by Rachel Aukes
Val would’ve given voice to what she thought of Renzo and where he could shove his orders, but she was being watched. Cameras installed in every operations room, in every common area, and along the walkways meant she was being watched everywhere in the silo except in her private residence, and she had suspicions about even that.
She gave herself a full minute to collect herself, and three more to decide how to handle the Swinton kids. Then she stepped outside to find the two children antsy to see her.
“Sorry about bothering you, Sheriff Vane,” Nick said.
“Yeah, we didn’t mean to upset you,” Romy said, which was as much as Val had ever heard the shy girl speak.
“It’s okay. I’m not upset,” Val said, and bent down to scratch the dog’s ears.
Nick wrinkled his nose. “But you look kinda upset.”
She forced a smile and straightened. “Just a lot on my mind. Now, what was it you needed?”
Their faces lit up, and Nick spoke. “We were hoping that you could show us how to fight.”
She was taken aback. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”
They both nodded.
“Please? We promise we won’t be a bother,” Romy said.
Val’s brows rose. “Why do you want to learn how to fight?”
“Because I’m going to be a bounty hunter, like Joe,” Nick said proudly.
Romy stood taller. “And I’m going to be a sheriff, just like you, Sheriff Vane.”
She smiled. “Those are dangerous jobs you’ve picked.”
Nick shrugged. “Being a hero is dangerous.”
Val bristled. “I’m no hero.”
“Sure you are,” Romy countered. “You saved every single person here. And now, you and Joe are going after Mean Man Sloan.”
“I’ll think about it. Right now, it’s very important that I speak with your mother. Can you take me to her?”
“Okay,” Nick said.
“But first, I need the keycard that you used to get into the computer room.”
Nick pulled it from his pocket. “Mr. Campo loaned it to us. I was going to take it back to him tonight, I swear.”
“I’ll give it back to him for you,” Val said. Perhaps she’d been wrong to leave Grundy in the dark. If he knew that as much danger lurked within the silo as without, he’d have been more careful with his keycard. But, though he’d served Zenith once, he hated them now for some reason he’d never shared.
The kids and their dog led her down the spiraling walkway into a residence identical to every other residence in that silo—and every other silo Val had seen. A studio apartment with a small bathroom, an even smaller kitchenette, and a combination living room/dining room/bedroom. As soon as they entered, Champ bounded to the bed and curled up into a ball.
Sara Swinton’s surprise upon seeing Val was quickly replaced by a welcoming smile. “Sheriff, I wasn’t expecting you. Will you be joining us for dinner?”
Sara had been setting out three plates of food from the cafeteria, a common practice, especially among families. With small residences and limited resources, a single cafeteria prepared food for all the residents. Many took their rations home to eat in private, one of the few times of the day to be alone with family in an otherwise congested silo.
Val regretted having to interrupt their meal. “No, but please go ahead and eat.”
“We can wait,” Sara said. “What can I do for you?”
Val’s features tightened. “You’d better eat now.”
Sara regarded her intently for a moment, then said, “You two, wash up.”
The kids headed into the bathroom. “What’s wrong?” Sara said. “Has something happened to Joe?”
Val shook her head. “No, he’s fine.” She didn’t know whether the residences had cameras in them—they weren’t supposed to, but that didn’t mean much when it came to Zenith. She put her hand in her pocket and squeezed a small round device. It vibrated twice, an indicator that it was now actively freezing any recording devices within a ten-foot radius. To anyone watching, it would look like the two women were just standing there in silence—an anomaly obvious to any professional, but Val had no other choice. She pulled it out of her pocket and set it on the table so Sara could see. “This ensures we can talk without prying eyes or ears.”
She stepped closer. “I need to move you and the kids somewhere else for a while.”
Sara frowned, but didn’t argue. “When do we need to go? We just need to pack our things.”
“No,” Val said. “You have to leave everything. It can’t look like you’ve left.”
Sara blanched. “What’s wrong?”
