After looking carefully around and nodding ever so slightly at a man who passed by our table, Myrtle said, "wait here, John. Someone will get you in just a few minutes. I will see you tonight. Don't worry, and don't panic. You are safe," Myrtle laughed. "Just don't take your hat off, even though the cameras in this food court are not working at the moment."
I waited for about ten minutes. I watched everyone who passed by trying to not let anyone know I was watching. Then, Toni walked up to my table and sat down.
She was wearing a blonde wig that made her look different, but it was Toni. She was also carrying an armload of shopping bags from various stores in the mall. She smiled at me when she sat down. I was surprised to find that, not only was I glad to see her, but that I had also missed her when she was gone. That both bothered and surprised me. I was still morning Susan. I had no room in my life right now for anyone else.
I thought about Susan while Toni chattered about this store's sale and that store's sale, a dialogue, obvious to me anyway, designed to make her and, by association, me seem to be completely unremarkable citizens, or sheeple.
I noticed that Toni was wearing a wedding ring and an engagement ring on her left hand. She had not been wearing them before. I also noticed that her rings matched the white gold band that I still wore. Toni must have noticed my glance.
"Security is in the details, John," she said very quietly. "There are no working cameras, or microphones in this spot right now, but the cameras and microphones in the rest of the mall are just as active as ever, and feed directly into the government database. We have found that sometimes it is the smallest of details that can fool the feds. Just pretend like you are married to me when we walk out. Just for the cameras, you know."
I nodded, still thinking of Susan. I did note a sort of wistfulness in Toni's expression that seemed a little out of place. Thinking about that I realized that she knew a lot about me but I knew very little about her—yet I willingly trusted my life to her.
Toni stood and rummaged in one of her bags. She came up with a dark blue lightweight windbreaker and another ball cap. This cap was green and said John Deere on the front. I shrugged into the windbreaker and switched hats, after flipping the hidden switch inside the new one. Toni smiled approvingly. "Let's go, Sweetheart," she said.
I was a bit shocked by her use of the term sweetheart, but I figured it was just part of the cover, so I got up and walked along beside her. As we left the food court, I noticed that three rather average-looking men were following us, not obviously though. Before everything that had happened, I doubted I would have noticed. I tapped Toni on the shoulder and ever so slightly pointed at one of them with my chin. Toni's eyes widened a bit, and she stood on tiptoe and whispered in my ear.
"They are ours. Relax if you can and laugh like I said something funny.” I laughed a bit. Toni smiled at me as if I was the center of her universe, and I marveled at her acting skill. She almost had me fooled, so I thought she could fool the cameras very well.
We walked all the way to the other end of the mall and exited through the J. C. Penny store. I walked alongside Toni and she went straight to a suburban-looking, crossover vehicle. One of those things that city people thought was a real backwoods vehicle, and rural folks thought was a useless city vehicle.
Toni got behind the wheel, and I got into the passenger seat. For such a large car, there was remarkably little room in the cab. I figured these things were marketed to women and midgets, or something. I missed my pickup truck and wondered again what had happened to the 'Beast'. I knew Henry was missing his truck too. I owed him my life as well as a truck.
We drove for about 30 minutes, mostly in silence, although Toni glanced at me from time to time. We were out in the countryside now. I noticed a railroad overpass coming up. Somehow I wasn't surprised when Toni stopped the car under it. There were no other cars in sight.
"We get out here," she said.
I opened the passenger door and stepped out. A man about my size, wearing the same kind of jacket as the one I had on, was suddenly standing there. He took the hat off my head, handed me his, and got into the passenger seat with just a wink. I noticed a lady dressed the same as Toni, and about her size, also suddenly appeared on her side of the car. She traded places with Toni. Toni smiled as they drove away leaving us standing under the railroad overpass.
"Just wait a bit.” Toni smiled at me. "Everything is good."
