by Trent Reedy
—• of many former Americans who have decided to flee the war by reentering what is left of their homes in irradiated northeastern cities. Some have even moved into New York and Washington, DC, where radiation is still at a lethal level. While the damage to the health of these resettlers would vary depending on where they go, experts say it’s only a matter of time before radiation sickness and •—
—• Wildfires extinguished last week were reignited by United States missiles, once again threatening thousands of homes in San Diego county and adjacent areas. The challenge this time? Looters, who wait for residents to evacuate, then enter neighborhoods and take whatever they can. One resident who would identify herself only as Eliza said, quote, “I’m not leaving until the fire gets my home. If I evacuate, the looters will get it anyway, probably burn down what they don’t take.” End quote. •—
—• a heightened level of security around the European Union and NATO countries. Drills are being conducted in cities in Poland, Germany, France, the UK, and all over Europe in an effort to prepare the population for a possible Soviet attack. In response to concerns over the missile defense system in the absence of significant US support, German Chancellor Jutta Martell issued assurances today that the EU missile defense system is online, ready, and technologically superior to any offensive system the Soviets may have. •—
For the next few days, all of our group except for Cal were busy preparing for Operation Exodus. I’m not gonna lie. I was impressed with how well Mrs. Pierce had gotten everyone working.
Space on the buses would be tight, so she’d issued a packing list, just like we used to have in the Army. Every member of our group was to pack three warm-weather and four cold-weather outfits. Eight pairs of socks and underwear. One pair of light-duty shoes and one pair of boots. I spent some time going around showing people how to GI roll their clothes so they could fit tighter into less bags and suitcases. One thing Mrs. Pierce hammered into us over and over: Everyone was to bring all the hats, gloves, snowmobile suits, long underwear, and other cold-weather gear they could find. “Winter at the Alice Marshall School,” Mrs. Pierce said, “does not screw around.”
The group had also saved up more food than I would have thought possible, given there was so little to go around. Cans of beans, pears, peaches, olives, and about everything else had been hoarded over time. They were kept in boxes and duffel bags hidden in attics, crawl spaces, bathroom plumbing hatches, and sometimes even between wall studs behind the drywall. A few of our people had preserved what beef they could by drying it out in the oven for hours and hours to make jerky. On Victory Day, someone had grabbed four whole cases of Fed MREs. Food would be tight, but if we could hunt and fish up in the mountains, if the gardeners of our group could pull off growing some potatoes and things, we’d do all right.
I met our bus driver, Norm, in the bus barn at the school that Monday. He’d picked out our two biggest, newest buses. They had bins down below for luggage, and they even had heavy-duty solar assist systems installed on the roof. But as the two of us went over maps, checking all the possible routes to the Alice Marshall School, we couldn’t get around the fuel trouble.
When Mr. Morgan found us out there, I thought we were busted, but he dropped the code phrase, “Pioneer backwatch.”
“Really, Mr. Morgan?” I said. “You’re part of this too?”
“Like I told you all those times you were in trouble in my office, this is my school. I call the shots here.” The principal shrugged. “At least I did until Nathan Crow took over. It was hard enough providing a decent education for students during the US occupation. Now the Brotherhood is making it about impossible. My family and I are getting out. Tabitha Pierce told me about the fuel problem. I think there’s the better part of fifty gallons in the basement boiler room of the school. It’s been standing by in case we need to start up the emergency generator. We can use that to help fuel the buses.”
I smiled. My old principal. I’d always thought he was kind of a jackwad, but in the final fight against the Fed, he’d taken a bullet to the leg and kept on fighting. Now he was coming through again.
Norm frowned. “Fifty gallons’ll get us farther, but it still won’t be enough.”
“We’ll keep looking,” I said.
These kinds of meetings happened in secret all over town, each a little more concerned, more desperate as the days wore on, especially after even more territory broke away from the United States. We worried that would make the US only more angry, more ruthless, when they finally came for Idaho.
