Dom said, “That’s how he controls them. Stick with this, or you die. They need the device to stay healthy, to ‘feel good about themselves’, like Wren said. It protected them from the BSV. That’s proof enough that it’s a good deal, I’m guessing, for most. Add in the serotonin thing, and it’s all good.”
“And you’re saying they’re excited and happy about all this?” Nelson asked incredulously.
Wren grimaced. “Remember Serotonin, the happy drug? Serotonin is your brain’s happy drug. They’re getting a steady drip of it, so they feel good about being a POE. Plus, they’ve been promised land. Women. Wealth. Once they conquer the Indies and Outlanders and the New Pacifica Wild urban gangs, it’s all theirs. The spoils will be divided among them.”
Nelson was disgusted. “So, they’re thinking with their di—.”
“Don’t say it,” Coru groaned. “Little ears?” He nodded toward Noah. “We know these guys were sold a load of bull. How can we counter this? That’s what we need to be thinking about.”
Wren said, “We need to find a way to move among them undetected. They’re all over the place out there.”
Nelson said, “So we sneak out, grab a couple, drag them in here and take their clothes.”
“No. This is our safe exit,” Coru said. “We need to protect this place. We don’t want anything suspicious here. We knock them out. We can’t ruin their clothes with blood and…” he glanced at Noah and sent a grimace of apology to Dom. “Someone goes outside, gets us some clothes, then we all dress as they are, and make for the Quad. And Professor Red.” He looked at the faces around him. “Where we will obtain the antidote and leave, with the POE none the wiser.”
“Gee, Coru, you make it sound so easy,” Nelson teased, getting to his feet and dusting off his hands. “It’ll have to be me going out. I know my way around and need to get out there while it’s still dark for at least one uniform. Once I’m outfitted, I can go out in the day and get the rest.”
This was against all Coru’s instincts, but Nelson was right. Hopping around on a crutch wasn’t likely to be normal POE behavior.
Dom said, “Bring something to fit me first and we can both go out in the day.”
Nelson chortled and pointed at Dom’s dreadlocks. “Ya think?”
“Ah—good point.” Dom chuckled and shook his head. “Go on. Be the hero. We’ll all wait ‘til tonight.”
“Wait,” Wren said. “Let me scan the area first. I can at least do that.” She closed her eyes and sent her scanners out again.
Nelson moved to the door, unlocked it and peeked out. It was still dark, but barely, with a bright line across the horizon. The sun was on its way. “Hey, we were right,” he rasped. “There’s a whole militia encamped here. We’re surrounded.”
“Nelson! Don’t sound so happy about it,” Coru complained. “You could be wrong a time or two—fine by me.”
“They’re not even registering this shed,” Wren assured. “What a mess of minds out there. It’s hard to sort through…” Wren was murmuring now, more to herself than them, her expression distracted.
Wren was back with a gasp. “Great news! There’s a POE night guard hiding about a hundred yards from here. He’s alone and sleeping on the job! I don’t know if his clothes are the right size for you, but it’s a start. Go east. There’s some kind of staircase to a lookout tower. He’s hiding under it. And Nelson, most of these guys are new to the New Earth Center. They don’t know each other. You won’t stick out as a stranger. There are lots of newcomers here for the rally.”
Through a slit in the doorway, Nelson swept the area. “I see it,” he murmured, then slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him. The rest of them stared hard into one another’s eyes, their ears and minds outside their shack, all their hopes attached to Nelson’s success. Nelson didn’t return.
Nelson did not return!
Coru hopped up and tucked his crutch under his arm and scuttled to the door.
“Don’t you dare open that door,” Wren warned. “It’s only been fifteen minutes. Give him time! He’s not a magician.”
Coru gazed down at the door handle gripped in his gloved hand. The hand Nelson had taped for him in preparation for their climb. Then Nelson had helped him mount every single rung of the monster ladder, with not a word of criticism or complaint. Coru murmured, “Be safe, my friend.” He let go of the handle and made himself step away, knowing that today would be the most dangerous of their lives and the longest, hardest he would ever experience.
