and Professor Red’s grand plan. They had failed to anticipate their soldier’s need for female companionship. Mistake.
A mistake this POE first raiding party was about to correct.
This was where Wren saw the POE coming through, here, outside of Chilliwack, on Highway One, near what had once been the Chilliwack College Campus. There was a small bridge, the Vedder Bridge, spanning the Chilliwack River that looked to be her group’s—who now all identified themselves as Indies—best bet to stop them. It was the perfect place, because the POE team—that’s how they saw themselves, as a team—would be forced to cross this bottle-neck bridge, leaving them vulnerable to the Indies. There was no time for grand schemes or elegant maneuvers—the Indies had only a few hours to get into position. The Vedder Bridge was their best shot against the POE’s larger numbers and superior weaponry.
Ideally, the Indies would have hidden, allowing the POE party to pass by, thus ensuring their own plans inside the city would go forward. This was not possible now they knew what the POE were after. The Indies would not risk the women and children fleeing toward Freeland to protect their mission. Not possible.
This meant the Indies had to engage—there was no choice. And to engage, there could be no survivors on the POE side. The Indies absolutely had to beat them, here at the Vedder River Bridge, to save the women the POE had in their sights and to prevent telegraphing the Indie’s presence inside the city to Zhang and Professor Red. Failing to stop the POE would be catastrophic.
Wren judged the POE team to be forty strong, a small but tough opponent for sure, but the nine remaining Indies had the advantage of the advanced warning and Wren’s telepathic insights.
Once the Indies arrived at the Vedder Bridge, they saw there was a second bridge, an old rusted crossing, now in disrepair and blocked from public use. This meant they had to catch the POE hunting party while on the Vedder Bridge, and not give them the opportunity to scramble to safety across the second, out of service bridge. There was no tree cover to speak of, but there were plenty of abandoned cars all around the east and west entrances of the bridge itself, likely cleared from the bridge by the POE to accommodate their frequent raids. The cars would be the perfect cover.
The Indies secreted their side-by-sides in a small grove of trees on the west side of the river, then returned to the east side on-ramp to set up inside the abandoned cars. If they held back their attack until the entire POE party was on the bridge, they could win. They had surprise, they had cover, they had weapons and they had huge—huge—motivation: Success or death.
Tony and Mario were already speeding their way back to Garth’s Indie community, all bets off. They’d left eight hours ago, as soon as Wren had recovered and stuttered out the plan to kidnap the women to the pair—after the quick, and somewhat bizarre explanation of her returning telepathy. To their credit, Tony and Mario took this information in stride.
They didn’t have five days, they had one. One day to get ahead of the POE slavers and get everyone they could convince to Freeland spreading the word of the POE coming their way, warning and gathering others as they made their way to sanctuary. Yes, Freeland was a bomb waiting to go off, but it had impenetrable walls that would protect them from this first POE raiding party.
By now, the Antonellis would have gathered up the Indies, all they could convince, all they could corral and were moving them along, and hopefully catching up to Doug’s band of refugees as they did. This was a much bigger, forced march, and it needed to happen faster than they’d originally anticipated—in one day.
Painfully, Wren stretched out her rusty sensors, catching only snatches of the returning Indies thoughts. Stretching hundreds of miles was difficult, especially when her powers were so newly returned. The saving grace was she knew Doug, Mario and Tony well and could catch snatches of their familiar minds. She saw that they had reached the first Indie group back in the farmhouse and the new march was already underway, two hours out and moving swiftly, Garth included. His love for his daughter-in-law and the women under his care completely over-rode his pride to protect his home. Thank God.
As for the POE headed toward Vedder Bridge, she could read their mental musings in waves, as if receiving the information with blasts of the wind.
What they were seeing: The rolling highway before them, the boring flat fields around them, unattended, gone to seed.
What they were hearing: The purring motors of their state-of-the-art trannies.
Snatches of random thoughts: What they would do when they got there, what they hoped their woman would look like, more important, what their woman would act like. Grateful? Amorous? What the guys back in the barracks would say when they showed up with the spoils. How they would share out the girls. Highest bidder, naturally…
But not everyone’s thoughts were along this line. Wren picked up trepidation as well.
This ain’t right came through as one man’s thoughts.
She saw another wishing he’d never signed up for this.
That meant there were at least two who were only there because it was what he’d been ordered to do, but he didn’t have to like it, did he?
One of these men pictured the POE barracks, wondering where they would even put the women… This was crazy, was what it was, followed immediately by: This will come to no good. This man glanced at his sergeant, seated at his right. He didn’t like him; had no respect for him. Sold my soul to the devil, I did…
This was news to Wren. So not all POE members bought the party line. Not all were true believers. Could they be neutralized? Brought over? She tucked the thought into the back of her head to ponder.
