The President nodded once. The orders he’d sent to the Resistance had been quite clear. Collaborators, particularly willing collaborators, were to be killed, preferably in such a manner as to discourage others from following in their footsteps. A handful of low-level collaborators had already been shot, or blown up with a car bomb, but none of them had been real filth. They’d just been men and women working to feed their families. The list Karen had sent them included the ones who had literally sold their souls to the aliens. They were the real targets, yet striking at them was going to be difficult. The aliens guarded them well.
His eye skimmed through another data packet. Karen had described life inside Washington in blunt uncompromising phrases. The collaborators were living the high life, with wine, women and song, while the ordinary population came closer and closer to starvation. The President could see the underlying motive – a broken population was one that would serve the aliens, if only to avoid death – yet it still made his blood boil. No one did that to Americans. No one. He read a line informing him that one of the foremost data experts working for the aliens had organised himself a harem of girls and shuddered. He hated to think of the fresh-faced girl he remembered meeting in the White House trapped in such an environment. It would warp even a saint.
Pepper was reading another section. “It says here that the aliens are already expanding the Order Police under General Howery,” she said, slowly. “If we take this as read, they already have at least five thousand policemen ready and raring to go and more on the way. Is that even possible?”
“Maybe not very well trained policemen,” the President said, who had bitter memories of attempting to train the Iraqi Police after the invasion. Wishful thinking and political correctness had rendered them useless until the defects had been fixed, after a horrifying cost in time and lives. “But they’ve got the Walking Dead. They’ll have leaders and people who know what the hell they’re doing. Hell, they even have some of our police on the streets!”
The reports had been all too clear. Some state and city governments had urged their police forces to remain on the streets and maintain order, in order to avoid having the alien warriors restoring order through deadly force. The President couldn’t blame them for the decision, but it came far too close to collaboration and it wouldn’t be long before it crossed the line. How long would it be before SWAT teams found themselves breaking into resistance bases in order to save the aliens the trouble? The entire situation was a horrible ghastly mess.
“We did provide the Order Police with some recruits,” Pepper reminded him. “We’ll have insights into how they operate and what they’re doing while under alien command. We’ll even be able to track them as they move out and prepare ambushes once they start expanding out of the cities. We could hurt the bastards.”
“Unless they identify our men and convert them into Walking Dead,” the President said, pessimistically. It was a recurring danger. No one knew how many files the aliens might have captured, but it was far too possible that they’d have a list of everyone who’d every served in the armed forces, in any role. They’d compare the biometrics of their new recruits to the files and discover just how many of them might be working for the resistance. If they were smart, they wouldn’t kill them out of hand, but covert them into Walking Dead and use them to feed information to the resistance. “What happens if they do that?”
He hit the table angrily. “What happens if they do that?”
“We watch, we wait, and we cover our butts every way we can,” Pepper said. She didn’t show any sign of being worried by his sudden explosion. She’d once told him she’d witnessed worse behaviour from his predecessor. “They’re powerful, they’ve got the cities and the military bases, but they’re not gods. They can be beaten.”
“I hope you’re right,” the President said. “I really hope you’re right.”
***
Greg Ross put his stepdaughter to bed and read her a bedtime story. She might have been only six years old, but a combination of semi-homeschooling and an enquiring mind had led to her reading at a much higher level. She had passed the sixth Harry Potter book last month, despite Greg’s private concerns that the story would scare her. It was impossible to believe that anything would scare her for long. She took after her father like that and if Nicolas Little had ever been scared of anything, Greg had never seen any sign of it. The man, if half of his stories were true, had done things that would daunt ninety-nine percent of the human race.
“Goodnight, Nancy,” he whispered, as he turned out the light. Mannington still had power, thankfully, even if it came at a cost. The TV news was full of lies these days – the cynics in the town suggested that there had been no real change – yet some items stood out, including the promise that free power would be provided – soon – for all American citizens. It was just another bribe, the general consensus had decided. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He blew her a kiss and closed the door behind him, feeling his shoulders slump as soon as the door was closed. Daily life had become a struggle, even though he'd taken the precaution of stockpiling as much food, drink and ammunition as he could ever since the alien mothership had been detected. It wouldn’t last forever and even a place like Mannington couldn’t feed itself indefinitely. Greg had heard some of the farmers warning that they needed supplies and equipment that they had purchased from China, which had collapsed into civil war. Even if China had still been the aspiring superpower that everyone feared and distrusted, the aliens had shut down most international shipping. The farmers would have to make do without it. The siege mentality was setting in all over the town. How long would it be before they turned on each other? He checked the tiny pistol in his pocket out of habit. It had been a gift from Nicolas, who’d urged him to carry it at all times, gun laws or no gun laws. His daughter had to be protected.
The stairs seemed narrower than every as he walked down them towards the kitchen. He’d taken to cooking enough stew and curry to last them for a few days, even if it was monotonous, and he had intended to prepare it when Nancy finally went to bed. She’d been outside playing with her friends – luckily, there was nothing on television for the children, an oversight on the part of the aliens – and had been tired, yet she was untouched by the horrors that gripped the country. He hoped – prayed – that it would stay that way, but he knew it wouldn’t. Two doors down, there was a little girl on the verge of running out of the insulin she desperately needed. When she ran out, she would die.