Nelson had not returned after an hour, though Wren had now been able to separate out his thoughts from the hive minds milling around the grounds. He was sweating it out behind a shrub, waiting on three POE smoking and talking about the rally tonight not three feet away from him. His muscles were crying for him to move. When at last they walked off, he literally collapsed on the ground, prostrate with fatigue. It took him several minutes to regain strength and make the run across the open to the sleeping POE soldier. If he was even still there.
Wren knew he was, but Nelson didn’t. He was taking a huge risk.
Wren and Coru ran across the grass with Nelson, experiencing the raw fear with him when he saw two more POE coming his way, both glancing at another and laughing at something. With a surge of speed he had no right to have, Nelson slammed into the staircase, whipped underneath, clocking the sleeping soldier with his own rifle stock and rolled with the man, tucking further out of sight, watching the boots of the two laughing POE soldiers walk on by. He almost peed his pants with gratitude he hadn’t been caught. Then he paused. Hey, Wren, you didn’t hear that last part.
Wren and Coru laughed.
“What?” Dom demanded.
“He made a joke. Nelson made a joke. He’s okay.”
“Thank God.” Dom slumped in relief, pushing back on his dreads with his palms. “I can’t take this.”
It took Nelson little time to strip the soldier of his clothes. Within minutes, he then had the soldier gagged and trussed up as tight as a thanksgiving turkey, or so he informed Wren, his sense of humor having returned. Then he shrugged into the clothes himself, a pretty decent fit as it turned out, and then set out to look for his next victim, walking loud and proud amongst the POE soldiers. Nelson had guts to spare.
They waited, hour after agonizing hour as Nelson located and isolated one POE soldier at a time, then rolled him for his clothes, stuffing his unconscious body in places he’d never escape from before the Indies had gone. He came back twice, first at midafternoon with a set of clothes for both Coru and Wren, complaining the guard presence around the four entrance points into the Quad were security nightmares. “We’ll have to be brilliant to get past them.”
He returned again after two grueling hours of searching for a man as large as Dom, with a poncho, no less, in which to hide Noah. In this confrontation, Nelson wasn’t so lucky. He suffered a knife wound in his side during his altercation with the big man. The good news was he didn’t bleed too badly inside his new clothes, and his opponent was out cold, trussed to the hilt inside a dumpster. It was a miracle they weren’t seen.
Wren quickly looked over Nelson’s cut and patched him up, thankful it was little more than a flesh wound. Losing Nelson now would break her heart.
She covered her emotions by pretending to fuss with the clothes Nelson had risked his life to bring them all, making a business of making sure they looked okay.
Coru eased his set from her hands gently. We all feel that way, Wren.
And we thought he was a loose cannon and might put us in danger. Thank God we have him.
Coru shrugged into the clothes, tying his own into a bundle in case he had a chance to bring them with them when they made their escape. Since he was already wearing POE pants from when he’d been wounded, he only needed the POE shirt, jacket and cap. He taught me not to judge so quickly.
You aren’t prejudiced, just cautious.
I was with Nelson. Since I’ve come here, the people I’ve met
have been so… Coru faded off, the task of describing how he felt about their cobbled-together family was too emotional, too close to his heart to express without breaking down, and right now. His heart was also being crushed with the knowledge he was about to face the monster his little brother had become.
Wren was quiet, understanding his mixed emotions, pulling her POE clothes over her own. They were too big as it was, and she needed the padding. Even tucking everything in, she knew her appearance had to border on comical. She tucked her blonde hair up into her cap and tilted her head at Dom and Nelson for their opinion. They gave her two thumbs up. To Coru, she messaged, For the most part, yeah, people are good.
Coru tugged his new POE cap over his head, covering his tattoos while drinking in Wren’s slight body swimming inside the obscene POE uniform she was forced to wear, so regretful she had to be part of this.