Wren was squirreled away inside a four-door sed
an farther back from the bridge entrance, at Coru’s insistence. He believed he was protecting her this way. She didn’t like it, but she complied. When the battle began, she’d work her bow and the repeating rifle at her side the same as the others. She had plenty of ammo—they all did.
Young Smith, with the pregnant wife he had no idea about, was one car across from of her. Kelly, still shaken from killing the Outlander scout, and slow and steady Simon ahead, one on each side of the on ramp, crouched inside cars they’d smashed the windows from to clear their view. The front position, right at the far entrance was manned in pairs, their strongest: Mattea and Nelson on the left, Coru paired with Waylon on the right, also in vehicles, with the Hanson’s actually on the bridge itself, on foot, tucked down on the outside of the bridge’s girders, out of sight and deadly to all who passed between them.
Mentally, Wren checked in on her team.
Smith was chewing his thumbnail and staring hard through the collection of cars before him, worrying about hitting someone on his own side. If he hurt someone by accident, he’d never forgive himself. He glanced down at his hand, saw it was shaking and stopped worrying at his nail and gripped his hands together instead in an effort to calm himself.
He was so young.
Simon was checking his ammo, envisioning his two teenage sisters, Val and Talia riding to freedom. Keep on riding’, girls. You’re almost there, I can feel it, he told them vehemently. Here’s the deal: I’ll stop these monsters and you keep yourselves safe until I get back.
Wren knew they were riding hard.
Kelly had shocked himself at his reaction at discovering the Fake Outlander’s true mission and was struggling to stay completely focused on the battle ahead. To allow himself to think of his family now would mean he’d lost already.
Wren got that. She had to erase her family back at Drop Out Acres from her thoughts if she wanted to move forward with anything even close to clarity. She missed them so much it was almost debilitating.
Waylon was happy to finally be fighting back, something he’d wanted to do from the beginning. Well, happy was a strong word, Waylon was at last satisfied they were fighting back. Just try getting past me, you Bas—
Wren skipped away. Okay—so we know where Waylon was coming from. If tearing POE soldiers apart limb from limb was your goal, Waylon on your side was a very good thing.
The Hanson’s minds were fascinating. They weren’t telepathic, per se, but their shorthand communication was telepathy’s kissing cousin. With just a glance, they knew what the other was thinking. They moved with a coordinated effort, each one half of a whole. It was as if they shared one mind, and that mind’s decisions were acted upon by two bodies, always in sync, a seamless dance of understanding and complete acceptance of their existence as a pair. Wren envied their connection.
Mattea’s thoughts were calm, as always, simply grounding himself in the moment. She pinged him to see if they had a mental connection yet. He stirred, wondered, then shook away the sensation. He needed to focus on the conflict heading their way. Soon, very soon…
Nelson’s mind was sparking with anticipation, mentally walking himself through possible actions and reactions, moves and countermoves. What a firecracker this man was. He was a good man, but he was unpredictable. An asset, but then maybe not?
Just before she moved on, she pinged Mattea again.
Hey, Wren he answered, his thought almost a drawl, as if reconnecting wasn’t the most wonderful thing to happen today. She could feel the warmth of his presence fill her. No one was like Mattea. Calm, strong, focused. How she’d missed his spirit.
Coru came through. Hey you two.
Despite her nerves, she smiled. All set up there?
Yeah. Nelson’s almost jumping out of his skin. I can see him from here.
Mattea groaned inside his head. Tell me about it.
Tell him if I can see him, the POE will see him. Tell him to calm down. He’s wasting energy and he’s endangering everyone. To Wren he asked, “You getting anything from the POE, Wren?
They’re getting closer. I’m guessing only a few more minutes.
She picked up the expressive mind of the sergeant’s driver again. He glanced at his GPS. Vedder Bridge was coming up soon. Maybe they could take a break by the river. His feet were hot in his boots. He’d love to take them off and dangle his bare feet into the water and cool off. He looked over at his sergeant. Or maybe not.
She passed this along to Coru and Mattea. They’ll be here very soon. A driver just pictured the Vedder Bridge around the corner from their location.
We’ll send the message down; you work it up from the back.
Now that it was about to happen, Wren’s stomach clenched at what Coru and Mattea were about to face as first line of attack. Forty men, Coru.
I’ll be careful. We all will.
Thank you.
Coru alerted. She saw what he saw beyond the bridge, along the road that curved this way, the line of trannies coming at them now. Show time.