He stepped into the kitchen and stopped. Something was wrong. One hand reached for the pistol, but it was too late. A strong pair of hands caught his arms and held them tightly, rendering him immobile. Greg felt a moment of bitter pain – he had failed Nancy and his late wife – before a voice whispered in his ear.
“It’s me,” Nicolas said. He let go of Greg’s arms carefully. “Don’t worry. Relax.”
Greg rubbed his arms. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”
“Yes, that would be clever,” Nicolas said, dryly. The SEAL – if he was still a SEAL – wandered over to the table and sat down on one of the chairs. “The last thing either of us needs is someone knowing that I’m here. The aliens may not know who I am, but you can bet your bottom dollar I’m on their shit list, if not the shoot on sight list. You need to alter those locks, by the way. I picked my way in far too quickly.”
Greg scowled at him. Nicolas looked…tired, rather than anything else. He was intimidating, with what looked like muscles on his muscles, yet they’d never had a real disagreement. The separation between Nicolas and his wife had been amiable and they’d both put Nancy first. Even after their wife had died, they still put the child first. A SEAL had no time to raise a child and everyone knew it. Nancy’s exact legal status might be a little vague, but she had two fathers. Everyone thought that they were homosexual.
“The locks weren’t designed for a SEAL breaking and entering,” he said. “Coffee?”
“If yo
u have it, yes please,” Nicolas said. “Don’t use too much of it. People will be buying and selling their souls for a cup of coffee before too long.”
“I have noticed,” Greg said, dryly. The town stores were out of coffee and very little was trickling in from the outside. The dollar was worthless now. Whatever currency the aliens intended to introduce would have to be built up from the ground. “It’s not easy to get much of anything here.”
He poured two cups and passed one of them over to Nicolas, who sipped it gratefully. “Nancy was hoping to see you soon,” he said. “Will you have time…?”
“I don’t think that she should know I was here,” Nicolas said, flatly. “I’m…don’t push for details, but I’ve been operating against the aliens for the last few weeks. I’d strongly suggest that you kept that to yourself for the moment. No one else needs to know.”
Greg nodded. The alien television channel showed little about resistance activity, but the Internet was buzzing with stories of ambushes, raids and bombings, each one taking out a handful of aliens. It was hardly a surprise that Nicolas would be involved in the resistance. A former SEAL could expect no mercy from an occupying power. They probably had him on a death list.
“I understand,” he said, finally.
“No, you don’t,” Nicolas said. “We have information that suggests that the aliens intend to start expanding out of the cities towards the towns very soon, perhaps within the week. All of you will be registered and added to their database. I saw those kids out there training and I’m telling you that they will not stop the aliens. They may give the Order Police pause, but not their alien masters. The Orcs will crush anyone who stands in their way. When that happens…you have to make sure that Nancy is registered in your name, as your daughter.”
“I see,” Greg said. Truthfully, Nancy was already registered as his daughter. He'd formally adopted her when he’d married her mother, just to prevent legal problems in later life. “What happens if they take a blood sample and do a paternity test? They’ll know she’s not mine.”
“Then we’re screwed anyway,” Nicolas said. He finished his coffee and put the cup down on the table. “We don’t know how much the aliens know or care about our relationships, but if they know about me and they locate Nancy…they’ll try and use her against me. Even if it’s too vile an idea for alien minds, one of the Order Police will think of it. The fucking Nazi wannabes will be quite happy to think of it and serve their masters. They’re drawn from the very scum of society. The occupation of Mannington is not going to be pleasant.”
Greg winced. “Should I take her out of the town?”
“If I knew where you could go, I’d recommend that,” Nicolas said. “We can’t take her to a resistance safe house or a survivalist retreat. Staying here under your name might be the safest course of action. We don’t have any better ideas.”
“We?” Greg asked.
“Don’t ask,” Nicolas advised. He stood up and paced over to the window, peering out into the darkness. “One day, we’ll drive those bastards off our planet and then life can return to normal.”
“If it ever does,” Greg said. He was something of a historian. “France was torn apart for years after the end of the German Occupation.”
“Ah, that was just the Frogs,” Nicolas said. He chuckled, and then sobered. “I remember training with some of their Special Forces units, back when the world made sense. They were good guys, screwed up by their own government, just like us.”
He winked at Greg. “If I don’t see you again, take care of her and yourself,” he said, pulling a small envelope out of his pocket. “If you don’t hear from me in a year, give that to Nancy. And thank you for everything.”
“You too,” Greg said. “Don’t get killed out there.”
“I’ll try my hardest not to get killed,” Nicolas said. “Don’t take risks. Don’t try to be a hero. Just…take care of her.”
He slipped out of the rear door and vanished into the darkness.
