by Nathan Jones
This structure was made of poured concrete with sturdy doors and barred windows, and had the solid look of a more conventional prison. After one look at the grim building Trev hoped he was only being taken there for processing before being released into the internment camp. Then he took another look through the chain link at the cramped, miserable squalor inside and wondered if he really hoped that.
It had to be better since it offered him a chance to look for his family, even if it provided only the most infinitesimal hope of finding them. Without that hope he wasn't sure he could keep going after everything he'd gone through, only to have it end like this.
Trev tore his eyes from his destination and focused on the military camp he was being marched through. Looking at the people who'd come to conquer the US and put all its citizens in camps like this one, if they didn't do worse, wasn't much of an improved view. But at least there was more to look at and it wasn't all miserable.
He focused most of his attention on the civilians in their drab clothing. Were they also from Russia or some other Gold Bloc nation, or were they prisoners from the camp released on some sort of work detail? They seemed to have way too much autonomy to be prisoners, but the expense of bringing so many people who weren't soldiers to perform menial tasks didn't seem very efficient.
Or maybe it was, if it meant you could trust the person scrubbing your toilet to not try to whack you with a plunger and make a break for it. The people in charge probably did have prisoners doing some tasks, but he doubted they'd be let into a military camp to work except under the most strict supervision.
Which meant even Gold Bloc civilians were happy to jump in and do their part invading a nation that they hadn't been at war with for decades, and had even at some points since then called an uneasy ally.
Either that or these workers had been hired and brought in from Canada. Which in the grand scheme of things wasn't too much of a difference, since Canada was well on its way to becoming a Gold Bloc nation.
Trev's inspection of the civilians was interrupted when he heard a shout from the other side of the street. “Trev? Trev!”
He stiffened in shock, not only at the impossibility of hearing his name shouted in this hostile camp but at the equal impossibility of recognizing the voice. He turned towards the source, right in time for a young woman nearly as tall as he was to throw her arms around him and hug him tight.
It took him an almost awkward length of time to get over his shock, and then he hugged her back just as happily. “Mary? What are you doing here?”
Mary Halsson, Lewis's seventeen year old sister, was about the last person he'd expected to find in a Gold Bloc military camp. The last time he'd seen her had been during a video chat with her parents in Norway over a year ago, when she'd popped in for a second to wave hello and show off a few Norwegian phrases she'd picked up as she worked to learn the language.
His cousin started to answer, cheek pressed to his, but before she could strong hands caught them both by the shoulder and yanked them firmly apart.
It was the more sullen of his two guards. “No contact with prisoners!” he barked with a heavy Russian accent. “No talking. Stay back!”
Mary gave the man a sad look, fingers absently toying with the blond braid hanging almost to her waist. “Can you at least tell me where he's going and what'll happen to him? He's family.”
The soldier hesitated. “With other prisoners. Stay back!” His hand, still tightly gripping Trev's shoulder, shoved him on down the street.
Behind them Mary stayed where she was, although Trev heard her start humming a song. In spite of himself he grinned, and not just because he was happy to see his cousin. Even if he still had no idea what she was doing here.
Mary had always been a bit shy and usually didn't say much, especially in her early teens when she'd been all knobby knees and elbows and nearly as tall as Trev in spite of being three years younger, and definitely taller than just about anyone else in her class. Extensive orthodontia giving her a bit of a lisp hadn't helped much either.
But even though she usually stayed quiet she hummed songs all the time. Most people thought it was just an odd quirk, but years ago Trev and Lewis had discovered that the songs weren't just picked at random or whatever happened to be stuck in her head at the time.
Lewis had figured it out first, since obviously he spent more time around his sister. One time when they were much younger and were all playing, a neighbor girl named Annie Farnsworth had gotten mad about something and thrown a tantrum. Mary had begun humming in response, and Lewis sidled over to Trev and asked if he recognized the song. He did, although he didn't know what that had to do with anything. At least until Lewis quoted one of the song's lines, about spoiled girls getting their way.
After that it was easier to see the pattern. Some lyric or the theme of the songs Mary hummed usually had something to do with the situation or what she was feeling. If she was given a chore she thought was a waste of time she'd hum a song about futile tasks, if someone was being unreasonable she'd hum about obstinate people, if she was annoyed about something she'd hum about frustration, and so on.
Trev and Lewis had made a game of figuring out what song she was humming and what it had to do with the situation. Trev had always been impressed by just how many songs Mary knew and how well she chose ones that fit the situation. Although there were a few times when knowing the secret was embarrassing, like a few years ago when she'd had a crush on Rick Watson and whenever she was around him she'd hum more obscure love songs.
As far as he knew he and Lewis were the only ones who'd caught on to what Mary was doing, and they'd never told anyone else her secret or admitted it to Mary herself. She'd done it for so long that she tended to hum with her heart on her sleeve, exactly what she was thinking or feeling in a way that would be considered embarrassing, blunt, or even rude if she actually said it.
