Tomorrow War

by J. L. Bourne

  After getting back to camp just off the river, we tended to our horses and checked their hooves and coats, brushed them good, and made sure they had enough to eat for the night’s journey away from here, away from the Chinese threat.

  —————

  Enemy of My Enemy

  We were prepared to leave camp on the Big Muddy and continue our journey east, when the explosions commenced, again. It wasn’t long after nightfall and we were about to mount up when light flickered over the trees. A few seconds later, the sound of an explosion. We poured some silty water onto the concealed campfire, got on our horses, and moved towards the bridge held by the UN armored vehicles and Chinese troops. Rounding the last bend before the bridge became visible, I saw the arc of tracer fire through my NVD. A high order detonation rocked the middle of the bridge and more abandoned cars fell into the river.

  An RPG returned fire from somewhere near the middle of the bridge, impacting a jackknifed semitruck near the UN vehicles. Before it detonated I watched the large projectile travel fast between the steel beams that held the bridge up. The Chinese responded with another volley of mortars, but whoever they were attacking were not giving up without a helluva fight.

  I heard the revving of motorcycles and saw a few of them weaving through the cars, rushing the checkpoint position.

  Bikers.

  The suicidal and feral bikers navigated through the abandoned cars and appeared in front of the eastern blockade of armored vehicles. Both sides opened up with fully automatic machine guns, inflicting what looked like losses on both ends. I was too far away to see detail through my NVD, but I saw multiple grenade detonations behind the white UN vehicle blockade and heard screams carried by the wind down to the riverbank where we watched. The skirmished raged on for twenty minutes before the Chinese were able to kill every last biker that didn’t fall into the water like Maggie and I did.

  We disappeared into the trees and down a small deer path for a few miles before it led to a clearing where we could see a road. I checked my maps and we decided to follow the pavement east, keeping our eyes and ears tuned to our surroundings so that we could disappear into the forest at the first sign of trouble.

  I thought back to the bridge and how viciously the bikers attacked the Chinese checkpoint, no self-preservation. Rage. Hatred. From now on, it was shoot on sight for anyone on a motorcycle. No hesitation.

  We rode mostly east until the road branched off to the north. We followed it until reaching a crossroads, where we had to make a decision on whether or not to risk skirting a small city. Nothing like Memphis or Nashville, but still big enough to show up on my map. Besides the bikers and the checkpoint, we’d seen no significant threats, so we decided to take the shorter route and avoid Nashville, but travel south near Clarksville. With any luck, we’d reach the Blue Ridge Mountains in a week.

  MOONSHINE AND TREASON

  I sort of lost count of how many days have passed since we left the Mississippi. We travel at night and sleep during the day, so things sort of bleed together. My watch says it’s the seventh of January; it’s cold in these higher elevations. I don’t think we’ve hit the Blue Ridge Mountains, but we’re close. We had to detour a few nights ago when Rich transmitted that one of the nuclear power plants along the route he’d estimated (correctly) we were on had been left abandoned; the neutron rods were dropped during the SCRAM, but the area could still be dangerous. Better to avoid. Eastern Tennessee was nearly as quiet as Arkansas, but there was some military activity near the interstates we observed and also in the skies above.

  Two days ago, as we slept under a tree canopy, I woke to the sound of jet engines. I jumped out of my bag and slipped on my coat to have a look as Maggie slept. Funny how she would wake up if I looked at her while she slept, but not to the noise of low flying fighters.

  Leaving the cover of the trees for the nearby field, I brought my binoculars up. Two Flanker aircraft adorned with red stars on their vertical stabilizers were conducting low passes. Configuration dirty, with numerous bombs and fuel tanks hanging from the hard points on the wings.

  I mean, it made perfect sense if you think about it.

  What U.S. military pilot would conduct armed patrol on American soil, ready to bomb their fellow Americans into oblivion when ordered?

  None, I’d wager. If any were alive, they were all home with their families, trying to get them through all this.

