She couldn’t do it from inside this car! Wren sat up, frantic to find a better hiding place, outside, where she would be free to rise up and fire.
The soldiers finished dressing and made quick work of picking up the remains of their lunch before climbing back inside their rides. They started up and formed a column, falling in behind the Gatling-gun-armed trannie.
They moved forward, the Gatling gun trannie at the lead, the sound of its tires humming across the bed of the bridge. Everyone held their breath.
Wren had to get out, get free! She scrambled out the passenger door and scurried to the rear of the car Kelly was hiding inside. She did a quick pop up and down to judge the distance. Okay. She could do this. She set her bow, her right hand loaded with three arrows for a quick repeat assault just as she’d practiced back at Drop Out for so many hours. Here was where her skills would pay off. She rotated her head to release the tension in her neck. She steadied her breathing and listened to the trannies advance. Despite her efforts to remain calm, her heart hammered inside her chest, the sound of her blood pumping so loud she could no longer hear the trannies.
She popped up for another quick look. Almost. Were all the trannies on the bridge?
Yes! Coru messaged her. On your signal, Wren. When he’s out, we move.
Wren counted to five, filled her chest with a deep breath, rose slowly, her back straight, shoulders square and wide, her eyes clear, her mind focused.
The two POE in the front of the Trannie were glancing at a map, so didn’t see her, but the Gatling gun man did, his eyes widening with fear. The arrow was swift and true, and most important: silent. He slumped behind the gun. The column kept advancing; the two POE soldiers in front didn’t even know he was dead.
Gatling gun down, she messaged Coru, rearming as she did.
“Now!” Coru shouted from the south side of the bridge. Simultaneously, guns blazing, Mattea and Nelson took out the POE vehicle at the west end of the bridge, while Wren let her second bow fly, taking out the first driver, stopping the trannie in its tracks at this end. The whole column was now trapped on the bridge.
Her third and fourth bow took out the two other soldiers in that first vehicle, despite their scramble to escape. She gasped in surprise at the last image the fourth soldier had before his essence winked out. Professor Red! Wren knew him! She’d met him!
Abruptly, everything was happening at once and there was no time for ruminating about the past. The front team members were firing from each side of the bridge, and Smith, Kelly and Simon were out of their cars now, running forward, firing. Wren followed, dodging between the few remaining cars, totally focused on taking out POE. She didn’t think hide, she didn’t think I could be shot. She only thought, another man who won’t kill my friends. And another. She was like a machine, every arrow reaching its mark.
She was slammed from the side, strong arms coming around her body to soften the blow, easing her behind an abandoned truck. Bullets filled the space she had just occupied.
“Watch out little lady. You’re no good to us with a bullet through your pretty head.” It was Waylon, grinning his delight with her through his ruddy, bushy beard; a lovely smell of pipe smoke touching her senses. The next instant he was gone, leaving her, racing forward and into the fray.
She swallowed her shock, reset her bow and resumed her own advance, making every arrow count. She had sixteen arrows in her quiver. All sixteen shots were a kill. She’d never been so deadly.
The POE gave as good as they got, but it was too little, too late; the trap shut tight.
Nelson brought the fight to a quick and deadly end when he manned the POE’s own Gatling Gun, turning the weapon on its masters. It was a blood bath—and over in minutes.
Not even a scratch on the Indies. It was done, forty bodies lying in and out of their trannies, on the bridge deck with some already in the river, having fallen. Deep red blooms surrounded their bodies in the water before being shredded into quickly disappearing threads of pink, moving swiftly down river, taking the dead men with them.
Coru waved everyone forward. “All into the river, let it take them from here. We leave no evidence.” He glanced at the blood all around him, adding in a subdued voice, “And pray for rain.”
They did as he asked, dragging bodies from the deck, from their vehicles, reclaiming Wren’s arrows when possible, then tipping the POE soldiers over the side, a distant splash for each man as the sparkling river accepted them and carried them away. The sound of each splash felt like a blow, making Wren flinch, flooding her with dismay at the cold focus that had taken hold of her, allowing her to kill with cold precision. What had she become?