Wren swept his worries about her away, impatient with him. Enough with the protector thing, Coru. I’m in this. Period. Think about the people who are here against their will.
What are you talking about?
People can be good when they’re given a chance.
He turned away from her mind. He couldn’t think about the POE like Wren did. He had to keep them as his enemy, this place his enemy, or he would not be able to do what he’d come here to do. He glanced over at Noah to remind himself who he would be protecting with tonight’s mission.
Dom was busy spreading out the POE poncho for Noah to lie down on. Coru could see he was torn about having the boy here with them—they all were—yet leaving Noah behind was simply not an option. What if they were blocked from coming back? Coru shuddered at the vision of Noah left here alone and unprotected.
Dom glanced over his shoulder and said, “We should try to sleep. Once the rally begins, we have to be at the top of our game.”
Dom was right. Nightfall was only a few hours away now. They settled along the wall, using their bundled clothes as pillows and dropped into a restless sleep.
Coru was awake long before the others, too wired to rest long. This rally, this meeting with his brother was something he wanted badly yet dreaded. Young Payton. Cold-hearted Professor Red. How could he reconcile these two people?
He stood and opened the door, peering out. It was dark now, dark enough that they could emerge from the shed and easily mingle in the crowd. There were POE soldiers milling all about, none of whom gave any interest to the little shed at the outside edge of the Quad. They streamed past the shadowed enclosure, paying it no heed, seeming happy and excited about the upcoming rally.
The activity over inside the Quad square had increased, the noise level growing into a low, roiling hum. Lights flickered sporadically up into the darkening sky from inside the quad. What was happening?
He closed the door and glanced back at the others, all sleeping where they’d dropped, like stones, in preparation for this night’s advance, the most important they would undertake. His gaze lingered on Wren, tiny inside her oversized POE uniform, her flaxen hair laid across her “pillow”. Her face was unlined, her expression peaceful, an expression he so rarely saw since they’d left Drop Out Acres. What had he brought to Wren’s life that wasn’t suffering? If he cared for her at all, if he was half the man she thought he was, he’d leave her, walk away, and allow her to lead a normal life.
He pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind, to be taken out and examined more closely in the future. He had to make a decision for Wren, a good one; not for him, but for her. That decision, he was beginning to realize, may very well not include a life with him. After all was revealed, he knew he would be a pariah in this new world—he would be so easily identifiable as Professor Red’s brother. If they should win this thing—correction, when they won this thing—what disaster would he bring down on Wren and the rest of his Peace Country family?
No, he shook away these thoughts. This was a decision for another time, after they got the antidote and defeated Red. Head in the game, man. Head in the game.
He opened the door again and looked out. Should he take a quick look around, scout out the Quad? He knew he could pass as a POE soldier; he wore all the gear. Could he risk a quick look inside, get the lay of the land then slip back?
Gripping his crutch compulsively he weighed his decision, then stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
25
MIKE: YEARS TEN & ELEVEN: WEN: 2045/46
IN WEN 2045 and 2046 Mike never stopped. There was so much to do in so little time. The Kootenay Sanctuary was first to be up and running, with the others not far behind. The next big push was filling them with state-of-the-art twenty-first century equipment and selecting the appropriate personnel to oversee the process.
Mike began his recruiting, looking for bright minds and forward-thinking people, each with something important to bring to the table in the way of knowledge and skills, along with a healthy dose of skepticism about the current governments and multinational corporations and how they were running the world. Running it into the ground.
Preppers with skills. Outliers with guts. Renegade scientists. Techie-geniuses. Innovative thinkers. All were welcome at Sanctuary.
The going was slow, necessarily so, as there was a degree of secrecy to Sanctuary. He had to move forward with care when it came to staffing each new facility. The staff had to believe they were an independent entity, which meant a combination of leadership skills and a lack of curiosity. It was a balance, for sure, but Mike was confident he could manage it. There were many naïve followers out there, easily swayed in the name of a good cause. Once they were set into place, for the most part, they did well on their own, with little input from him.