* * *
A cold, awkward quiet had settled between Cal and the rest of our group. The big guy went to work doing whatever the Brotherhood had him doing. Then he’d come home, drink by himself at his basement bar, and go off into his room.
“Care if I join you?” I asked him that Tuesday, pulling out the stool at the bar next to him. With all the stress we were under, I figured I could use a drink. Cal only shrugged and poured himself another Scotch. I leaned over the bar to the counter down below and grabbed a tumbler, then poured myself a splash. I took a sip of the Scotch and pursed my lips to blow out the burn.
“You know, it’s funny.” I held the glass up in front of my face, looking at the bar lights through the glass and the tan liquid. “Drinking used to be such a big deal. Like it was so cool if anyone could score even a twelve-pack of beer. And then there was the excitement of finding a safe place to party, the thrill of not getting caught. But now —”
“That something else you don’t like about the Brotherhood?” Cal asked. “You want to go back to a twenty-one-and-up drinking age?”
“No. I only meant that it takes some of the fun out of it.” I sipped more Scotch and shook my head against its strength. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.” I knew that I hadn’t come down here to talk to Cal about booze. I’d wanted to patch things up, to make things cool between us again. “I guess I miss those old parties.”
Cal grunted and took a long drink to finish off what was left in his glass. Then he stood up, snatched the bottle from the bar, and went upstairs, leaving me there by myself.
* * *
Knowing you’re having a nightmare while you’re in the middle of a nightmare doesn’t make it any less terrifying. In my dream, it looked like the entire US military, thousands of tanks, Strykers, Humvees, helicopters, and jets, was rumbling toward us from the west. Weirdly, dismounted infantry ran alongside the rest on foot, all of them moving at the same speed, in one line, like a front of storm clouds in summer. The Brotherhood scrambled to the walls around town, some of them driving west in pickups and old cars to meet the fight. But they were slaughtered in seconds, not by the main military force, but by hundreds of little drones that zipped in and exploded, shredding everything and everyone around them with shrapnel.
Then the drones came after us. Me and my friends ran to get away, but Sweeney and Becca couldn’t keep up. Cal stayed behind with them to fight. A drone exploded, and I watched their bodies get torn to pulp. JoBell and I held hands as we ran. We were close to the gap in the north part of the wall. I had this idea that if we could get out of town, we’d be safe. We were almost there when a quadcopter drone lowered itself down in front of us. I could see the stick of C4 wrapped in nails and ball bearings, the silver blasting cap sticking out of the explosive charge …
I jerked awake, clutching my sweaty chest over my thundering heart.
“You’re okay, Danny.” JoBell was on the far side of the bed. She must have moved there for her own safety when I started thrashing around.
“Son of a bitch,” I whispered.
“You’re all right,” she said soothingly.
“I’m better than all right.” I threw off my blankets, put on a T-shirt, and grabbed my nine mil. “Jo, I figured it out. The whole damned thing.”
“Danny, wake up,” JoBell said a little louder.
I leaned over the bed and kissed her full and hot on the mouth. “I love you so much.” I
kissed her again, and she ran her fingers through my hair. As much as I would have loved to stay there and play, I broke the kiss. “But I have to go tell the others. Yes!” I punched the bed. “I figured it out! For once the Feds are going to help us.”
Upstairs, Becca was standing in the middle of the living room, fully dressed with her M4 slung from her shoulder. “Another nightmare?” she said quietly without breaking her gaze out the front window. The sky was lightening up in the east. It was just before dawn.
“Yeah, but a good nightmare, I think. Have you been standing there your whole shift?”
She finally looked at me. “I’d fall asleep if I sat down. What do you mean, a good nightmare?”
“Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been kind of a dick about this whole thing. I guess I was frustrated because there didn’t seem to be any way to pull off the escape.” She nodded. “But I think I’ve figured out how to make it all work. We gotta go talk to Sergeant Kemp.”
* * *
“You okay?” JoBell asked me.
