Maria helped her to stand up, then went over to a shelf and brought back a bowl of oatmeal. "Here, eat this quickly. You will not get service after this. You must eat with the rest of us from now on. And do not blaspheme. Hell is not to be spoken about unless you wish to go there. Although …" Her voice trailed away.
Sam nodded her thanks and took the bowl, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. "Where is this place?" she said again. She remembered being bundled blindfolded into a Land Rover. They'd only taken the mask from her eyes once she was inside a room opposite her captor. Jay was in the chair next to her, his face pale and defeated. Azari had plied her with questions—though it seemed that he took little interest in her faked answers. He asked Jay nothing. Finally, he'd gotten bored, they'd been separated, and she'd been bundled in here.
"This is the Mitchell Vineyard and Orchard. Or, leastways, it was," Maria said. "Are these the only clothes you've got?"
Sam swallowed the last mouthful of the unsweetened, watery oatmeal. "Yeah, I really should have packed better. Just in case I got captured."
"There is no need to talk like that."
Sighing, Sam apologized. "I had a pack with me. It had a change of underwear."
Maria lifted the canvas backpack from the straw-strewn floor. "They have been through it, but maybe they left you enough."
For all her fear, Sam was relieved to have this one familiar possession, even though someone had ransacked it. They'd left her underwear and a T-shirt, however, so, as Maria turned away and heckled her to hurry, she slipped them on.
She walked out into a sunny day that could have been straight out of a Cecil B. DeMille Garden of Eden movie set. A guard who watched Maria guiding her charge across a farm courtyard and toward a gate played the snake in this version. The place smelled of ammonia and Sam could see people moving in the fields beyond the ramshackle wooden buildings they were walking past.
"Where are we going?"
"I told you, to tend the vines. There is much to do at this time of the year, especially pest control."
Sam scurried along behind her. "Where's Jay?"
"I don't know. Men and women do not generally mix."
"No, I'm used to that. This Azari, is he Muslim?"
Maria stopped short and pulled Sam to the shelter of a wood store. "Do not speak his name out loud! There are ears everywhere and he will not hesitate to punish you." She looked out at the bright farmyard, scanning the scene for any sign they'd been observed. "I think he's Muslim, but why do you ask?" she asked in a hurried whisper.
"Well, women and men being kept apart. 'The Sons of Solomon'."
Maria looked surprised. "I suppose it does sound like a religious group, but no. They separate us because they say we're more productive that way. There is much to do and not enough of us to do it."
"You! Women!" Someone was calling them.
Maria started, grabbed Sam by the arms and pulled her into the sunlight. "I'm sorry, Section Leader. I was instructing this recruit."
"Then instruct her in the field." The man pointed away dismissively. Small, mustachioed and petty, Sam had come across his type before, in her old life in New York. She was willing to bet he'd been an assistant manager in some insignificant retail store. Finally, he had power. And he would abuse it if he could.
Maria apologized again and guided Sam through the gate and into the field. "You must be careful, Sam. They can be brutal. You would not be the first to be punished." She leaned in as they walked so she could whisper in Sam's ear. "And watch Azari. If he takes a … liking to you. He is a man without honor. He likes to break defiance, so keep your eyes down. It is a pity you are pretty."
She followed Maria into the field and spent the day picking insects off the vines, her mind full of concern for Jay. Was he broken in mind as well as body? What would happen when they discovered his foot injury, as they surely would? There was no plausible explanation other than the truth, and once they knew that he and Sam had once been captives of the Sons, what would happen to them? They'd execute Jay or ship him back to Pennsylvania. As for Sam … well, Maria had told her what sort of a man her captor he was.
There were a dozen or so of them working on the vines. It seemed odd to her that, with the collapse of society, they would be growing grapes to make wine, but perhaps alcohol was an essential supply.
When they finally made their way out of the fields that evening, Sam had aching limbs and an aching bladder. They filed into a barn that had beds arranged along all the walls. From there, she followed the others silently into a long, low room that had been a store of some sort and there they ate a stew heavy on beans and light on meat.
She tried to make conversation with her fellow inmates, but no one wanted to talk to her, though some whispered to each other when the guards were out of earshot. Sam had counted no more than six or seven different fighters watching them during the day, and she wasn't sure how many of them had received any military training. But half a dozen men with weapons were plenty to suppress a group of compliant women who wouldn't even talk to each other.
"Sam Hickman."
Tugged out of her internal monologue, Sam looked across to where a black-masked man stood in the doorway, a handgun held at his side.
"Come with me."
She had no alternative other than to comply but, though she tried to ignore them, she couldn't help noticing the frightened glances the other women gave her as she left. Maria sat with her head in her hands looking at the floor.
"Where am I going?"
"Be silent and follow me."
A second guard shadowed her as they walked from the barn where the women were held into the main farmhouse. It was a single-story building that had seen better days, and a woman stepped out from beside an interior door to meet her. "Thank you, Sebastian. I will take over from here."
"I am ordered to wait, ma'am," the guard responded.
The woman sighed. "Then do so, but send Nathaniel away. He is certainly not needed. Now, Samantha, you will come with me."