A white trade van approached about two minutes later. It was moving slowly. Once under the overpass, it stopped and the back door swung open. Taking my hand, Toni led me into the back of the van. The man inside smiled and closed the door behind us. Again I wondered at the size of the group I had stumbled onto. They seemed to have endless resources, not that I minded at the moment.
Toni and I sat on folding chairs in the back of the van. The fellow who had opened the rear door for us had crawled back into the passenger seat in the cab and was having an animated conversation with the driver about deer hunting. Toni held her finger to her lips to indicate we shouldn't talk. That suited me quite well. I had a lot of thinking to do about what had happened, how I would get the bastards who had killed Susan, and, oddly enough, about Toni. She had shed her blonde wig and looked normal again, but no less appealing. I wondered if I were undergoing some sort of transference from Susan to Toni. I vowed to myself to honor Susan's memory.
I did have to admit to myself that it seemed strange that I, who, until recently, had never fired a shot in anger, nor even used my fists in a fight, was doing my best to figure out how to kill people. Not only to kill the drone operators, I also wanted to choke the life out of whoever had given the order for the attack with my own hands—even if it was the president of the country.
Somehow, my life now didn't fit with my previous anti-war, anti-violence stance. Although I had a few guns, inherited from my father, when Susan and I married, I had seldom fired them before Susan and I began prepping. I think I kept them just because they had belonged to my father. I couldn't even begin to picture myself shooting anyone. I often hoped when I was younger that I would never be in a position to need to use a gun on another human being. I greatly admired the folks who said to always turn the other cheek.
I now realized I had been wrong; that sometimes violence is not only justified, it is necessary simply because there are evil people in the world who can be stopped by nothing else. I realized that there is no difference between defending yourself when attacked by a mugger who wants to take your life or when attacked by a government who wants to take your life.
We drove for a while and then turned down a dirt road onto a prosperous-looking cattle farm. The work van drove into one of the machine sheds. We got out when the back door opened. It was Doc who opened the door.
"Glad to see you made it, John," he said. The smile in his voice was genuine. I discovered that I liked this young doctor very much, even if sometimes I feared his driving.
After the van left, one by one, we walked over to the house. It was a sprawling, quasi-Victorian, story and a half monster, with a tiny tower, and an extensive wrap-around porch. It just oozed expensive.
"Welcome home, John," Toni said as she and I walked through the door. Myrtle was there and stepped over and gave me a bear hug that I thought I might not survive.
A small fellow entered the room. He was Walter Mittyish in appearance but walked with a quiet confidence that instantly drew my attention. He strode up to me and extended his hand. "Hi John. I am Lorne Vanders. This is my home."
I shook his hand. "Thank you for the refuge," I said.
"Think nothing of it, John," he said. "What you did was amazing. I suspect you have little idea how much of an impression you made on the government and how badly they want you now. We have been but quiet resistors—until now. Your story has gone viral on the internet, at least the parts of the internet where the government has little control, and is stirring up a hotbed of anti-government sentiment.
"I am more tha
n a little pissed at them myself," I replied. "I assume you guys had something to do with my story appearing on the internet?"
"Yes."
"I know you are probably tired but, if you would like, we can use your skill with that rifle of yours. I just got word that there is something in Colorado that needs to be done. We are flying there in two hours, if you want to come along. We may need to shoot some ground hounds."
"What the heck is a ground hound?” I asked. Lorne explained and the more I heard, the more I felt sick to my stomach. I realized that these ground hounds were not the ones who had killed my Susan, but from what Lorne told me, they would have done so with no hesitation.
"Toni put her hand on my shoulder. "John, the hounds are real. I lost my husband, my sister, and my niece to them a year ago.” I looked into Toni's eyes. I could see the pain in her face because I recognized the same pain in my own face every time I looked into the mirror.
"I will go, but I don't have my rifle," I said.
"It is already here," Lorne said. We also have field equipment for you.
"Good!” Doc said. "We need you on this one, I think."