“What?” I said. Me, JoBell, and Becca were standing outside the Bucking Bronc. The Budweiser, Pabst Blue Ribbon, and Rolling Rock fluorescent lights in the windows were all dark. I hadn’t been back here since the day Major Alsovar and his soldiers caught me and Specialist Sparrow in the basement. This place was the beginning of my torture at the hands of the Feds. After the bar’s owner, Sally Hines, was hung for treason, the Idaho Army had turned the place into a barracks. But I’m not gonna lie. I did not want to be here.
“You’re shaking,” JoBell whispered.
“I’m fine.” If everything worked out, I’d be leaving this place far behind. “It’s no big deal.” I forced myself to enter the barracks, the girls close behind.
The specialist guarding the front door saw who we were and lowered his rifle right away. When we asked for Sergeant Kemp, he directed us to the back room.
“Hey, Sergeant,” I said when we found him on his cot. “How’s the eye?”
He turned over and showed us the black eye patch over his left eye. “How is it? Am I getting closer to rocking the pirate look?” There was still white gauze and packing under the patch, but his smile was a good sign. Worry washed over his expression a moment later. “But the pirate look isn’t enough to get me out of duty. Word is the Idaho Army is moving us all up to the line soon. We’re taking a stand at Spokane. I wouldn’t be surprised if they call you up too.”
I looked around the room. The Brotherhood had taken the pool table and pinball machine a long time ago, so the room was filled with cots, soldiers, and their gear. I didn’t know a lot of the guys. “Is there someplace we can talk in private?”
“Privacy? In the Army? Wright, you have been on cushy duty too long.” He laughed a little as he stood up. “Actually, Crocker’s down in the basement working on some things. I could kick him out.”
“Or maybe there’s some other place?” Becca asked.
“The hell with that,” I said. “It’s fine. We could probably use Crocker’s help.”
Moments later, we were down in the dark basement. Crocker must have been working out since I’d seen him last, because he looked rock solid in his OD Idaho Army uniform, now with sergeant rank insignia. He looked up from his workbench. “Oh, hey guys. What’s up?”
“Crocker,” Becca said. “Good to see you. What have you been up to?”
Crocker sighed. “I joined the Guard to pay for college so I could learn computers. I enlisted into commo ’cause I figured that was as close as I could get to my major. Now college and the computer industry are shot, but I’ve been all over fixing Brotherhood and Idaho Army computers and radios. I keep putting in a request for some more commo guys up here, but they only say they’re working on it.”
“What are you complaining about, Sergeant Crocker?” Kemp gave him a little punch to the arm. “You got a promotion out of it. You’re making the big bucks now.”
They both laughed sadly. Idaho was way behind on payments to their soldiers. We’d been getting Certificates of Payment to be redeemed for an equivalent value in silver at a future date.
Crocker straightened his glasses. “Even if we were actually being paid, I probably won’t live long enough to spend any of it, and what’s left to spend it on? The Brotherhood controls everything, at least in northern Idaho. I’m better off trading my radio and computer repair skills for the stuff I need.”
JoBell looked at me, and I nodded. “How much of a chance do you think we have against the US in Spokane?” I asked.
Kemp and Crocker exchanged a look. “I was there recently working on commo,” said Crocker. “They’re putting in a ton of anti-aircraft guns, and some of our fighter jets and attack helicopters are stationed at Fairchild Air Force Base, but …”
“What?” I asked.
“You weren’t out in Washington for the US counterattack,” Kemp said. “General Jacobsen wasn’t screwing around when he promised to crush the rebel forces. The United States does not care who they have to kill to stop us. They’re brutal.”
“We might be able to hold them off, but …” Crocker trailed off.