Mattea had gathered up her arrows and walked down to the river to rinse them. Now back, he handed them over. “Stop that Wren,” he said quietly. “This is fighting for our survival. It will never be pretty, never be nice. You didn’t come looking for them, they came looking for young women to steal from their families.” When she only looked down at her boots and said nothing, he added, “Do you think you could have reasoned with them? Talked them onto a different life path?”
“Maybe,” she answered weakly, thinking of the two soldiers who did not want to be part of the raid.
Mattea smiled sadly. “Oh, I see.”
There was nothing more to say.
Wren filled her quiver with the cleaned arrows and they joined the others looking over the railing of the bridge downstream. The water was no longer stained with blood and now ran with clear ripples, a silent co-conspirator.
There was no celebration of their victory. They’d stopped the POE; the women were safe—for now—and their mission was not compromised.
Gazing the length of the empty river, Waylon asked, “How long before they’re missed?”
Mattea shrugged. “Five, six days if we’re lucky? How close a chain do they keep them on?”
“Can we take their trannies?” Waylon wanted to know, turning to look over the ten vehicles with admiring eyes, his attention already disengaged from the battle. Waylon was on a quest—that quest was to wipe this earth clean of POE.
Smith added, “They’d cover twice the ground in half the time ours would.”
Coru grimaced. “Good way to call attention to ourselves. Though, I can’t say I wouldn’t love one for in the bush.”
Nelson reached into a duffle in the back of the Trannie nearest to him and pulled out a shirt. “Unless we grab their clothes. Look the part.”
Wren shuddered at the thought of donning these dead men’s clothes.
Coru narrowed his eyes and studied Nelson. Pursing his lips, he considered the shirt. “We won’t take the trannies. That’s too in your face. But the clothes… You may be on to something there.”
Feeling jumpy, adrenaline still coursing through her veins, Wren said, “We don’t have a lot of time here, guys.”
Waylon reached into the bag and pulled out more clothes, then squinted up into the sun. “Tell me how you plan to get in and out.”
Startled by the question, Coru answered, “Across the river either by bridge or boat, and back again.”
Waylon turned to look at him. “Same way in and out?”
“Yes.”
“There’s your mistake. I figure you show your face in one place once, you get away with it. Twice, you may not get so lucky.”
Coru faced Waylon squarely, giving his full attention. “What are you suggesting?”
“You’re headed to SFU, right?”
“Right.”
“We go in across the Port Mann, or by boat, like you say. If we come out the same way, and this time we’ve got unwanted company, they’ve already got our number. They might already be looking this way for their guys. We need another route out. We don’t come back this way, we go forward, in a new direction. Break the mold. Go north, not east. Come out by way of Coquitlam, crossing the Pitt River Bridge, head up into Golden Ears Provincial Park and ambush ‘em there, then scoot back, retracing our steps, and down an
d head back into God’s Country and home.”
“That’s a lot of extra miles.”
“Yes, and a second bridge crossing to get back over the Fraser River to the Trans-Canada highway and into God’s Country, either the Golden Ears Bridge or the old bridge between Mission and Abbotsford.
“I don’t know this area, you do.”
“You gotta think like they do. If they think we’re up in Golden Ear, they’ll waste a good amount of time on a wild goose chase up there, but if it means we meet them and beat them in Golden Ear, it would be worth it. We don’t lead them to God’s Country, and God willing, we don’t lead them to Freeland.”
“I see your point.” Coru nodded. “How are we making this happen?”
“We split up now. Seven and three. How you break it up is up to you. Seven go into the city, do the deed. Three stay back, dress like POE, and ferry these POE heavy weights to a safe pickup point in Coquitlam. Smith’s right. These things go twice the distance, in half the time, and they can climb the hell out of those mountains. We can use these trannies. And if you’re being followed, you’d have your secondary exit, ready, fast transportation, and fresh men to help you disappear into the mountains to set up an ambush. Better to fight it out in Golden Ear than out in the open in God’s Country.”