Myrtle said, "I wish I could go, but with my size, I would just be in the way."
"Be careful," Toni said, touching my arm. I was too lost remembering Susan and thinking about what I wanted to do to get even with the government to notice.
Chapter 7: THE MOUNTAIN
"Turning the other cheek never works when you are dealing with psychopaths.” John Debrouillard
Colorado: The Front Range
Peggy awoke in the early dawn and realized that she had best get moving. There was frost on the ground, but she was still warm from the embers of the fire in her overhang. Reluctantly, she kicked dirt over the embers and, having nothing to carry except the sharp rock in one jeans pocket and the plastic lighter in the other pocket, quickly set off down the mountain. She knew she needed to get off the mountain as soon as she could because she was poorly equipped to survive in the wilderness, although she was surprised at how proud of herself she was so far. She knew her father would be proud of her, if he knew.
Peggy was cold but walking helped some. She kept walking along the stream for about two miles. There, she noticed that there was a long ledge of bare rock on the left stream bank. The ledge of smooth gray rock ran diagonally up the slope to the ridge. Thinking that the ledge of bare rock might help hide her tracks, she walked into the stream and waded downstream for about ten yards. Next, she carefully took her shoes and socks off, and washed her feet. She then stepped onto a small rock in the stream and, from there onto the rock ledge, being careful not to touch anything except bare rock.
Once on the ledge, she took her shirt off and carefully dried her feet, and then put her not so dry shirt back on, stuffed her socks into her shoes, and tied the laces together so she could hang the shoes around her neck.
Once she was ready, she moved as rapidly as she could along the rock ledge. Walking barefoot on the rock felt like walking on ice, but she kept going. After almost a mile, she climbed to the ridge staying as much as possible on bare rock and brushing out her tracks where there was no bare rock. She doubted it would fool one of those trackers for very long, but she knew she had to keep moving as carefully, yet as far and as quickly as she could.
Once on the ridge, she put her socks and shoes on, walked to where she could not be seen from the other side of the ridge, and started down the next small valley at a pretty good jog. It was a pace she could keep up for quite a while, even in this broken terrain, although it required almost complete concentration from her. She thought she would make it as far down the mountain as she could and then figure out how to hide for the night. She didn't know how she would do that yet, but she knew she was going to try as hard as she was able.
Six hours later she was almost 15 miles farther down the mountain. She was exhausted. Peggy had not had anything to eat since yesterday morning, and she was beginning to weaken. She knew she was mentally tough enough to keep going anyway, but she wasn't sure how long she might have to keep going, and that worried her.
Mississippi
Lorne Vanders climbed into the pilot's seat and began confidently fiddling with the controls. I watched him from the back seat and my respect for the man grew. Doc climbed into the passenger seat and buckled in. Lorne fired up the jets while carefully checking everything out.
"We are going to fly from Mississippi to Colorado in this?” I asked. "How often will we need to refuel?"
"Just once on the way," Doc replied as Lorne stayed busy with the controls.
"That is a very long range for such a small jet, isn't it?” I asked.
"Yes it is," Lorne replied. "This is an Eclipse 550. It has a range of over 1,000 miles and carries up to four passengers. That should be enough though, if the forth isn't as big as you, John.
I could see Lorne's smile so I figured he wasn't too upset by my size. I reasoned the weight limit was why Myrtle wasn't going. After all, he had military training and I didn't. He would be a better team member on a mission like this than I would.
Lorne taxied the jet out of the machine shed, down the driveway, and onto a long, straight stretch of blacktop.
"Aren't you worried about cars on the road?” I asked.
"Lorne said, "No. The road is private and all on the ranch. We built it to look like a blacktop road, but we use it mostly for a runway. It is 3,500 feet long, just enough for this little jet.
"Big place, then," I said.
"Yes," Lorne agreed. "Over 30,000 acres. For Mississippi, that is a huge place. However, on the record, it is divided among several different owners."
