Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  "I've never bailed on a mission like this before, Reginald." Jayne frowned at the camera as she watched Reginald and the two women. "Are you even listening to me?" She rolled her eyes. "Fuck." The screen went black as she hung up.

  Reginald unbuckled his belt as Charlotte and Vivian turned their hungry eyes upon him. He grinned. "What a marvelous idea…"

  CHAPTER 21

  Salmon Falls, Idaho.

  DENNY CLICKED HIS RADIO twice and waited. He peered around the cool, misty, pre-dawn darkness. Hidden in a small copse of pines, he was sure no one could see him—but he couldn't take any chances. He remained as still as possible. Townsen had people looking for holdouts. Denny would never forgive himself if in their zeal to track him down, he ended up leading them to John and Ruth.

  The smell of blood, tangy and sharp in his nose, reminded him of his hunger. The field dressed mule deer at his feet would feed the three of them for the next month. He planned to harvest a few more to help out the people in town displaced by the fighting.

  Leaves rustled at his feet and the hidden hatch slid away, revealing a dark, narrow stairway. Five steps down, glow tape illuminated the treads. One last check of his surroundings and Denny disappeared into the stairwell, hauling the dressed deer on his shoulder.

  He couldn't relax until he heard the muffled clank of the locking mechanism after the secret door had closed. He dusted off the few leaves that fell in after him and slid the deer carcass down the stairs to the bottom. A light blinked on in the darkness and illuminated the reinforced-steel door leading into John and Ruth Anderton's bunker.

  The door opened and John squeezed through. "It's about time!" he said, relief written on his face. "Ruthie was getting real worried about you, son."

  Denny grunted. More like you were worried.

  "Here, let me help," said John, reaching for one of the three large sections of deer wrapped in camouflage tarp.

  Once the meat had been stored away inside and everyone supplied with a cup of steaming hot coffee, Denny relaxed into his chair. He relished the furniture for a moment, then wiped the grime off his hands with the damp cloth Ruth provided him.

  "I'm afraid you may have to stay with us for a while," announced John abruptly, as if he could no longer contain the words. "Townsen has stepped up his efforts—they've hunted down just about everybody out there."

  "There's a list now," clucked Ruth from the kitchen. "It's horrible. They're throwing entire families out of their homes at gunpoint because of rumors and jealousy. Can you believe it? They're a bunch of vigilantes and criminals…"

  Denny paused, his cup halfway to his mouth. The silence that descended upon the little room was deafening. He had known things were bad, and he knew that the unsettled state of national politics after President Barron disappeared would lead nowhere good, but he hadn't thought things could unravel so quickly.

  He took a sip of coffee. He had to admit, even though Townsen was out of control here, he still had faith the government as a whole was working for the people, not against them. They were all Americans whether they sided with Harris or Barron.

  True, he told himself, Barron's people gave weapons to Townsen and his band of thugs, but everyone knows Sheriff Bridger will be back soon and things will return to normal.

  Hell, we beat back an entire Russian army. Half the town lay in smoldering ruins and so many friends and family were dead it would take them a month just to finish burial services. Denny considered Townsen's power play as a temporary drama, not the new norm.

  "She's right," said John. He wrapped his hands around his own coffee cup. "Things are moving fast. I've been trying to contact you, but…"

  "Trying to hunt with the radio squawking in your back pocket is kind of counterproductive," said Denny in a flat tone. "I checked when I could."

  "Son, we made the emergency times and frequencies part of our plan…if you had gotten hurt…" John looked at Ruth. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

  Denny looked at the table. He could feel his cheeks warming. "I'm sorry." He looked up to meet John's eyes. "I never meant to put anyone in any danger. I needed time alone. I needed to think—to figure out what to do next."

  John waved off the apology. "Did you find your path?" he asked over the rim of his coffee mug.

  Denny looked down at his own mug. "I can't be sure. Things are so…"

  "Yeah," agreed John. He sighed.

