“They’re almost finished,” Reggie said. He’d been eyeing the newcomers like a hawk.
“Calm yourselves, boys,” Midas Ford said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if their story takes all night to tell. And I, for one, am tired.”
“When did you become such an old man?” Blake said and sipped his coffee.
“Eh, speak for yourself.”
With a loud rustling, the newcomers slid out of their booth. The apparent leader—a man just as skinny as the rest but with a steely look in his eyes—took leisurely strides to where Midas was sitting and spoke in a low, abrupt voice.
“My men and I have agreed to tell you what we know tomorrow, after we’ve had a good night’s rest. We’re tired. You understand, I hope.”
“Of course,” Midas said and got out of the booth to stand before him. “I’ll have one of my men show you to your beds.”
After lunch the next day, the newcomers decided to share what everyone else had eagerly been awaiting. Blake and Midas called together a select group to hear the story. That group consisted of Arielle, Ian, Eli, Dominic, Reggie, and the ministers. They sat in Midas Ford’s living room, all of them perched on the edges of their seats.
Charlotte arrived though she hadn’t been invited. She burst through the door and stood before the group, looking annoyed. Dominic had been sitting on the couch next to Reggie. A second later, having moved in a flash (or so it had seemed) he was in front of her, hands gripping her arms, a fierce expression dominating his wolfish face.
“You weren’t called to this meeting.”
“I have a right to be here.”
“Leave. Now.”
Midas stood up. “Dominic, you leave her be. She might as well hear it from the source.”
“She’ll find out anyway,” Ian said, keeping a set of wary eyes on Charlotte as she went to sit against the back wall, away from everyone else.
If the newcomers were surprised by any of this, they didn’t show it. They must have heard all about Charlotte from Michael. Arielle assumed as much, anyway. When they saw that everyone was seated and comfortable, the leader began to tell his story.
“You all know who Michael Cairne is,” he said in a deadly serious voice. “You’ve known him much longer than we have. But we come from a prison camp four hundred and fifty miles west of here, and when you’re in one of those camps, time works in funny ways. Michael came to us about five months ago, but it feels like at least a year since we started working with him to liberate the camp.
“When he first arrived, he was just another one of us. A prisoner in chains being hauled off the truck. I remember I saw him step off that truck, skinny and dirty, with no shoes, and a look on his face like he couldn’t believe where he’d ended up. He was squinting in the sunlight, and I could have sworn he’d been crying. Only reason I noticed him was because of that; he looked like a boy, too skinny and too tall to survive around a bunch of us former soldiers. I thought he’d get torn apart. Some of the men in that camp were former slave drivers. An ugly bunch that needed to be straightened out.
“Michael went about in his quiet way for something like six weeks, somehow staying alive. He managed to avoid the beatings, which surprised us at first. He had a gift, you see. He could scare people away just by looking them in the eyes. I saw it a few times. A lot of us did. Men three times his size would confront him and then just walk away.
“And then one day he disappeared.
“Six weeks to the day of his arrival, skinny, starved—some of us thought he was near death—and he just up and disappears. We knew he wasn’t dead, though. He started leaving us gifts, you know, bits of food, a blade here and there for protection. Some of the nastier prisoners, the ones who’d been in the slave trade, starting dying in mysterious ways. We all knew it was Michael’s doing. We could tell. It was like he wanted us to know. Rumors spread like wildfire.
“The guards went crazy trying to figure out who was doing it. They punished us, tried to get us to admit what we knew about the situation—only to find out we knew nothing. At least not until the dreams started.
“In the dreams, my men and I were connected. Together we flew out of that camp to the mountains, to this place, Gulch, where we could communicate without fear of being overheard.
“We were too stunned to take it seriously at first. Even in the mornings, after confirming what each of us had seen, we still couldn’t believe it. A telepath. There, at Camp Kordel. And he was just a boy. Many of us have sons older than him.