Weirdly, that was what I wanted to hear. “Listen,” I said. “We’ve been through a lot together. So I know I can trust you with this.” I told him about what the Brotherhood had been doing, why we couldn’t trust them, and what we wanted to do about it. “We’d be safe at the Alice Marshall School. It’d be our best chance to wait out the war, our best chance to survive. And it’s my only chance of not getting drafted into the Brotherhood.” I crouched down next to the boiler where Sparrow and I had hidden before we were captured. Dark bloodstains still splattered the cement floor. “If you guys stay with the war, the best that will happen is you’ll see a lot of your fellow soldiers die, and we’ll win the war, and these racist psychopaths will control everything. And the worst …” I stood up and knocked on the hollow old boiler. “Come with us. I’d hate to lose either one of you, and we could use your help setting up a new community.”
“What do you say, guys?” Becca said. “Idaho will survive the attack or not. Two more people won’t make that much of a difference, will it?”
Sergeant Kemp carefully slid his hand down over his eye patch. “When I enlisted, I never thought I’d be agreeing to something like this, but then …” He motioned all around us. “Everything.” He nodded. “Okay. I’m in.”
“Sounds like fun.” Crocker reached out and grasped my hand in one of those half-high-five-half-handshake moves. “I suppose you’re going to need someone to rig your radios.”
“Actually, there’s something we need from you guys way more than radios,” I said. “Sergeant Kemp, you said you’d captured a US drone. Do you still have it?”
“The drone?” Crocker went to a pile of boxes in the corner, dug around through some junk, and pulled the thing out. He put it down on his workbench. “What about it?”
I leaned toward them. “It’s like this. There’s no way we can get a hundred people out of this town without the Brotherhood noticing. The trick is to be long gone before they come after us.”
“Okay,” Kemp said. “So how do we do it?”
“The United States is coming. They’re sweeping across Washington. The Brotherhood and Idaho Army are already moving tons of men, weapons, and supplies to the Spokane area. Everyone around here is on edge about the fight. When it heats up in Spokane, we’ll launch our own attack here. A diversion on the south side of town. The remaining Brotherhood here in town will think it’s the US, and most of them will go down there. Then we use that US drone to take out the Brotherhood guards still patrolling the north side gap in the wall. That will be our best chance of getting out of town without being spotted. With any luck, the Brotherhood will figure the whole thing was a US attack. If and when they do pin it on us, they won’t be able to find us.”
Becca smiled at me, fire in her eyes. “We use US weapons. They’ll blame the US.”
“At least long enough for us to get the hell ou
t of here.”
“It could work,” she said. “If we can figure out the fuel problem.”
I nodded. “It’s the best way I can think of.”
Crocker spun on his stool and held his hands out toward his workbench. “Well, you’re in luck, ’cause I almost have the programming on this vicious little bastard figured out. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to use my comm to fly it.”
“The fuel issue will be tougher,” Sergeant Kemp said.
Crocker turned back to face us. “The Brotherhood has a captured US fuel truck parked at a secure camp in the middle of the woods where they have their warehouses. It’s well guarded and super secret. They took me out there to work on some of their equipment once, and they made me wear a blindfold for the whole trip. If anything goes wrong at the camp, they have a heck of a transmitter to call their buddies for help.”
“Could you disable the transmitter?” Kemp asked.
“Absolutely I could, but it would be easier to take out the antenna. The trick is getting onto that base. They have pretty good security.”
“It’s like every time we overcome a problem, another one pops up in its place,” I said.
JoBell rubbed my shoulder. “Sergeant Crocker can get the drone working. We can get our convoy out of town. Maybe that’s enough in the short term. We can worry about the fuel later.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Crocker said.
I didn’t. But I nodded anyway. “All of this is classified, got it?”
Kemp made a half-assed salute. “Yes, Private.”
—• In Idaho’s ongoing effort to sever the United States’ key transportation route between its port facilities in western Washington and the rest of its remaining territory, the First Idaho Special Forces Group launched a devastating attack in Baker City, Oregon, yesterday. Several military supply depots were destroyed, and impassable craters were blasted in Interstate 84 south of the city, rendering the road useless. While US forces suffered hundreds of losses, Idaho casualties were minimal. Onward to victory. AM 1040 Republic of Idaho Radio, RIR. •—