“The kids saw something they shouldn’t have, and they’re in danger now. I need you three to lie low until I can figure something out. There are people watching us in the silo. If they see the kids…well, it’d be bad. I wish I could disconnect the cameras, but this isn’t my silo. I don’t have the authority.”
“It’s Zenith State’s,” Sara said as a matter of fact.
Val nodded. “Yes, this is Zenith State’s silo.”
“Their logo is everywhere, so it’s not exactly a secret.”
“No, but most people assume that Zenith is defunct. They’re wrong to make that assumption.”
Sara considered that. “I always wondered if they survived the Revolution.” Her expression saddened. “I’m so sorry Val. You had to sell them your soul to get a safe place for us.”
Val’s chuckle held no hint of humor. “I sold my soul long before that.”
Sara took Val’s hands, holding them in hers. “You’ve given up everything to help us. Thank you for what you’ve done. You can count on us to do whatever needs to be done, no questions asked.”
“Thank you. We’ll leave right after you eat.”
The kids came out of the bathroom. “What’s for dinner?”
Sara turned to them. “Spaghetti. But first, show me your hands.”
Val deactivated and pocketed the signal blocker while Sara examined the kids’ hands.
“Okay, you’re both good. Dig in before it gets cold.” Sara allowed the pair to sit, and they began eating like ravenous baby birds.
When Sara didn’t take a seat, Val said, “You need to eat.”
Sara frowned. “I wish we had another chair.”
Val held up a hand. “I can stand. Now please, eat.”
Sara sat and smiled at the children, though Val could see it was for show. “Okay, you two. Tell me about your day.”
“You won’t believe what we saw,” Nick began.
Val tensed.
“A dead rat,” Romy said, and Val relaxed as the kids gave a play-by-play report of their day, thankfully leaving out the part about seeing Val speaking with Renzo.
After dinner, Val said, “You kids asked earlier about learning to fight. I want to show you a room you can use for training.”
Both pairs of eyes widened. “Really?” Romy asked.
“Really,” Val answered.
“They asked about fighting?” Sara asked.
“It never hurts to know a few defensive maneuvers,” Val answered.
“I know. It’s just that I wish children didn’t need to learn them.”
Val understood. “I wish that, too.”
The kids joined Val at the door, and Sara grabbed a shawl.
“Mom, you’re coming, too?” Nick asked.
Sara lifted her chin. “Maybe I want to learn a few moves myself.”
That made the children giggle.
Nick patted his leg. “Come on, Champ.”
The mutt looked like she’d prefer to sleep, but she jumped down from the bed and joined them. Val led them to the elevator and up to the top level.
“We’re going outside?” Romy asked.
“Yes,” Val replied. There was nowhere in the silo safe from Zenith’s monitoring; she was certain. The surface was a little better, with Zenith’s drones in the air and spies in every town.
She drove them out to the makeshif
t jail she’d used to hold one of Sloan’s soldiers. If there was anywhere else, she would’ve taken them there, but she was out of options. The old building was in ruins, built in a time before the fallout, on no maps and with no power or resources of any kind. It was four walls and a roof, barely, and would be enough for a temporary hideout.
When they arrived, Val grabbed a few items from her cutter.
Sara entered warily, and Val followed with the children.
“Wow, how old is this place? It looks ancient,” Nick said.
“I suppose it’s ancient, but it serves its purpose,” Val replied, setting the items she carried on the floor. “Here’s a generator and a couple of lamps; make sure the light doesn’t show outside at night. I threw in a few toiletries and some meal packs—they won’t be as good as what you’re used to in the silo, but they’ll get you by. There’s a spring-fed creek out back. There’s a bucket for water over there, the other bucket—well, you can smell what that one’s for. Sorry about the stink. I didn’t get a chance to clean.”
“We’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about us,” Sara said.
Val continued, “I’ll send Grundy out here once a day with food and anything else you need. Only go outside when you absolutely must. Keep an eye out for drones, and if someone who isn’t Grundy or me stops by, run and hide, because they’re no friend. No one else knows you’re here, and I plan to keep it that way.”