“We dreamed these collective dreams, my men and I, and they helped our morale. We started planning. With Michael’s voice to guide us—he never showed himself in the dreams, not once, you see—we banded together to escape. Michael didn’t want to just liberate us—and he could have, using his powers. No, he wanted us to overcome our captors and fight our way out.
“By then, my men were sick and starving, some of them broken beyond repair, but he helped us with that. He smuggled in food, took risks we never would have taken to save ourselves. When the guards would beat us, his voice would buzz in our minds, telling us to be strong, that soon we would find our own way out of there. We just had to have faith in our own strength as men—as warriors.
“Harris Kole got wind of what was happening. He said there was no way it was Michael Cairne. Impossible. The boy couldn’t be that strong. That’s what we heard the guards saying, anyway. Reinforcements arrived in days. Michael warned us they were coming, and during one of our dream sessions, my men and I decided it was time to make a move.
“It’s just four of us here, but back there, we were two hundred strong. All together, we attacked the guards at exactly the same moment, inciting a massive riot. Michael showed up to fight with us, and it was then that my men saw what he could do. His voice guided each and every one of my men, helping us to act as one unit led by a single drive to succeed.
“By then, I was no longer the leader of my men. He was. I became a captain again, like in the army, and that suited me just fine.
“‘Captain,’ he told me when the fighting was over. ‘Take a few of your best men and go east into the mountains, to the little town I showed you in the dreams. Tell Louis Blake that I’m coming, and that I’m bringing an army. They’ll escort us to the NDR. Gulch is finished.’”
The captain sat back with an air of accomplishment. He looked over those seated before him. His eyes rested on Arielle for a moment, and she sensed he was singling her out in his thoughts, as if she was the one meant to receive this message and no one else.
Gulch is finished. The phrase stirred up the emotional currents in the room, causing Arielle’s head to feel like it was spinning. She hadn’t sensed such a mixed reaction from a group of people since Blake had been sentenced to spend a month in jail. All the flavors of emotion were present: fear, sadness, envy, resentment, admiration.
Louis Blake rose and addressed the newcomers.
“Gentlemen,” he said, looking down at the soldiers, who were still sitting. “If what you say is true, then we need to start packing up the town.”
Midas Ford took a long breath and rose to his feet. “How long until he gets back?”
“Two weeks at the latest,” the captain said. “They’re camped about a hundred and fifty miles west of here. Some of our men were wounded in the battle and need to rest up. We’re to return with medical supplies and a few trucks if you can spare them.”
Midas nodded. “Anything you need.”
“Cheers.” The captain got up. “We’ll be on our way then. Michael’s waiting.”
When Charlotte finished relaying the story, her son having fidgeted the entire time, Dietrich got up and looked out at the town nestled in the canyon. He bit his lower lip and felt his stomach go tight.
“An army,” Dietrich said. “The boy raised an army, huh?”
“You are prepared for that, right?” Charlotte said. “With all of Kole’s resources behind you?”
“Think again, sister.” Dietrich took
a seat where he’d been sitting before.
Warren let out a curt, angry sigh. “An army. Give me a spiteful break. There’s no army.” He thrust his finger at Charlotte. “You’re still on their side, aren’t you?”
Charlotte gave Warren a salty look, then turned her attention back to Dietrich. “And he did it all for his pregnant little girlfriend. My sister.”
Dietrich watched her, eyes narrowing. Something about her willingness to help them didn’t sit right with him. “What do you want, anyway? You weren’t planning on just giving us this information for free. Not a girl as smart as you.”
Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and watched Dietrich’s eyes like she was scanning for emotional shifts. Her son sat next to her, which made Dietrich relax a little; no telepathy worked around the boy, after all.
“I want a new life,” Charlotte said. “I want to be taken to the People’s Republic and given a house, money, a social life. I want to attend ceremonies and political events, dressed in jewels and wearing the finest designer clothing. I want my son to grow up with the same opportunities as any other Party member’s kids. If you can promise me that, then I have no problem giving you Michael Cairne. And don’t lie to me. I’ll be able to sense it.”