Coru’s eyebrows were perched high on his forehead, impressed. He glanced at Mattea.
It’s a good plan, Mattea answered, without an outward change to his expression. These trannies are worth the aggravation all by themselves.
Smith, Kelly, and Simon?
They’d be your guys—yes.
Coru pressed his lips tight and nodded. “You’re right. Good plan; better than we had. Smith? Kelly? Simon? You good to ferry these babies through the back country to a pick up by the Pitt River Bridge five days from now?”
The three exchanged glances, agreement reached instantly.
Coru pulled out a map and unfolded it across the hood of one of the POE Trannies. “Travel at night. Three trannies there, one back. Two trips each night if you can manage it. Don’t take crazy chances.”
Smith snorted and rolled his eyes.
Everything about this is a crazy chance! Simon snickered.
Kelly didn’t react at all; his brain was processing all the things that could go wrong and how to avoid them. Kelly was a planner…
Coru laughed. “Okay, so that was stupid. Just be careful. Let’s look at a map, work out where to meet.”
UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS, hidden in an abandoned warehouse that afforded him a view of the Fraser River, Coru peered at the Port Mann Bridge along with his again smaller team. They were shedding members like a dog shed fleas, it seemed. But no one was dead or even injured, and he’d had people to fill vital roles at each juncture. Doug to start the Indies toward Freeland and to be the connection to Gayle; Tony and Mario to spread the news of the POE kidnapping invasion and to hurry the women to safety. He had Simon, Smith, and Kelly passing as POE, setting up a safe rendezvous for when they escaped New Pacifica, while maintaining possession of ten extremely valuable vehicles, vehicles the Indies could use in their fight against Zhang and Professor Red and their deadly army of POE soldiers.
His mental checklist faltered for a moment here. I pray I’m wrong, bro, but I know I’m right. What happened to you Payton?
Impatient with himself, he shook away the melancholy that threatened him. This was not the time for self-indulgence.
He was very fortunate he had Nelson. Yes, he was a wild card, but it was Nelson who would save them hours, maybe days of searching for Zhang and the Professor. Knowing where to look was one thing, knowing the target location like the back of his hand was a freaking gift. Nelson had attended SFU, knew SFU, the presumed New Pacifica’s headquarters, and would be their guide. The good fortune to have been captured by the Indies had not escaped Coru. One step backward, a dozen forward.
He had Wren to scan ahead and warn them of coming danger. He looked at her down-turned face, her blonde hair reflecting light here in the darkness. He’d remind her to pull her knitted hat on before they struck out again. Nothing must happen to Wren. Tendrils of warmth wound in his gut. Wren was the center of his world, and during the whole time that she’d been unable to read him he’d never had the opportunity to tell her this. Surely she knew how he felt about her now?
He grimaced. Between fighting for every step of their existence, there had been no time for them. No time to…
He had to stop this.
Back to the task at hand—solidifying his team inside his head. He had Waylon, a mountain of a man with courage to burn and Mattea, his calm sounding board, the man keeping him sane. If he didn’t have Mattea, he would be lost. Mattea’s faith in him was what allowed Coru to move forward. And he had Tom and Gary Hanson on his side. He couldn’t find a more focused, brilliant tag team. Their coordinated focus and skills were nothing short of magical.
No, if he’d had the luxury of sitting down and planning a team out on paper, he couldn’t have done better.
He glanced out the broken window toward the tarnished bridge barely glinting in the fading light. It was too soon to make their move, but they knew already crossing here was not an option. The Port Mann was a huge bridge and was currently controlled by a gang calling themselves the River Rats. Wren had scanned a few of the River Rats minds and had shivered at what they could do and had done to control the Port Mann.