At the moment she was humming a song about a soldier boy too young to even lift the gun he was carrying, and that's why Trev found himself grinning in spite of the grim situation as he left her behind. He was definitely worried about her safety here, and wondered if she'd been dragged into the invasion force as a noncombatant conscripted to do laundry or paperwork or cooking in the mess hall or whatever.
Either way it was good to see her, since aside from that video chat it had been over a year. And especially now, with the world going mad around him, the sight of a friendly face, of family, was more comforting than he'd expected.
He hoped she'd be okay stuck in the middle of all this.
* * * * *
After Trev was taken into the concrete prison the two soldiers escorting him impatiently filled out some paperwork, then shoved him into a holding cell with a dozen other people and left.
The cell was a crude concrete block with a chain link fence bolted across the entrance at floor, walls, and ceiling, with a single door of aluminum piping with more chain link stretched across it. It felt more like a dog kennel than a jail cell. The one he was put in was halfway down a hallway with twenty or so similar cells, all equally packed with prisoners waiting to be processed into the general population of the internment camp.
It seemed the Gold Bloc really wanted to make sure they had plenty of room, so that everyone they picked up could benefit from their mandatory charity.
Speaking of which, Trev was pleased to see that at least the spokesman for the soldiers who'd captured him was telling the truth about the meal. As he was shoved into the cell he was handed a bowl of soup with a piece of stale bread laid on top soaking up the broth.
Better yet, it seemed to be real soup made from real meat and vegetables, not the nasty cobbled together soups Aspen Hill made of whatever edibles they could find to feed as many people as possible. The smell alone was enough to lift his spirits.
Trev made his way to a clear spot on the bench in the corner, a safe distance from the other prisoners, as the soldier clanged the door shut and bolted it with a padlock. He was eager to dig
into his first hot meal in a while, especially one that came after a tense night and a long drive.
Unfortunately he wasn't the only one. As soon as their jailor left a man on the other side of the holding cell stood ponderously and made his way over, even before Trev had time to take his first bite of soggy bread. From his malnourished look to his filthy clothes he literally stank of desperation, and his expression as he stared at Trev was a clear threat.
“I'll take that,” he growled.
Trev was exhausted. He was fighting to tread water through a flood of despair. He'd just become a prisoner and bad things could happen to him at any time. He wasn't about to start the experience off by letting some thug steal his breakfast, even if it was just a paper bowl of soup and a slice of bread. He'd already had enough of getting his stuff stolen since the Gulf refineries attack, and from people he couldn't defend himself against.
Eyes on the man's face, Trev held out the bowl and then started to tip it. “Want to eat it off the floor?”
The would-be thief hesitated, eyes narrowing. “Know what happens to you if you do that?”
Trev stuffed the sopping bread into his shirt pocket, ignoring the uncomfortable feel of hot soup soaking into the cloth. “Sure. I have my hands free so I can thank you for making me waste it. It would've ended up on the floor anyway if we fought over it.”
The words weren't all bravado. Trev had no real desire to fight and was putting up an aggressive front hoping his attacker would back off, but if the other prisoner did try anything he was more than ready to make good on his threat. Trev had obviously eaten much better than the man and was in better physical condition. He'd also done okay against four guys at once in Newtown, and while it would be foolish to let his guard down in any confrontation he was fairly confident he could win this fight if it came to it.
Before his assailant could respond the jailor returned and saw what was happening. “You!” he barked, pointing at the thief. The man whirled, looking guilty, as the soldier continued. “Move to the cell door, now.”
The grimy prisoner shot Trev a murderous look as he edged forward. “What's going on?”
The Russian seemed to be searching for the correct words as he pulled open the chain link door and dragged the thief out. “What's going on is we give you all enough to eat and you still try to steal. You will be punished.” The soldier glanced over at Trev, who stiffened slightly. “Finish your meal fast. You have until I get back.”
Trev didn't bother to ask why, just shoved the soggy bread into his mouth and chewed quickly, then attacked his soup. Even as much as he hurried he still had a few bites left when the soldier returned. The man looked a bit annoyed, but to Trev's relief let him finish those bites.
As Trev brought his disposable bowl and spoon out with him, throwing it away in the receptacle the soldier pointed to, the man sniffed. “Your shirt is even more filthy now. You Americans are like animals.”
That didn't seem like a comment worth replying to, so Trev kept silent as the jailor led him away. He was taken to a small room with a large mirror on one wall that was obviously for interrogations, and he felt his heart climb into his throat as he was shoved into an uncomfortable seat behind the small desk and his hands were shackled to the sides of the chair.
Why would the Gold Bloc forces want to interrogate him? He was just a refugee they'd picked up. Was it the weapons he'd had with him? Had he done something to make them suspicious?
His question was answered only moments after the soldier left, when his uncle walked through the open door and shut it behind him.
Chapter Eighteen
Pig Pen
Trev was so shocked that he barely even reacted as his uncle strode over to him and awkwardly hugged him in the chair.
“Thank God,” he said. “You have no idea how relieved I am to see you, Trev. I've been nearly tearing my hair out in worry for you all while watching from the outside as the US fell apart.”