  Denny leaned back in his chair and stretched, feeling his spine pop. "It was refreshing to get out away from town, to be alone in the woods. But I'm so tired." Denny took another sip of his coffee. "I'm tired of people coming into our town and trying to take over. First it was the Russians. Then it was that guy from DHS with all the guns and food. Now it's Townsen…"

  "Will it ever end?" moaned Ruth.

  John looked at his wife. "It will, dear, it will. When enough good men like Denny stand up –"

  "And you," Denny added.

  John shook his head. He smiled sadly and said, "I fought my war, Denny. This fight belongs to your generation. I'm too old to be of any use to anybody…"

  "Well, I wouldn't say that," chided Ruth as she kissed the top of John's head. She turned and bustled back into the kitchen. "You're handy at cleaning the dishes."

  Denny frowned, thinking of the emotions that choked Ruth's voice. His friends hadn't looked so upset since the Russians first arrived in town. "Is the…sickness still spreading?"

  John sighed. "It's spreading, yes. And people are dying." He shook his head. "The good news is, I heard on the shortwave that President Harris and the real government in Denver have found a cure, or a vaccine, or something to fight it. They're distributing medicine all over the country. I hope it gets here soon enough…"

  Denny's brow creased. "What about the guy from the Department of Homeland Security? What about Townsen?"

  John shook his head. "Something needs to be done about them. They're not alone. From what I hear over the HAM net, towns like ours—all over the country—are going through the same thing," muttered John. "It's crazy out there with people fighting for both sides against friends and neighbors. It's a civil war, is what it is."

  Civil war. Denny mulled that thought over. Names, facts, and maps flooded his mind. As a history teacher, he what civil wars meant for people and what they cost. On one of his longer overnight field-trips a few years back, he'd taken his AP US History class on a tour of the Shenandoah Valley. The entire class had spent a week retracing the Wilderness Campaign, the final nail in the coffin of the Confederacy.

  "Those who do not learn history, are doomed to repeat it."

  "What's that?" asked John.

  "Nothing," said Denny with a shake of his head. "Just talking to myself."

  John nodded. "It's not like there's armies raging across the country or anything—but you saw how bad it got in town before you left. Fistfights—even a stabbing. In Salmon Falls!" John shook his head. "Now we have two Presidents and one of them is offering food and weapons to fight the other—who's offering a cure for the flu… Things are kind of at a stalemate, but my bet is usually on the people with the guns."

  Denny placed his hand on the head of his tomahawk, still strapped to his side. The memory of the Russian paratrooper attacking him in the forest at the beginning of the invasion came back then. "Guns don't always mean victory."

  "Yeah well," John groused, "Townsen has the guns, the food, and the men. What do we have? A few scattered families hiding underground or in the forest?"

  Denny frowned. "I have to believe there's more than just a few of us willing to stand up—"

  "Oh, I know there's more," said John. "The problem will be organizing the volunteers and gathering supplies. Winter's here, whether we like it or not. The snow we got the other day is almost gone, but there's more coming, and you can take that to the bank." John pointed his coffee cup at Denny. "People will be more worried about getting their next meal than standing up to Townsen and his thugs. This town bare
ly survived the Russians, and now we're fighting the Korean Flu." John shrugged. "I don't know what else there is to do…"

  Denny stood. "The rest of the town can't afford to hide under the ground like scutalawe," Denny said. "I can't."

  John sighed and pushed back his chair. "Somehow I knew you'd say that." He glanced over his shoulder. "Townsen doesn't know we're alive. I'm sure he was the one—him and that damn kid of his—who burned our house down. We heard people read the lists over the air. Our names aren't on them—I'm sure they think we're dead."

  Denny understood. "I will do everything in my power to make sure they still believe that, but I can't stay here and hide. I've got to do something." He clenched his fists. "This is our town. We fought the Russians—we can't let someone like Townsen take over. When the sheriff gets back—" Denny paused when John's face fell. "What is it?"