  When you want cold and calculating military power on your soil, you need foreign muscle to do the dirty work, muscle that wouldn’t think twice about dropping a bomb on someone like me, or strafing me with the machine gun that was no doubt cleared hot on the Flankers that patrolled overhead.

  —————

  We’d been on a red clay road for most of the night. I haven’t seen any sign of Chinese troops or air support in a stretch, which was fine by me. Even though we had a Stinger missile, by the time we armed it and got it ready to fire, any Flanker might have us cut to pieces before we could go up against them. The Stinger would be used to prosecute targets of opportunity; to have a chance at a fighter, we’d need to get lucky and know where it was going to patrol beforehand.

  Elvis acted up half the night, picking on Molly a little bit whenever he’d walk past with a snort and a nip. Molly wasn’t taking any shit from him, though. Good for her. She’d check him, knocking him and Maggie over to the other side of the road when she’d had enough. Elvis was an ornery horse, but he was the only explosive capable horse that I currently knew of.

  Maggie asked me about the case. She finally admitted to examining it when I was unconscious from hypothermia back at Big Muddy. We were approaching the halfway point to DC, so I didn’t see any reason to keep it from her any longer.

  “There’s going to be a meeting of the minds in Washington. Our creditors and our so-called provisional government are going to get together and decide who gets what part of the United States,” I told her.

  “That’s what the NAI said to you?” asked Maggie.

  “Yes, they did. That’s why we have the explosives and that’s why we’re currently headed to Washington,” I said.

  “You don’t sound very enthusiastic about going,” said Maggie. “I mean, you should know that it wasn’t supposed to be a significant amount of land in the beginning; it was originally negotiated as a fifty-year lease. They agreed to give the land back after the time was up.”

  “Maggie, get the fuck out with that,” I said.

  “I know. I didn’t say anything back before they locked me up. Maybe I should have. And maybe I should have done something,” Maggie said, sounding like a lump was developing in her throat. “Max, if what you’re saying is true, you need to wipe any doubt from your mind. Those bastards deserve more than a few pounds of NAI C4 shoved up their asses.”

  I wasn’t so sure. What positive difference might another pile of bodies make, besides pushing me over the edge?

  We kept riding, down the red clay road, under old light that beamed from long-collapsed stars.

  —————

  After finally reaching an end to the red clay road last night, we hitched up an old logging trail that was supposed to find a two-lane road in thirty miles or so. A couple hours before sunup, we came across an old, mossy stone dam built a long time before Maggie and I were even a twinkle in anyone’s eyes. We decided to make camp for the night near a wooden shack that sat next to the old dam. The sun was peeking up and the lock on the door to the shack wasn’t something I wanted to mess with before I’d had a couple hours of sleep, so we just built a small fire and unrolled our bags while the horses drank and sniffed round for food.

  After falling asleep to the sound of trickling water, I awoke at about 1400. Maggie was already boiling water for food, and I tried my hand with a fishing pole I’d made from a straight stick and the handful of hooks I’d brought. Luckily, I caught a bass after half an hour of struggling and quickly cleaned it for the fire. I had been looking for a catfish when I caught the b
ass, which is a fine indicator of how bad a fisherman I am.

  After we had our small meal of fish and rice, I tried to get lucky again, but just ended up losing one of my hooks. I went over to check the dam shack and gave the lock a go with the master key. Their large brass lock marked “U.S.” fell to the ground, reminding me of Dogpatch for a moment. Inside I found a simple breaker box with a series of labels made with old school label-maker ribbons.

  I flipped on the one marked TURBINE 1.

  Nothing.

  TURBINE 2, nothing.

  TURBINE 4, a light over my head began to flicker and then go steady, and a radio began to play static. I turned the radio off and checked the shack for anything that might transmit, giving away our location. I saw no electronic threats inside the old shack. I flipped the turbine breaker off again, dousing the lights, and went outside to survey the area. There were no visible power lines, so I began to look for any conduits that might be buried and eventually found one at the back of the shack.