“Will you let Joe know we’re safe?” Sara asked.
Val nodded. “I’ll let him know.” She then bent down to speak to the children. “I’ve seen you kids play hide-and-seek.”
“You mean hide-and-bounty-hunting,” Nick said.
She smiled. “Sure. And this is just like that, except you’ll be hiding for a really long time. You got that?”
They nodded.
“But I thought we were coming here to learn how to fight,” Romy said, sounding disappointed.
“You will, I promise. But you’re also going to stay here for the time being. It’s easier than coming and going from the silo.”
Neither seemed convinced, but they didn’t press. Val may have made a deal to serve Zenith in exchange for helping the refugees, but that deal didn’t extend to killing innocents. She touched the shoulders of both children and gave Sara a beseeching look. “Stay inside. If any of you are seen, I won’t be able to help.”
“You can count on us,” Sara said, and hugged Val.
Val disliked any sort of personal contact, but she allowed Sara to embrace her—even found an odd comfort in it, which is what made her pull away. She knew not to get too close to people; everyone she’d ever loved had died.
Chapter Sixteen
Joe drove his poor excuse for a cutter while Tote gave him directions to Roderick Sloan’s farm. Joe didn’t need directions—he’d been there before with Val—but Marco, Joe’s current identity, had never been through Clearwater before, let alone to Sloan’s estate, so he played dumb.
“You should see the farm in another mile or so,” Tote said, jerkily wiping something that had fallen from the torn headliner from his shoulder. “I’m surprised this thing still runs.”
“That makes two of us, but I’m not complaining,” Joe said.
“Neither am I, but I think it’s infested with something.”
“There’s a good chance of that. I came across it in a bad part of Cavil. It was the only unlocked cutter in the lot. Figured the owner didn’t think anyone would try to steal it.”
Tote sniffed. “Smells like the previous owner died in it.”
“That’s a definite possibility.”
“You’d better not tell anyone you stole it. Some of the squad leaders have a thing about upholding the law,” Tote said.
“Point taken, but from what I’ve seen in my life, there’s not a lot of law out there, let alone law worth upholding.”
They came around a bend, and the farm was ahead of them, though calling it a farm was like calling a sandbox a desert: Sloan’s estate stretched for miles, fields of crops and pastures with livestock extending farther than Joe could see. The farmstead was a collection of long industrial buildings—storage units, factories, slave housing, and barracks—and beyond the lush courtyard and several rows of vehicles stood the mansion. Where so many homes were built mostly underground, this was a replica of proud Southern plantations from a millennium ago.
Joe whistled. “That’s some setup.”
“That was my thought when my squad first got here. One thing’s for sure: Roderick Sloan has a thing for money and an even bigger thing for showing it off,” Tote said. “Unfortunately, the barracks are your standard MRC accommodations. Nothing fancy, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“As long as they have food, a bed, and running water, I’m happy.”
Tension constricted Joe’s chest when he pulled up to the gate. If anyone recognized him, there was nothing Val could do to save him. He’d be a dead man.
The guards at the gate wore dark blue MRC uniforms, plus helmets and chest armor. One approached him. She carried her blaster across her front, like the guard standing behind her.
Joe tried to open his window. It wouldn’t open, so he opened the door.
“Names and reason for your visit?” she asked.
Tote spoke first. “Greg Totler, trooper in Three-six, reporting for duty.”
“I’m Marco Polo, trooper in One-four, reporting for duty.”
The guard checked her armlet. “Trooper Totler, I have you down as absent without leave.”
“It was unintentional. Local law enforcement decided to detain us.” The guard raised an eyebrow, and Tote added, “Disturbing the peace.”
“Figures,” she said. “You can head back to your squad, but I don’t have a Trooper Polo on my roster.”
“I was separated from my squad in Cavil. That’s where I was detained. It took me a while to make it here.”