"Don't you have to file a flight plan?” I asked.
"Well, we are supposed to," Lorne laughed, "but sometimes I just forget."
Doc said, "this baby has a military transponder, among others, as well as anti-radar devices."
"Yeah," Lorne responded. "If we are careful, and we are always careful, we can make the occasional flight like this one undetected."
"I assume this flight is important?” I asked.
"Yes John," Doc said. "We need to take someone out of the frying pan.”
Lorne taxied the plane onto the runway and then took off. It was indeed a speedy little jet. The takeoff forcefully set me back in my seat. Once we reached altitude, Doc filled me in on the mission. As he spoke, I got angrier and angrier with the government. After what I had been through, I believed everything Doc told me.
The jet flew at 450 miles per hour. Counting the stopover at a private airport near Tulsa to refuel, we were over central Colorado in just three and a half hours. I wasn't sure where we were landing when Lorne started the descent, but I knew it would be dark soon. I leaned forward and watched through the window as the nose dipped. After a while, I could see a faint white stripe on the land surface. It looked to be out in the middle of nowhere.
"Y'all hang on now," Lorne said. "This might get a bit rough since the landing strip is 200 feet short of what the specs suggest for this baby."
Lorne was right. The deceleration after the wheels touched the terminal was rough. I felt as if I was going to fly forward right through the windshield from the back seat despite the seat belt and shoulder harness. Somehow I didn't. We stopped with only a hundred feet of runway left.
"Better this time," Doc laughed. I wondered just where and how often these guys flew. And the thought also occurred to me to wonder how they could afford it.
Once the plane was stopped, Doc let the stairs built into the hatch down and we deplaned. I had the small tiger stripe camouflage backpack they had provided and my Ranch Rifle, now freshly cleaned and with four more 20 round magazines than I had left home with. That gave me 160 rounds for the rifle. I also had my Browning High Power pistol and four extra magazines. The .22 pistol stayed behind, but I now had a KaBar combat knife in its place.
I went down the steps first. Doc followed, carrying a small pack like mine, and an AR-15 rifle. Soon after D
oc hit the tarmac, Lorne did too. Lorne was also carrying a small backpack, and what looked to be a WWII surplus Garand rifle that seemed almost as big as he was. Somehow I didn't doubt he could use it. That was the type of rifle Audie Murphy used in WWII and Audie Murphy was only a little bigger than Lorne. I had never fired a Garand myself.
We were barely on the tarmac when a pickup truck rolled up and a tall cowboy got out. "Howdy, Lorne," he said.
"Hello Dusty," Lorne smiled. "How ya doing?"
"Pretty well, considering," Dusty said. "We can talk later. Let me get y'all to the hanger.” Lorne got into the cab of the truck after handing me his rifle. Doc and I climbed into the truck bed. Doc went first and I passed the rifles up to him, one by one. The rifles were not yet loaded; that made me feel better. I had barely gotten situated before the truck rolled off.
"Gee, this guy drives like you, Doc.” I said. Doc just smiled and hung on just like I was doing, only I had two rifles to hang on to while he just had one.
The truck stopped in front of a big machine shed—the kind that back in Indiana we call pole barns. This one was about 30 feet high, 40 feet wide, and 80 feet long. There was a sleek, black helicopter sitting on the tarmac in front of that fancy pole barn. When the truck stopped, Lorne jumped out and was in the pilot's seat in a flash. Doc and I stowed our gear and the three rifles in the outside bin, and then got into the helicopter. Again, Doc rode shotgun.
Without a word, Lorne fired up the chopper and, as soon as the turbines reached speed, tilted the chopper forward and almost catapulted it into the air. Doc was busy with some fancy equipment in front of him and Lorne had headphones on so I didn't try to talk to either of them. We flew for about an hour and then Lorne started circling while Doc studied the screen in front of him.
Drone Wars 1: The Beginning Page 8