God knew Zhang was of no use.
These sanctuary management teams would be responsible for interviewing and recruiting the correct people who’d operate their prospective department in each facility once the sanctuaries were up and open for business—and its future population. This population would be pivotal to rebuilding the new world and needed to be interviewed by his hand-picked sanctuary staff, not him. He was strictly arms-length in this regard.
“Control both sides of the board and you control the game”.
The paying clients were a different matter altogether, the charge five million a pop. He was always fundraising, of course, forever in need of fresh cash. Sanctuaries came with a big price tag and money talked. Those with money to offer would not survive the coming pandemic, but their dollars were welcome, and it was always fun to chat them and their skewed thinking up.
These meetings tended to confirm Mike’s belief in the kind of future and world he and Zhang were envisioning. It confirmed his thoughts on not perpetuating these rich men’s ways of thinking, of living, of grabbing the best up for themselves at the expense of those around them. These were the people Mike did not want in the new world. These were the people he wanted to leave far behind. It was a delicious irony these greedy men were financing a new world that would go on without them.
Take his last fundraising junket, for instance: He’d been picked up from the San Diego airport by an obscenely long white limo, complete with an appropriately eyes-downcast Mexican driver who knew his place in this man’s world. Mike hated this, hated the fully stocked bar and the glaring fact that the potential client had not come himself, as promised.
After they cleared the airport, he asked the driver to stop on the highway, then climbed out of the back and joined the driver up front. The ensuing conversation, which started in spits and spats proved very enlightening. Turned out that Juan, the driver, was a structural engineer in his home country, unable to find work in America. The old story.
At the mansion, the client, a portly, self-important man it turned out, left Mike waiting for close to an hour in an over-decorated black and gold great room. Mr. Bromberg was with his tennis coach, Mike was informed by the maid. Your price just went up one million apiece, Mike decided silently, settling into his chair to wait.
When Bromber
g finally showed, he shook hands with Mike, informing him that he was now all ears about the San Francisco Sanctuary, having “gotten wind of it at the club”.
Mike smiled in response, resisted wiping his hand clean on his jacket and laid out the six million per family member price tag, a purchase price that would buy the client and his family protection in the event of some sort of coming catastrophe. Of which there were many, Mike took care to add.
The client didn’t even blink, and Mike was sorry he hadn’t asked for double the amount.
While they were talking over the investment, a little girl appeared, a real cutie, named Pamela, dressed in white and pink, her curls shining and beribboned. Mike regretted this child would not be among those saved when he released the virus, until Pamela opened her mouth and in a whiney voice even a mother could not love, demanded to see the pony her father had promised her at breakfast that morning. Where was her pony? Why wasn’t it here yet? He was supposed to get her a white one, with a pink saddle, and so far, nothing! Melissa had her pony already. Why couldn’t he be like Melissa’s father…. Melissa got all the good stuff… Pamela’s sweet little chin quivered at her father’s betrayal. Her rosebud lips trembled. Her huge blue eyes swelled with tears that pooled but did not fall. She was a master manipulator; she could give lessons!
Mike raised his eyebrows and pressed his mouth closed, waiting for the father to admonish the child. This did not happen. Quite the contrary. Mike was then subjected to twenty minutes of cajoling and fawning over this simpering girl, the scene stretching out to and including the lunch he was obliged to take part in. The trophy wife, Trish, appeared for this portion of Mike’s rollicking visit. It was nearly impossible to plow through the straw-like vegan lunch yet another different maid served up, her eyes also appropriately downcast, as had been the first maid’s and Juan’s.
Mike seethed at seeing how this woman was treated by the client and his family, no better than a piece of furniture.
Cursed Apprentice (Earth Survives Book 2) Page 40