There didn’t seem to be any boats available, either, not that they could know this for sure until total darkness descended, and it was safe to creep out and explore the river bank.
Nelson was draped over the map, muttering about an abandoned bridge, a bridge he called the old Patullo, down the way, around a tiny penlight he held clenched in his teeth. Its safety was a big issue; Coru still held out hope for a boat. What he knew for sure—they had to cross this river tonight—no question.
Wren shifted and moved closer to him. For all her show of strength, Wren was a tender woman. She seldom was free to be her true self; it was too dangerous to show weakness in their new world. Even now, she held herself apart, wary and on edge. How he wished he could create a place where Wren could soften and be herself. Somewhere, sometime in this world, surely there would be a place for them?
“I learned something, back at Vedder Bridge. Something you need to know,” she began, her voice quiet.
So, this was what she was keeping from him. She’d kept her shield up since the Vedder. He knew she was mulling something over and would approach him when she was ready. When Wren closed down, all their abilities closed.
Mindful of her place in the team and not wanting to make her appear weak, he resisted pulling her into his arms, though he wondered, who would he be comforting with the gesture, Wren or himself? To stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder in this fight was not how he wanted Wren’s life to be. Given the chance, there could be so much more. Yet, leaving her behind was not an option.
Playing it cool, he squinted out the broken window and asked, “What’s up?”
“I saw an image of Professor Red in one of the POE’s minds just before he died. It - it wasn’t good news, Coru.”
He faced her, every nerve at attention. “What? What did you see? And why are you telling me instead of showing me?”
“It’s easier sometimes…to tell instead of show. Kinder.” She dropped her gaze and took a deep breath. “I saw his face. It’s older now, harder, but I still recognized him. He looks so much like you, Coru. I’ve met him before. I was seventeen, I think, somewhere around there. He knew my mother.” She stopped, waiting for him to absorb what she was telling him.
He went over it in his head, carefully, seeing it for what it was. Payton had made contact with Wren and her mother years ago and had not revealed himself to her? This was stunning news. Why? Why had Payton not completed their mission? He’d been there long before the Pandemic. If he’d acted then, millions—billions—of lives would have been saved.
“He had hair th
en; maybe a wig? But I recognized him. Your brother is Professor Red.”
His stomach lurched up into his chest. Why a disguise? What had happened to Payton?
Wren continued hesitantly, watching his face, then looked away. “He was at my mother’s house, years ago. He called it looking after her. He was, in a way. He…he was only a thief back then.” She peeked up at him, worried for him, he knew, not wanting to hurt him, but he needed to know the truth. “He stole from her. I kicked him to the curb.” She pursed her lips and was silent.
Coru made himself ask, “You’re sure it was Payton?”
She dropped her shield and let her memory drift back, conjuring up her remembered image of Payton’s young face the day she’d met him so long ago in her mother’s condo. Seeing recognition in Coru’s expression she wanted it not to be true.
Defeated, Coru sagged against the wall and closed his eyes against what she was telling him. “I knew, but I’d hoped…God, how I’d hoped.” He covered his face with both hands and fell into despair. His own brother. His brother had done this. His brother was responsible for this… this monstrous, horrific… There were simply no words to describe what Payton had done here in this world. How had this happened?
Wren moved closer, grasped a handful of his shirt, anchoring him to her in this small way. It was all she would allow herself. They had people all around them, people who depended upon them being strong, clear-eyed and professional—if you could call a manhunt professional.
“I’m so very sorry, Coru.
He dropped his hands and gazed at her imploringly. “Is there no chance it’s a mistake?”
She let go of his shirt and stared back at him, her eyes burning with sorrow.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.” He groaned with self-loathing, pushing away from the wall but unable to walk away, walk anywhere that would allow him to leave this behind him. It was on him, inside him, would be part of every breath he would ever take for the rest of his life. His brother was a monster. He told her, “You can’t fix this; you’re not responsible.”
Cursed Apprentice (Earth Survives Book 2) Page 22