She opened the door onto a brightly lit bathroom. A bath full of steaming lavender-scented water stood in the corner. "What is this?"
"My name is Madeline and I am the Leader's personal assistant." She was a blonde, attractive woman in her thirties with a brisk, almost dismissive manner. "He has decided to welcome you to the community by sharing his meal with you."
"I've already eaten."
"Nevertheless, you will accept the honor. And you will not wish to smell like a fieldworker when you are with him. Now please, enjoy your bath."
There seemed no option other than to accept, but as Sam turned away to get undressed, she felt a firm grip on her arm and a voice hissed in her ear, "But have a care. I am his favorite. Nothing you can do will change that!"
"Get off me!" Sam cried, pulling herself away from the woman. "Is that what he wants? Well, he can go f—"
"—just have a care! He will have what he wants, but he'll learn that I am what he needs. He always has."
With that, Madeline swung away and left, slamming the door behind her.
Sam turned and stared at the steaming water. She hadn't had a bath since before the firestorm, but she was frightened of what might follow. Into her mind came a vision of a heavy-handed guard stripping her and forcing her in if she didn't comply and her resistance crumbled.
She knew that life was a series of moments strung together like pearls on a necklace. This was an opportunity to enjoy a few minutes of privacy as she soaked the cares and grime away, regardless of where it led later. And if there was one thing Sam Hickman could do, it was compartmentalize. She slipped out of her clothes and climbed in.
Madeline didn't give her long to enjoy herself. She returned with a set of clothes like those of the other women here. So Sam, suitably cleansed and dressed in her new working clothes, found herself in the presence of Leader Azari. He was sitting at the head of a long dining table, and the chair rasped against the timber floor as he stood to greet her. Sam wa
s surprised and, perhaps, a little relieved to see the young man she'd briefly overpowered the previous day sitting next to him. A bulge at his shoulder betrayed his bandaged wound.
"Welcome, Miss Hickman. This is my son, Said. I believe you two have met. Fortunately for him, your shot did nothing more than scratch him. Lucky for you, too." Azari said. His voice was deep, rich and hypnotic. His short beard spread apart as he smiled. He seemed in every way the benevolent leader she knew him not to be.
Said glanced across at her, a weak smile flashing across his downcast face.
Sam said nothing, but took her place at the seat opposite Said.
Almost immediately, a woman came in carrying a long tray with three bowls on it. She set one before Azari, then Sam and finally Said.
"This is a soup from a recipe of my mother's."
It smelled like French onion soup to Sam, but she ate it anyway, finding it delicious.
As they ate, Azari spoke mainly of his family—though Sam noticed he didn't mention any wife—and particularly of his son. The words he used seemed to praise the young man, but his manner was dismissive. He was a bully and entirely used to his own way, Sam concluded. He wanted his son to become his lieutenant, but he also needed to keep him in his place. Sam felt for the boy.
"Now, I have spoken enough. Tell me of your family and what has happened to you since the event in February."
Sam put her spoon down as the serving woman appeared again and cleared the bowls away. "Where's Jay?"
Azari's face tightened. Here was a man who couldn't hide his displeasure. "He is being cared for. His fate depends on you."
"How?"
"We have discovered his injury. So, we know that our brethren in the east have punished him, though he refuses to reveal where this happened or what crime he committed. Tomorrow, he will be judged. Perhaps I will have cause to be lenient. Perhaps I will not."
Sam fought to keep her anger and fear under control. "Look, I don't understand. Are you part of the Sons of Solomon or not? Yes, I've come across them before, and you're nothing like them."
"In what way?"
"Religion, for one."
His face relaxed and he sighed. "Ah. I see. No, I am not a religious man. But I am one of the Sons. And if you had seen what I have seen, you would know that the old world had to end."
"What do you mean?" All of a sudden, the performance seemed to be over and she was speaking to the man behind the mask.
"I grew up on the island of Anjouan. It is off the coast of Mozambique." He glanced up at her and read her like a book. "Africa. Bottom right corner, just above the big island with the lemurs."
Sam nodded as if she knew exactly where he was talking about.
"It was a rich island, with many plants and animals, some of them unique," Azari said. "My mother and father moved to the United States thirty years ago and made a new life here, but when I returned home to visit my relatives, I found much had changed. Many beaches were gone and drought had followed drought. People were moving away from the island. Soon it would be dead.
"I wanted to know what had caused it, and so I studied. I believe it is mankind that is to blame. And so I joined the Sons."
"And helped to murder billions," Sam said.
He shrugged. "And save the planet for future billions. Though the population must be controlled so it never grows too large again. And that, my dear, is where you can play a small part."
Sam felt her stomach tighten. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"My son here is to inherit my position one day and he will need a wife. No, not you!" he said, raising his hand as Sam leaped from her chair. "He will have an African wife, not some white mongrel. But if he is to be patient, if he is to be a good husband, he must have practice.
"Tonight, my son will sleep with you."
"Like hell he will!"
She didn't notice two guards enter the room and grab her by the arms.
"If you do not cooperate, your … companion will die in the morning."