  "That was the reason I called you back Denny," John said. "We got word yesterday—Sheriff Bridger's dead. He got the flu and died down in Twin Falls. Never made it back from that training exercise they all went to."

  Denny's shoulders slumped, and he stared down at the half-empty cup of coffee of the table. "I never thought…I mean he could have stopped…"

  "I know. Kinda took the wind out of all our sails. That man was the toughest I've ever known. He wouldn't have stood for this nonsense from Townsen." John shook his head. "He would've kicked Barron's stooge to the curb, along with the marshals they brought."

  Denny narrowed his eyes. "Marshals?"

  John nodded. "Townsen declared himself sheriff and got the backing of that guy from DHS. Said it was an emergency measure." John snorted his contempt.

  "But there was no election!" cried Denny.

  John shrugged. "That DHS guy promised to hold elections once everything is settled down. Said it was a Presidential mandate—whatever the hell that means. Extreme times call for extreme measures," said John. "Those were Townsen's words, not mine. At any rate, he has the most men able to fight." John shrugged. "Wasn't much anyone could do about it."

  Ruth rejoined them then, placing a tray of cold cuts, cheeses, and stale bread on the table. "It kind of just happened…" she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "And the longer he stays in power, the harder it will be to get rid of him."

  Denny sighed. "This is worse than the Russians."

  John nodded. "Takes the appetite away doesn't it?"

  Denny stared at the plate of food in front of them as Ruth wrung her hands. His stomach rumbled, but he wasn't hungry. Trying to force the anger back in its dark place inside his heart, he reached out and made himself a sandwich. He had to keep up his strength.

  John stared at the plate in front of him, absently picking at his own sandwich.

  Denny closed his eyes and savored Ruth's homemade raspberry iced tea. He didn't realize how much he had missed tasting something—anything—other than water and jerky. He slowly chewed the sandwich and swallowed. He looked at John. "You look like you want to say something."

  Denny's neighbor cleared his throat. He pushed his plate away. Holding his gnarled hands on the table, John spoke in a quiet tone: "I don't think you fully understand what we're up against, Denny. Townsen has taken control. The mayor's just a puppet." John shook his head. "They've got guns, they got food, and supplies. Hell, half the town is on the brink of starvation. You think those people will want to fight against all that? Townsen knows it, too—he's giving food to anyone who rats on the holdouts. The only hope people in town have to survive is to join with Townsen, or at least tolerate him 'til spring."

  Denny thought for a moment. "That's why no one did anything. They're too desperate or scared to try."

  John sighed. "That about sums it up, yes."

  Ruth, hovering behind her husband, untied and re-tied her apron for the fifth time. "Denny, you don't need to go out there on our account. We're fine. They don't even know we're here…"

  John reached up and took his wife's hand. "Ruthie's right, son. We still have radio contact with our kids, so we know the grandkids are alive and safe. So far, no one's had any cause to run into Townsen and his goons."

  Denny took another bite of the sandwich. "So far." Suddenly the food tasted like ash. His appetite gone, he pushed his own plate away and washed down the last of his aborted meal with more tea.

  "Staying safe is not the point. None of us will be safe from that man. We allowed him to bully us in better times. We excused his behavior because he was the local rabble-rouser. We excused the violence against his kids because he was a friend of the mayor." Denny leaned back and instinctively turned south toward the burned-out husk of his house.

  "He burned my house to the ground, John. His son threatened to kill you, right on your own front porch! That whole family is nothing but trouble. If Washington backs him…" Denny clenched his fists on the table. "Someone has to do something."

  "Denny, I'm afraid there's not much to be done. For all intents and purposes he runs this town now. What with Bridger dead and all. He was our last hope for somebody to put the brakes on this train wreck."

  Denny stood and paced, thinking. Someone had to take action. But what action? And who?

  If most of the town sympathizes with Townsen or at least sides with him, it will be difficult. One false step, one casual comment and someone would tell him everything. I have to be careful. First order of business is recruiting…

  "I don't like what you're thinking, son," said John. "You helped out when those Russians came through—we know what you did, and it's a miracle you survived. But those Rangers you were with…them army boys are long gone, Denny. They got bigger fish to fry now."