  I pulled the shallowly buried conduit up from the ground to at least find out the direction it might be going so I’d know where to even start looking. Maggie paid little attention, glancing over at me from time to time, just sipping warm broth by the fire, picking her teeth with a fishbone. I began to walk in the direction the conduit was going, into the trees and up a hill. Eventually I spotted another small building resembling the shack at the dam, maybe a little bit larger, but definitely the same design and workmanship down to the roof, walls, and door.

  I went back to camp for the master key; this time Maggie took interest and followed. The horses remained by the fire, not giving a care about the musings of humans.

  At the second shack, I walked around the outside, noticing that the door wasn’t padlocked so I didn’t need the bolt cutters. Figures. The same type of conduit sprouted out of the ground and up to a breaker box on the side of the shack. I twisted the doorknob and pushed. The door didn’t budge. I gave it a good kick.

  Nope.

  I searched around the building and grabbed a nearby log that had been cut down and used it as a battering ram to finally get the door open. Splintered up and nearly defeated, I walked inside the dark windowless shack.

  The smell of a corpse slapped us both in the face. The door we’d breached was solid and about three inches thick. Two crossbeams kept the door closed, put there by whoever lay decaying on the ground nearby a large moonshine still. Coiled copper line arced at a constant angle around the shiny metallic still and stacks of yeast bags sat waist high in the corner. Milk jugs full of clear liquid sat stacked deep on a shelf against the wall opposite the still. A bushel of some sort of long-rotted fruit was sitting on top of the corpse’s torso. I used a coat that hung on a peg near the door to cover up the body.

  “Well, we’re making good time. Let’s have a snort or two, what do ya say?” I asked Maggie.

  She nodded and said simply, “Definitely.”

  We took a gallon of the clear liquid back to our small camp next to the dam and had ourselves a few sips of untaxed liquor.

  —————

  The shine was a little stronger than I’d expected. I woke up at sunset to cottonmouth, feeling dehydrated. We had a good time during the day, playing poker under hydroelectric light inside the shack. We were missing a couple cards but it was fine; we made it work. After getting up and around, I pumped the empty moonshine jug full of water through my filter. I sat for a while and drank it slowly in the time before we mounted up for the logging trail once more. I flipped the breaker in the shack off for the last time, saddled up the horses, and checked their hooves for any problems. They were holding up pretty well, all things considered, but I think that Elvis might have lost a few pounds since we left Arkansas.

  The trail was dark and devoid of old growth. Smaller Christmas tree–sized pines sprinkled the hills as we headed up the mountain, meandering on a small switchback. The cold was biting down to the bone with the wind coming off the hills, but Maggie and I were used to it by now and the horses didn’t seem to mind as long as we kept them full of water and let them graze.

  As we found the peak of the hill we’d been negotiating via switchback for the past few hours, I saw a light in the valley below. I gave the silent signal to halt and we both stopped at the same time. I couldn’t use my binoculars effectively with my helmet mounted NVD so I sat still, concentrating on the light.

  It was well after midnight. After a long stare, I determined that the light was a campfire of some sort, but it was too far out to tell. I asked Maggie to hang back so that I could scout ahead while she kept the payload safe with Elvis.

  I took Molly down the pass to within about two hundred yards of the fire. I led her off into the woods a little distance and slung her reins around a low branch that had been broken off. I made sure my carbine and my silenced Ruger pistol problem solver were loaded and chambered and approached the fire.

  At first, I thought I’d go through the woods and approach from cover of the trees, but I’d make too much noise in the dark. I decided to stick to the logging trail and stay low.

  I moved slowly, but found myself just outside the firelight before I knew it. I stepped back away from the fire and observed. I saw nothing but two sleeping bags with lumps in them and the fire. Whoever was here was fast asleep and didn’t give a shit. I didn’t see motorcycles or armored vehicles, so my plan was to just leave them alone and sneak on by. I backtracked to Molly and called Maggie via secure HAVE QUICK radio, letting her know to come quietly down the mountain.