Chapter Twelve
Chicago, USA (Occupied)
Day 116
Linda lay where the Mayor had left her until she was sure he had gone, and then she pulled herself to her feet, rubbing at the bruises that covered her body. Everyone had known that the Mayor of Chicago was a womaniser without taste or conscience, but no one had known just how far his tastes ran, not until alien horrors had descended on the city and given him supreme power over the humans within, as long as he worked for them. Linda had been the daughter of his main political opponent before the aliens had arrived and dragging her into his bed had been a ‘fuck you’ of monstrous proportions. No one knew what had happened to Linda’s mother, who had challenged the Mayor in the last election, but her father had apparently been shipped off to a work camp and Linda herself…
She looked into the mirror and winced again. The Mayor had left marks all over her teenage body, each one a reminder of her new status. Like the other girls in the harem, she wasn’t allowed to wear clothes or leave the complex without special permission and everyone would see her scars. She had lost her body modesty days – it felt like years – ago. All she wanted was to go home and crawl until the bed and hide. She wanted to escape the nightmare of alien horrors and men with cold dead eyes. The Walking Dead terrified her. The Mayor had told her that if she didn’t cooperate, she’d end up just like them. After several days in the Mayor’s service, along with seventeen other teenage girls and one who was probably underage, she was past caring. She had to strike back somehow.
The bottle of the Mayor’s best vodka lay where he’d left it, leaving them with strict orders not to touch it on pain of a beating, or worse. She picked it up and took a sip, washing the bitter taste of his mouth away with another taste, before spitting it out into the sink. The others took their own sips, she knew, and the Mayor – despite his threats – didn’t seem to care. Perhaps he was worried about satisfying the horrors. If he failed to please the aliens, he might be next on the list to be converted into one of the Walking Dead. She hoped that they’d kill him sooner or later. It wouldn’t matter if she were killed herself at the same time, as long as he was dead.
She had no apartment to herself, but each of the harem – the whores, she’d come to realise – had a section of their room that belonged to them and them alone. The others had gone down to the gym to work out – the Mayor was keen that they all remained in shape, even if he was tending towards flab – leaving her with him on her own. It didn’t matter. None of them were any freer than she was. They couldn’t help her against him. She hunted through her bunk roll and located the cell phone she’d managed to conceal within her bedding. The aliens either hadn’t found it or didn’t care. She didn’t dare call anyone – she had a vague idea that the aliens would be able to trace the call – but she could send text messages. She’d prepared the message she wanted to send already. Now that the Mayor was on his way…
One finger pushed the button and the message was sent. The brief contact from outside had reassured her that there were people out there who were still fighting, but how could she carry on after betraying the Mayor so badly? If he or his successor found out, she was dead…and she no longer wanted to live. She walked into the bathroom and found the collection of pills that had been made available for the Mayor’s harem. Pouring a glass of water, she started to swallow them one by one.
By the time they found her, she had been dead for over an hour.
***
The new training ground for the Order Police had been placed inside a massive sports complex, allowing them access to a gym, running ground, shooting ranges and everything else they required to train as paramilitary policemen. Edward had spent two days talking to the trainers and others who had worked in the complex before the aliens closed it down and sent them all home and he had a fairly good idea of the layout, but he also knew that the aliens had it under close supervision. They’d arrived in force, taken over the building and evicted the previous occupants…and since the
n, they’d kept it under heavy guard. The handful of humans who he’d sent to the Order Police had reported that everyone who went in and out was scanned by the aliens, who used sensors that seemed to locate any hidden surprises. Edward had slipped a makeshift IED into one of the alien packages to test the limits and hadn’t been surprised when it had been discovered. The alien sensors were good.
He’d thought about setting up mortars and shelling the complex from a distance, but that would have had two disadvantages. One, it would have revealed that the resistance had mortars, and two, it would have brought the aliens down on their heads. Back in Iraq, radars had tracked incoming mortar shells and counter-battery shells had been fired back at the launchers, hopefully killing the insurgents before they could escape or set the mortar up somewhere else. They could have rigged the mortar to fire automatically and fled the area before the aliens counterattacked, but that would have cost them the mortar and God alone knew when they’d get more supplies from outside the city. The aliens had sealed off the roads – sometimes knocking down entire buildings to make the task easier – and there were limits to how much they could bring in through the tunnels. Besides, he wanted the strike to be dramatic. The aliens had to know how badly they’d been hurt.
“Get in, kill the bastard, get out again,” he muttered to himself. He’d thought about using a sniper rifle from a distance, but that wouldn’t have had the same effect. Besides, the aliens knew about snipers now and tended to have their warriors crawling over the rooftops, watching for possible threats. Several of them had been killed by emplaced IEDs, but it hadn’t discouraged the practice. “Let’s see now…”
The Mayoral car could be seen in the distance, escorted by a handful of Chicago’s finest, all carrying weapons and looking very official. The police force seemed to have split down the middle; some had agreed to try to keep the peace, others seemed to have gone over completely to the aliens, and quite a few had simply vanished. The Bitch Queen’s source had suggested that the policemen who had refused to do even the bare minimum had been transported out of the city to an unknown destination. The odds, Edward had decided, was that their treatment wouldn’t be very pleasant. A handful of senior officers had been converted into Walking Dead and they’d be keeping an eye on the remaining unconverted officers. They wouldn’t be able to get away with much under their supervision.
Outside Context Problem: Book 02 - Under Foot Page 11