  Denny stop walking and stared at John. "Why are you so quick to give up? This is your town, too."

  Ruth shook her head and dabbed at the corner of her eye with her apron. "It's not our town anymore, Denny. They think were dead, remember?"

  Denny pressed on. "And you're okay with the rest of the town rallying behind your murderers?" he asked, his voice rising in anger. "Well I'm not. And I can't stay here."

  He gestured at the Andertons' underground shelter. "Don't misunderstand me, I'm more than grateful for every kindness you've shown me. You've allowed me to escape the wilderness and come back to reality. You probably saved my life…"

  "Well, you helped me build this place," said John looking around the bunker with fondness in his eyes. "Without your help this wouldn't exist, so you saved all our lives. Between that and fighting the Russians, I say we call it even." When Denny said nothing, John sighed again.

  "I see you're set on doing something—probably something foolish." Denny opened his mouth to speak when John smiled. "I'm not all that ashamed to admit that if I were younger, I'd be tempted to do something foolish myself. But those days are long past gone, I'm afraid. I don't know how much use I'd be to anyone right now."

  An idea formed in Denny's head. "You could be of more use than you know. If we're going to start some kind of resistance, we'll need secure communications. You can be that link."

  John frowned and shot a glance over his shoulder at Ruth, who had moved away to begin cleanup. "I don't know, Denny…we've been through a lot lately…I'd hate to get involved in something only to have the thunder drop on our heads."

  "I'm not talking about sending refugees to you, John. I'm talking about you being a communications hub. No one knows you're alive. So no one knows where you are—we can use you as the link that holds everything together. To insulate everyone, we pass everything through you. No names, just a voice."

  John leaned back in his chair and rubbed the stubble on his chin. "It has possibilities…" He glanced at Ruth again. "If any of your hypothetical cells get cracked, the only person they'll know to look for would be me. But unless they have pretty sophisticated equipment, they won't have any idea where I am."

  "What are the chances Townsen has that kind of equipment?"

  John frowned. "Well, if he's taken over the town's supplies and what's left of the police stati
on, he'll have some decent rigs. Will he have something that'll be able to track me down?" John shook his head. "No. I've been active in the HAM community for years—I know what this town has and doesn't have. We're too small to warrant the sophisticated gear necessary to hunt down pirate broadcasters. That's something for the FCC."

  "And these people you talked about, the ones loyal to President Barron? Did they bring something like that with them?"

  John looked up from the table and met Denny's eye. "I don't see why they would. There's no threat out here and there's no reason for anybody suspect one. They walked into this town on a velvet welcome mat. Sure, they've been hunting down anybody loyal to Harris, but so far all they been doing is marking houses and dragging the loudmouths away."

  Denny sat down at the table and poured another glass of iced tea. Resolution filled the void in his gut with an iron weight. "Have you heard from Anse?"

  John smiled. "No, but I think that's a good thing. From what I can tell, nobody's heard hide nor hair of him. His name's been on every list Townsen has published, so I don't think they got them yet."

  Denny nodded. "That's good—he was never adept at keeping his mouth shut. If I can find him, I should be able to tap into his network. He called out a good number of men who rallied to fight the Russians."

  John grunted. "Most of their names are on the lists, too. But those lists have been getting smaller and smaller." John's shoulders drooped and he stared down at his hands. "I'm afraid they've been catching a lot of people."

  Denny flashed a grin. "I know most of Anse's friends. They're not exactly the type to be caught unawares and taken prisoner by a bunch of drunks led by Townsen. No, Anse went to ground and took his friends with him. I have to find them."

  Ruth looked at John who returned her solemn gaze. He cleared his throat again and placed his hands on the table. He did not raise his eyes to meet Denny's. "Well… If you're dead set on getting yourself killed, I suppose this is as good a reason as any."