“And you said you’re with the One-four?” she asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“There’s no Squad One-four here,” she replied.
Joe smacked the side of the cutter. “You’ve got to be kidding me. They’re not here? I figured they were assigned up here along with everyone else after that business went down with Gabriel Sloan. Do you know if they were shipped back to MRC Central?”
“Don’t know. You hang with Three-six for now. I’ll notify Captain Stolichov. He can figure out what to do with you. You both head along to the barracks.” She turned away.
Joe closed the door, surprised at getting into Sloan’s stronghold so easily. You’d think Sloan would learn, what with an assassination attempt and his brother’s murder. But Joe had found that being smart didn’t always go hand in hand with being rich, and one thing money couldn’t buy was common sense.
Joe drove down a path to where a dozen or so black MRC transports were parked. Three huge tanks loomed behind them. He parked next to a transport, and found some pleasure in hoping that whatever critters had infested the cutter would venture out and invade the transports, or, better yet, the tanks.
Tote led Joe to the nearest building, a long metal structure that turned out to be the barracks. As they approached, Joe asked, “How much of the barracks are below ground?”
“None of it,” Tote replied.
“And it’s secure against dead winds?” Joe asked, referring to the radioactive winds that blew through the wastelands a couple of times every year.
“Yeah. The walls are insulated and the windows are double-paned. Boris assured us it’s safe.”
Joe didn’t believe that for a second. Anyone who built on the surface built, at a minimum, an underground shelter. Most chose to have their entire homes below the surface. After all, they’d lived in silos for generations. To his knowledge, building materials that fully protected against radiation were expensive. While he assumed the mansion was built of such materials, he would place bets that the soldiers based here were going to get cancer after a couple of seasons spent in
those barracks. He hoped he wouldn’t have to weather any dead winds in there.
Tote had been right about the barracks. They were simple, with rows of bunks filling half of the building. The other half contained a few open spaces, along with long tables for eating and socializing. There were only twenty soldiers inside at most, and Joe wondered where the rest were, as he hadn’t seen many outside.
“My squad bunks over here,” Tote said about a section of bunks, all completely stripped, as were many of the other bunks. He spread out his hands and did a one-eighty. “They’re empty. My squad’s gone.”
“They were shipped off with one of the tanks the other day. Every tank got a squad,” a man lounging in the common area called out.
“Oh.”
The man waved him off. “Don’t sound so disappointed, Tote. They’re out there, working and walking patrols. You get to stick around here and hang out.”
Tote shrugged. “You know what? You’re right. Thanks, Mutt.”
The door opened, and a burly man Joe recognized came toward them. Tote stiffened. “Captain Stolichov.”
“Tote.” Boris wore MRC cargo pants but just a tight black T-shirt, snubbing regulation. He seemed to have a permanent scowl. He gave Joe a once-over, looking straight at him with no hint of recognition on his features. They’d met before, though Joe had been wearing his exoshield then. “And who might you be?”
Joe straightened. “I’m Marco Polo, trooper from Squad One-four, last based at the Cavil administrative building, sir.”
“Your name’s Marco Polo? Who’d name their kid Marco Polo?” Boris asked, and Joe noticed a hint of amusement behind the dour expression.
“Certainly not me, sir.” Val would, and she thought it was funny.
“So, Marco, why are you here and not back in Cavil?” Boris asked.
“I was detained by the local police. When I got out, my squad and just about everyone else had cleared out. I came this way, thinking to catch up with them.”
“I’m not familiar with One-four, and Three-six rolled out yesterday. I could send you both to meet up with them, but they don’t need you right now. Not that I do, either, but I suppose I can put you two orphans to work. Because if there’s one rule in the wastelands, it’s that there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Now, get yourselves cleaned up and draw some new uniforms. You look like vagrants. I have the perfect job for you as punishment for letting yourselves get caught by the local law. I’m sending you into Clearwater, and if you’re lucky, you’ll run across that guy who’s pretending to be a cop and kill him.”