“No, you won’t. Not with the boy—”
“Trust me, little man. I’m a woman. I’ll know.”
Dietrich nodded, wanting to laugh at the girl’s haughtiness. If her beauty had astounded him before, it was nothing compared to the radiance of her personality. A woman like this was made for Party life; she would go far just on brains alone. But he kept his expression under control, not wanting to validate her superior attitude in any way. This was his mission, not hers.
He leaned forward a little and gave her a serious look. His next words were the truest he’d ever spoken.
“You’ll have all that and more. It would cost Harris Kole nothing to spoil you and your son with luxury fit for a queen and her prince.”
“Then we have a deal.”
Warren shot up from the log. “Hey, what about me?”
Dietrich left on a scouting trip. Charlotte watched him blend expertly with the shade inside the forest as he crept among the trees. She was beginning to like the man, as small and hunched as he was. If only she had managed to sink her claws into him instead of Warren...
“I need to speak with you,” she said as she turned slowly to face Warren. He was sitting a few feet away and fussing over his shabby boots.
An expression of utter stupidity came over his face. “About what?”
“Come here.”
He walked over in his rangy, loose-limbed way. He had a body like Michael’s but skinnier, more angular, with broader shoulders. Warren was a man of the forest, a hunter, a fool. She needed him—for now, at least.
“Feel this.”
She took his long-boned hand and put it against her belly. Warren’s eyes snapped all the way open. He stared at her, head slightly cocked like a dog’s.
“You—you mean to tell me you’re—you’re…”
“It’s your baby, you dumb hillbilly. From that night you were drunk and we did it, remember?”
The truth was, Warren had never been inside of her. But she had her ways of making him believe the opposite was true. A few weeks earlier, during one of Dietrich’s scouting trips in Gulch, she had laid down with Warren in one of the abandoned houses in the Hollows. She’d given him whiskey, and then she had hypnotized him to think they were making love. The man was too stupid to realize a few weeks wasn’t enough for a woman’s belly to feel this hard with child. He’d believe what he wanted to believe, because that’s what men did.
“Hey, wait just one damned minute, woman. How do I know this ain’t a baby from when Michael had his way with you?”
Maybe he wasn’t so stupid after all. Charlotte motioned for Warren to bend his ear. He did, and she whispered something into it. He broke out into a fit of laughter.
“That figures. Ha! No lead in his pencil, huh? Little son’bitch.”
“Looks like it’s just you and me,” Charlotte told him. “My mountain man.”
Warren gave her a bashful look. He was probably blushing beneath that disgusting, ragged beard. Men could be such idiots.
Charlotte went to him and kissed him, and when his strong arms wrapped around her shoulders, she thought he might not be so bad after all. They were a lot alike in many ways. They both liked to win, no matter what.
And they both wanted Michael dead.
Chapter 7
Dietrich had an idea.
A week after Charlotte recounted the story of Michael’s return, a group of trucks left Gulch to meet the trade caravans in the ruins of a town east of the mountains. Dietrich had studied these trucks, the men that drove them, and the wares they brought back to Gulch. He’d also gotten information from Charlotte about how the drivers and merchants were selected for each trip.
With this information, he could go undercover fairly easily. No one in Gulch would recognize him except for Michael, who wasn’t here, and that other boy, the skinny little bastard with the earring that had shot him in Praetoria. As long as those two weren’t around, the rest was cherry pie.
The first step was finding a disguise. That was easy enough. He hadn’t shaved in well over a month and had a thick beard now. His hair was long and filthy, and he smelled like a wild man who’d been living in the mountains for years. He took a quick shower in the house of a woman who went to work in a tiny arts-and-crafts shop each day, then dressed in her husband’s clothes—he was long gone, Dietrich didn’t know where—and made sure to wear a baseball cap low over his eyes.