She whistled at Smith, who jerked to attention, sitting straighter still if that were possible. “They’re almost here,” she mouthed and waved for him to pass the signal forward, then stared ahead, her eyes drilling into the cars and spaces between, measuring, weighing, planning out her shots. Smith was so nervous, he didn’t question how she knew this.
The first surprise was the POE didn’t immediately cross the bridge. Instead, a few of them stopped and got out of their vehicles, stretched, looked around, then ambled down to the water’s edge. Only four carried rifles; the rest were unarmed.
What stopped the Indies from acting wasn’t the four armed men. It was the Gatling machine gun, mounted on the top of one of the trannies, parked near the western entrance to the bridge and manned by one soldier who stood at the ready. Wren could read him: He resented being left on alert while the others relaxed. The truth was he was paying more attention to a small hand-held electronic game he’d slipped out from his jacket than to the soldiers milling about.
Yes, many of the soldiers were unarmed now, but that Gatling could do enough damage to allow them to get to their weapons and the fight would be on, the POE at a distinct advantage.
The Indies needed all ten of the trannies crossing the bridge, hemmed in.
After some conversation, the soldiers down by the river’s edge peeled off their clothes and jumped into the sparkling water, howling at the temperature, which had to be cold. But sunshine danced on its surface, and the sky was a clear blue today, the wind gentle. The gold and ruddy red fall leaves on the surrounding trees added a rich color to the scene of men, now acting like boys in the river.
It could have been a Norman Rockwell scene.
There was teasing laughter and horseplay, splashing and wrestling, all the things that made them not just enemy soldiers, but people, and so much harder to kill. Watching them, hearing them, Wren licked her lips, suddenly thirsty. Here, on the bridge, the silence was deafening, tension trilling along her nerves.
Change of plans. Coru’s curt message made Wren start. I don’t like that Gatling gun, but I can’t take it out now, not with the POE spread out like this. Me and Waylon, Mattea and Nelson are going up onto the bridge, on the south side while they play in the river.
Wren saw his idea was a good one. She called softly to Smith, told him the front four were working their way onto the south side of the bridge and to be ready. He passed the message forward, again not questioning how she knew this.
While the front four crept forward, silent spiders on steel, none of the other Indies moved. Tom Hanson, caught out in the open on the bridge’s north side, was pressed into a shaded corner of the girders, waiting. Wren could see he didn’t know the changed plan. There was no way to tell him. Crossfire—had Coru thought of possible crossfire? This was getting dicey.
Please, don’t shoot one of our own, she prayed.
Coru and his followers were in place, ready. Coru knocked the butt of his rifle sharply against met
al. Wren cringed.
The cavorting soldiers below didn’t hear it.
The Gatling guy was absorbed in killing some cave monster on his game and ignored it.
Tom’s head popped up, saw Coru, saw his quick motion of four more on the south side with Gary, nodded and ducked back down. Wren blew out a breath of relief. So, no crossfire.
Now, they waited for the POE to walk into their trap.
Finally, after a grueling, sweat inducing half-hour inside the hot cars while the soldiers splashed in the chilly shallow river below, the Sergeant called them in. The laughter halted at once and the soldiers came onto shore, dried off, pulled on their underclothes and talked again of the women they were about to capture. A bag of packed lunches was produced, opened, and a foil pack tossed at each man.
While the men ate and bragged of what they would do “when they got their girl”, the sergeant in charge turned his thoughts to crossing the bridge and heading up country, reaching a particular farm before dark. He’d noticed a pretty woman there on their last raid and hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. This raid had been his idea.
Any sentimental softening Wren may have experienced vanished like mist in the wind. Her feelings were echoed in the minds of the Indies hidden all around her. Right now, Smith was picturing bursting from his boiling hiding place and raining bullets down on the men talking of dehumanizing the women he worked beside every day. All Kelly could see was the haunted look in his adopted son, Jack’s eyes when he’d rescued him from the slaver. Nobody would ever experience what Jack had experienced, not on Kelly’s watch.
Finally, after a lifetime of agonizing, they heard the sergeant bellow, “Everyone back to your trannies! Time to move!”
Okay. This was it.
Coru messaged Wren and Mattea, Gatling Operator is priority one. I’ve got to let him pass. I don’t like him poised over that machine. You’ve got to take him out, Wren but only when I signal, when they’re all on the bridge. Too soon and we’re done before we start. A silent kill will give us precious seconds. If you can, your bow would be best. Once he’s down, watch for anyone taking his place, swinging that weapon back around and firing to the rear. We’ll take care of the rest. Eyes on the Gatling.
Cursed Apprentice (Earth Survives Book 2) Page 21