Sam roared with anger as she was dragged away. She spat in the direction of the smiling Azari, but she didn't even look at the young man sitting to his side.
Chapter 9: Crawford
"No!" John Crawford roared as he caught sight of the devastation at the elementary school.
He'd been at his desk in the former Kingdom Hall when he'd heard the explosion. He could immediately tell where it was coming from and he cursed his decision to base his headquarters here, on the other side of the reclaimed part of Ezra. It had seemed funny at the time. Well, now the joke was on him.
By the time he arrived, the fires had been put out, and the carnage was obvious. Every single vehicle in the compound was either destroyed or damaged beyond repair. It seemed that keeping the fuel near the trucks was another bad decision.
Ice speared his guts as he thought about how he was going to report this. He'd always managed to deflect blame before now. The hierarchy had accepted that the failure to capture Hope two months before was the fault of his Czech subordinate, but he couldn't think of any explanation that would see him keep his command.
He gazed at the scene, only half taking it in. Tortured metal wrecks lay where they'd landed, surrounded by a sea of shattered glass. Black smoke rose lazily into the sky as people milled around with little obvious purpose other than to keep moving.
Someone moved into his peripheral vision.
"Sir … I have a report."
Why was the man speaking so hesitantly? Oh yes. He'd been there when Crawford had ordered Mayor Hawkins to be hanged from the streetlamp.
"Go ahead."
"Eleven dead, plus four rebels. Five wounded. Three of those expected to survive."
"And our vehicle fleet?"
The man looked at the pile of blackened, twisted metal as if his leader was losing his mind.
"Those that were stored in the compound have all been lost, sir."
Crawford turned to his subordinate. "Where is the squad commander?"
"Dead, sir."
"And who was responsible for the attack?"
He saw the man's Adam's apple rise and fall. "It was the mayor's daughter. We have her body."
"She is dead?" At last, a ray of light on this bleakest of days.
"Yes, sir."
Crawford nodded. "Have her hanged beside her mother. Arrange for the burial of our people."
"And the rebel bodies?"
"Burn them."
#
"If you shoot him, they'll kill us all," Devon said. "And that's an assault carbine, not a sniper's rifle, so you can't guarantee a hit in any case."
Gert sighted along the barrel. "I can hit him. And you can go. Get away before they find me."
"Don't be an idiot. I'm not leaving without you. Jeez, Gert, we need you. Hope needs you."
"Libby needed me and I was not there."
Devon rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "She doesn't need you anymore."
Gert tensed then sighed, and Devon felt the tightness leave the Dutchman's body like a deflating balloon.
"I'm sorry, my friend," Devon said. "I really am. But we can't help her. And if you don't care about yourself, then at least help me get Jade away. I promise I'll help you get revenge, but we've lost enough already."
They were in the rubble of a partially collapsed building opposite the school, on the first story of what had once been an office and, before that, no doubt something to do with mining. The sky had clouded, but the day was warming and it would soon be too hot to move quickly and fully laden.
"Let's go," Gert said.
The plan had always been to meet back at the house they'd slept in the previous night. They knew that none of their housemates would return there as they'd seen all their bodies, but it was possible that members of some of the other cells might go there.
Silently, Devon and Gert crept to the back of the room until they could stand safely. Jade was sitting with her knees under her chin, black hair cascading to her feet. "Yo
u didn't do it, then. Good." She tilted her head up revealing wet eyes rimmed with pink.
Devon put his hand down and felt glad as she took it and allowed him to help her up.
"Where we going?" she asked, looking from one to the other of them.
"Back to the safe house, first. In case anyone returns there."
"Then what?"
Devon took her hand. "Then we're going home. That's if you want to come with us."
Her eyes filled with tears and she stepped into his embrace, sobbing as he held her. "Oh my God. They're all dead."
"I'm sorry," Devon said, patting her on the back. "But we've got to go. Come on."
He led her by the hand, following Gert out of the ruins.
It took them over an hour to make it back to the safe house. They'd stirred up an ants' nest and now the insects were scurrying around trying to find the people with the stick. Land Rovers moved up and down the streets and Devon guessed that Crawford had every remaining vehicle combing the city for any surviving rebels. He could only imagine how angry the man would be and how eager for some sort of victory. Hanging the people responsible for his humiliation, for example.
Finally, they slipped across the last street until they found the house.
"We must be quick," Gert said. "They are sure to check here eventually."
There was no shouted challenge as they slipped through the window and into the attic. No one was waiting for them; neither friend nor enemy. Jade broke down again as she gathered her clothes together, glancing across to where Scot had slept. As the tears flowed, she looked through his possessions until she pulled out a small plastic figurine. "It's …. it's Daenerys. He … like … he didn't know I saw him. He held her sometimes. When he went to sleep."
Devon kneeled down beside her. "Why don't you take it to remember him by?"
As he got up, Gert emerged from the private room he'd shared with Libby the previous night. His face was pale and drawn tight, his jaw clenching and unclenching. He was holding a second pack in his hand. "Let's go," he said, not looking at Devon.
They climbed through the window but, as Jade emerged, she said, "I can hear a car."
Last Freedom: Book 4 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 4) Page 7