Lucas Halsson's blond hair had a lot more silver than when Trev had seen it last, probably prematurely graying from stress, but if he'd been tearing it out there was no sign. His uncle was usually the tallest man in the room, and he certainly loomed in this box of an interrogation room and made it seem even smaller. He'd been hovering on the border between husky and portly for the last decade or so, but in the six or so months since the Gulf refineries attack he'd lost a lot of weight and gained muscle.
In fact, aside from being a bit grayer and the worry lines around his eyes he looked a lot like pictures Trev had seen of him when he was much younger. Doing justice to all the times Aunt Eva had called him “her viking warrior”.
His uncle stepped back from the hug, but he kept a hand on Trev's shoulder as he looked at him worriedly. “Lewis?”
Trev snapped himself out of his surprise. He should've expected to see his uncle here if Mary was. Although not waltzing into an interrogation room in a Gold Bloc prison. But there'd be time for answers to his endless questions later.
“He's back in Aspen Hill, doing fine last I saw him.” But even as Trev said it he felt a new flash of worry for his cousin, and faltered at the last words. Lucas's eyes sharpened and he hastily continued. “The town was in some trouble when I left, but I'm sure he's fine.”
He could tell his uncle wanted to press, but for some reason he didn't. “And your family?”
The question made his heart sink in spite of the happy reunion. “I was hoping you'd know.” Lucas's expression turned grim and his hand dropped off Trev's shoulder as he shook his head. Trev took a steadying breath at the wave of disappointment that washed over him. “But you're looking for them, right?”
Lucas so pointedly didn't look at the one way mirror on the wall in front of Trev that he might as well have been pointing at it. Then, just in case his nephew hadn't got the hint, he made his way around the table to settle down in the other chair.
“We can catch up later,” he said regretfully. “After we get you processed.”
Trev did his best not to glance at the mirror himself, and instead stared at his uncle in confusion. He had no idea how Lucas was here, but he'd assumed he'd managed to pull some strings or something to get this visit. Why was he going to be handling Trev's processing? Was he with the Gold Bloc?
“You're going to be doing that?” he blurted, unable to help himself.
His uncle gave him a warning look. “I don't usually. I'm just paper shuffler in the logistics branch.” The corner of his mouth rose in a wry smile. “But there's a lot of processing to do and we're all expected to help out now and then.” He picked up the clipboard that had been on the table and hovered his pencil over it. “Let's get this over with so we can talk about something more important.”
It turned out the processing wasn't all that stringent. Lucas wrote down his basic description, confirmed he was a US citizen and asked him his name and place of birth (while subtly signaling that a creative and not quite accurate answer wouldn't be the worst idea), made sure he didn't have any allergies or medical problems that needed to be looked after, and then read through the “humanitarian aid” camp's terse code of conduct.
Once Trev had agreed to abide by the code his uncle signed the paperwork and stood. “Wait here,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Normally you'd be escorted to your assigned tent along with 19 other new arrivals who were processed at around the same time, but I'm going to see if I can get permission to take you out there myself so we can talk some more.”
Trev waited impatiently after Lucas opened the door and vanished down the hall, wishing his uncle had at least tried to get him unshackled from the chair so he could move around. The position they kept him in seemed deliberately designed to be uncomfortable, probably as an interrogation tactic.
It kind of confused him that he was still going into the internment camp even after Lucas had found him. After all, his uncle was free, and Mary was obviously free, and he guessed Aunt Eva was free too. So couldn't he try to pull some strings for Trev?
After about fifteen minutes Lucas came back, looking much more relaxed. “We're good to go,” he said, bringing the key over to unlock Trev's manacles. He'd also brought a cup of water, and once Trev's hands were free he gulped it down quickly, still not sure if it was safe to ask questions. “All right then, come on.”
Trev followed him out the door and down the hall, going a different direction than the one he'd come by that didn't take them past any cells. As they walked Trev cleared his throat. “So, uh, I guess there's no alternative to going into the prison camp, right? Like you vouching for me and taking me home with you?”
His uncle's mouth tightened in worry. “I wish. Everyone they catch goes into the camp, no exceptions. And to be honest I'm not really in a position to be asking for favors; I used up just about all my goodwill just getting to be the one to process you and take you into camp.”
Trev wanted to ask about finding his family, or if Lucas had any plans for getting him out, but in the middle of a jail surrounded by Gold Bloc soldiers wasn't the time or place. So he kept his silence and matched his uncle's footsteps.
Before too long they entered a room that was split in half by more chain link fence with a few gates leading between the two sections. On one side was a narrow corridor leading from deeper inside the building, probably the cell blocks, to a large reinforced door at the far end of the room. On the other side of the fence there were rows of desks with people filing paperwork and doing other clerical tasks.
They'd come in on that side, and Lucas led the way down an aisle between the desks towards one of the gates. But before they could get there a soldier emerged from a slapped-together office in one corner. By the officer's uniform he wore and the way the secretaries stiffened slightly and worked a bit faster Trev had a feeling his rank was fairly high.
The officer made directly for them, frowning. “What's this I hear about you wanting to go into the Pig Pen?”