  After two minutes, I met her and we both continued down the trail past the fire. I glanced over and saw that one of the sleeping bags was empty.

  I threw my reins to Maggie and jumped off the horse, carbine at high ready only to discover a man standing in the darkness just outside the fire, pissing on a tree. He didn’t see me but the branches that I’d broke jumping off the horse alerted him pretty fast. He ran back to the fire and pulled a long gun out of his sleeping bag.

  I gestured for Maggie to get the hell out as I tried to talk the man down.

  “Hey, I’m just passing by, no need for the weapon!” I yelled to the man.

  He obviously couldn’t see me as he leveled his deer rifle, sweeping it left to right blindly in the darkness.

  An IR laser clicked on, beaming over the top of my head at about horseback height. The powerful beam came to rest on the man’s chest and hardly moved. Maggie’s steady aim.

  “Don’t,” I said, whispering into the radio.

  The IR beam remained.

  “Listen, I’m going to keep going. I don’t want anything to do with you,” I said, trying to throw my voice so the man wouldn’t point his muzzle in my direction. Not because I was afraid he’d shoot me, but that Maggie would ice his ass if he flagged me with his gun again. By this time the other sleeping bag opened up like a chrysalis, revealing the second camper, a woman with matted hair and a very skinny frame.

  Incredibly, the man lowered his gun, placing it on the ground. It must be because of the woman and his desire not to get into a gunfight in the middle of the cold night with someone he couldn’t see. When the gun hit the deck, Maggie’s IR switched off.

  “Okay, I’m leaving,” I said.

  “Wait, wait . . . can we trade before you go?” the man said.

  “Hold on a second,” I responded.

  “Maggie, what do you think?” I asked discreetly over the radio.

  “Well, she’s skinny as hell from where I’m sitting. I doubt they have food, and what else would we need?” Maggie replied.

  Damn her and her Spock logic.

  “What do you have to trade?” I asked, this time from a different position outside the fire so that the man wouldn’t triangulate my voice.

  “We have maps. We know where all the checkpoints are all around this place. We’ve mapped them ourselves. What’s that worth to you?” the man said. “You’re damn lucky to be here. This is a dead zone, but go a few miles in
a certain direction and it’s not.”

  “I stand corrected,” Maggie’s voice said over the radio.

  “Okay, what do you want?” I said from a different location.

  “The usual: food, medicine, anything you have that you’re willing to trade.”

  After shouting back and forth a few times, I agreed to step into the light to meet the man. I was comforted by Maggie’s IR beam, lasing the chest of whoever was speaking to me inside the glowing light of the fire. My bearded face, NVD, and helmet concealed most of my recognizable facial features. After a short story about how the man and woman came to be in these hills, he went back to his pack and pulled out a ratty worn road atlas.

  “What have you got for us?” the man asked.

  I told him to wait and I returned to Maggie to retrieve the gallon of white lightning we took from the shack and our own maps. I gave the man the alcohol and told him that it was strong enough to have medicinal application. He handed over his maps and I began to copy all the checkpoint information over, checking every few seconds to make sure the laser was on the man’s chest.

  “Hey, my name—”

  “I don’t want to know you, mister,” I said, cutting him off.

  I marked the hydroelectric shack on his maps and returned them to him.

  “Go there, and you’ll find a dozen more gallons of this stuff and a still,” I told him before stepping back into the darkness. “Bye.”

  The man waved and Maggie and I rode away, letting a mile open between us and the fire before letting our guard down enough to sling our rifles.

  Maggie commented that she hoped the trade was worth losing the shine. Based on the direction we needed to go, I thought it just might be.

  We rode on through the rest of the early morning until our NVDs let us see the reflectors from the road signs up ahead.

  “We found the highway,” I said to Maggie. “Sun’s up soon. Let’s find camp.”

  We took a turn off the logging trail into the forest to hole up for the night before heading out on the pavement we’d been moving to for days now.