He stole items from several different houses to make it look like he had wares to trade. He kept his real wealth—gold coins with Harold Targin Kole’s face on them—hidden in a coin purse inside his pants. When the guard standing by the trucks with a clipboard in hand asked Dietrich if his name was on the list, Dietrich grunted and spoke in a thick Eastlander accent.
“Gerald Uppinstock, at’cher service.”
“Don’t see your name here,” the man said, checking his clipboard.
Yes you do. You see it.
The man blinked a few times and re-examined the list.
Gerald Uppinstock. U. There it is at the bottom, after the Ts.
Dietrich pushed and pushed, coloring the man’s thoughts just right. There it went, taking hold just as he’d hoped. The man wasn’t very strong of will.
“Huh,” the guard said. “Well, there it is. Uppinstock.” He nodded at the truck Dietrich was supposed to get into. “That one right there, pal.”
The trucks took them east into the ruins. A double-set of highways ran through it, one having collapsed long ago. They came out this far to protect the location of Gulch, probably. A paranoid bunch, these townsfolk; it was a surprise they’d ever let a kid like Michael inside to begin with.
The caravans themselves were nothing more than a line of dirty, dented trucks. Almost as unsavory as the people who drove them. Wares were set out on tables and heavily armed men stood watch to make sure no one tried any funny business.
Dietrich was fascinated. They had set up a temporary marketplace in a part of town that could not have been more perfect. It was an intersection, with four roads leading in different directions. Two had been blocked off. The other two served as an entrance and an exit, and the trucks faced the exit in case they had to make a quick getaway. All the windows in the surrounding low buildings had been blocked off with boards of wood, probably to discourage snipers. Incoming vehicles had to park outside the entrance, and the men coming in to trade had to be checked for weapons before they were allowed past the gate. All in all, a very solid operation.
The tables were cheap, rickety affairs, but the wares displayed all over them bore the mark of the NDR—a mark of capitalist quality. Rolls of toilet paper, toothbrushes, and toothpaste; pots and pans for cooking; old copies of paperback novels and even a few ancient magazines; radio
s and walkie-talkies; survival equipment—they had everything you could need with the exception of electronic devices. Dietrich explored for a bit before making his way to the vendor he’d come to see.
The man sold alcohol and was one of the wealthier vendors in today’s gathering of caravans. It was obvious from the gold chains he wore around his neck and the bulky, mean-looking grunts armed with automatic rifles guarding him that he had serious money. His store was set up in the hollowed-out shell of a former clothing shop. Dietrich had to wait in line to get in.
He purchased three bottles of their finest single-malt whiskey (the only three bottles available), one bottle of gin, and a gallon of something called Linus’s Finest Long-Fermented Moonshine Surprise. People stared at him as he paid the vendor using gold coins. The bodyguards raised their eyebrows in surprise and suspicion. The vendor licked his lips as Dietrich slid over the payment.
“Keep the change,” Dietrich said.
“A pleasure.” The vendor stuffed the coins into a pouch he kept inside his bulletproof vest. “Visit us again, my friend. You’re always welcome here.”
Dietrich submerged the bottles in a sack of rice purchased from another table.
When he got back into the truck at the designated hour, the men stared at his sack of rice. He’d come all the way here for that? The rest of them carried all manner of bags, boxes, and bottles. One man was so loaded with bags and cardboard boxes that Dietrich could barely see him sitting against the back corner of the truck. He was just a pair of legs sticking out from under a pile of stuff.
Dietrich watched the man throughout the bumpy ride and tried not to smirk. It was just so damned funny the way some people lived out here.
Chapter 8
Sheets of rain slapped the windows of the café.
Arielle zipped from table to table, preparing the place for what she knew would be a busy day. People came in droves when it rained, like being in this cramped space together was the only way to keep warm and dry. She didn’t mind; serving them in times like these made her feel like she was a part of something bigger than herself. Like a member of a community forged from steel.
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