Across the bridge, the driver’s door opened and a man climbed out. The man was taller than even John and was shaped like a muscle-bound triangle from his shoulders to his feet. Despite his outer toughness, John thought his eyes looked young. He didn’t even have both feet on the ground before Tiny chimed over the walkie, “In my sights.”
“Hold until he proves a threat,” Kade responded as he climbed off the back of the ATV. Kade slid his rubber knuckles into place, then attached one end of a handcuff to his wrist. He handed another set to John. “Remember how we greeted you?”
John remembered all too well; he had been handcuffed to a bed for an entire night with Kade’s dirty sock forced in his mouth.
“Yes, sir,” John replied.
“We’re not taking chances. Stay behind me. Once he’s subdued, we can question him.”
John tucked the cuffs into his belt and retrieved his bow from the ATV. He nocked an arrow as they walked across the bridge. Sweat beaded on John’s forehead. They hadn’t had a stray since John, and that made him nervous for this man. He might not have the fortitude that John had to survive such an initiation.
“Is this Houghton?” the man asked as Kade approached.
“Sure is, friend. How can I help you?” Kade extended his hand. The man shook it. Fast as a mongoose, Kade locked the cuff on the man’s wrist, wrenched his arm behind his back, and put him face-first on the ground.
A high-pitched wail came from the Humvee. Kade nodded for John to check it out.
“Do what you want to me, but they’re just kids,” the man howled.
John approached the vehicle like a timid squirrel. In the back he could see three kids huddled together; none appeared to have reached adolescence.
“Jem sent me. We’re the ones he went back for,” the man pleaded.
John motioned to the kids to come forward, and as they climbed onto the bridge he noticed one of the boys had a cat in his jacket.
“Who is Jem?” Kade said.
“James Eric Masters, and he was with a police officer named Mick,” the man said.
“Let my coach go!” the kid with the cat yelled and charged forward, but John snagged him by the collar.
“Kids, stay back. It’ll be okay.” The coach cleared his throat. “James and Mick were detained. Jem asked me to come back here and tell you he’s sorry, and not to come for them.”
“I need more. He wouldn’t send you without something undeniable,” Kade said.
The kid pulled against John and said, “Jem loved my aunt. He saved us from the fire and led us back through the metro tunnels. He’s my friend and promised me you’re a good person.”
Kade relaxed the tension on the man’s arm. “What’s your name?” he asked the kid.
“Franklin.”
“He told me about you and your aunt. Welcome.”
John felt jealousy rising from the pit of his stomach as they escorted the newcomers back to Lambian. Kade seemed to be welcoming these strays as if they were family, whereas John had been forced to assume the lowest rank and was constantly called Stray, which he found to be about the most offensive epithet one could be called by this group.
“John, would you mind taking the kids to my sister and having her set up a room for them? Then meet us in the quorum,” Kade said.
John responded with a nod and led the kids back to the dorm, secretly hoping that someone else would start calling them strays.
Over the weeks since his introduction to the group, the name Stray had slowly dropped, but some members of the cohort still used it. Since Jem had given his seal of approval, these strays had been welcomed with a red carpet. They wouldn’t have to endure a night of torment, nor weeks of shunning.
John stopped with the three kids at a door marked with a duct-tape capital A and knocked. Kade’s sister Ashton, who was three years older than John at eighteen, opened the door.
“Kade wants you to get a room set up for them,” John told her.
“Kade wants me to do what?” Ashton asked.
“Please,” John said.
“Yeah, no thanks,” Ashton replied, talking over the kids like they weren’t standing between them.
“Your brother said so.”
“And I’m saying no.”
“I’ll take your waste disposal shifts this week.” Everyone hated that chore. Carrying five-gallon buckets of literal crap from the dorm to the creek wasn’t fun for anyone. They had gloves, but that didn’t stop the smell.
Ashton rolled her eyes and let out a huff. “Fine. But you’ll still owe me another favor, Stray.”
Stray. The word cut through him.
Ashton faked a grin and spoke to the children in a higher tone. John left her to wrangle the kids and jogged down the hallway to the meeting room. He swung the door open and flew into a seat, hoping he hadn’t missed much of the briefing. The entire center line of the room was ordered with the standard-issue dorm room desks and chairs, set in a way that they had a fourteen-person table that resembled a makeshift boardroom. Sitting along the rows were the new guy, Tiny, Kade, X, and Grace. It was a weird feeling not having Jem or Mick present, since they were the usual culprits for calling a quorum.
“Are you sure we can’t just leave them?” X asked.
“We can’t leave them to be executed any more than I’d leave you to die,” Kade replied.
“I can recall you leaving me once,” X said. There was no malice in his voice; this was his way of joking.
“And I came back to find you as soon as we were settled,” Kade replied.
“Kade did almost die coming to find you,” Tiny said, smacking the back of Kade’s head.
“He’s almost died a lot, and he was looking for his little sister, not for me,” X said.
“All the past. We need a plan to rescue Mick and Jem. Drew, you’re sure there is no way to reason or trade with them?” Kade asked.
Drew shook his head. “The president is fricking crazy. I’m surprised Jem wasn’t killed the moment they identified him.”
“Why don’t we just go get them back Bruce Willis–style?” X asked.
“We can’t just fight through a thousand vaccinated National Guardsmen,” Tiny said.
“Sneaking in will be hard enough. The place has been totally mobilized since James left,” Drew said.
A long silence settled over the tables while everyone pondered the options. John didn’t think there was anything they could do for those they had lost. Mick and Jem seemed as good as dead. The guardsmen sounded even worse than the Tribe. He couldn’t even think of the Tribe without getting chills.
“We should get the Tribe to fight the guardsmen,” John said to himself.
“Kid has a point. Maybe if we made the Tribe aware of the force in DC, they’d be more threatened by them than us,” Tiny added.
X cleared his throat. “Not that I’m afraid of the crazy one-way ideas, but what do you expect to do—ride up to the Tribe waving a white flag and negotiate a truce, then convince them to help us get Mick and Jem back? Why not ask Satan to lend a hand while we’re at it?”
Chapter II
The Devil You Know
Blaire Cunningham had been a CIA agent with a list of credentials longer than the Statue of Liberty. Before that, she had been an orphan raised in the government system—until she was saved by being conscripted into the service of her country. Now she was the president’s number one extractor of information, or inflictor of justice.
Growing up without a family, her only father had been the United States of America. Her brothers and sisters were those who had served beside her in the War on Terror. It still hurt to think that the terrorists were winning. That she had failed to see the threats.
The president had assured her there was nothing anyone could have done about it. That some of the terrorist agents claimed some of the attacks had been carried out by sleepers left over from as far back as the Cold War. It had been a long-term play with global cooperation against America, according t
o the president.
She took a special joy in drawing information out of those responsible. She could make it last for days—or weeks if she didn’t have a busy schedule, but she usually did.
Standing over what was once an industrial kitchen sink, she washed all of her instruments in a bucket of water and sterilized them. She didn’t want to give anyone the chance of taking the easy way out by contracting an infection of some kind. Lately, she had been working on two college kids who had helped raise a resistance to fight against the president and his men. She was hoping to learn that they had either been indoctrinated by one of the many terror groups that hated the United States, or that they were sympathizers who could give her information leading to finding more terror cells.
They may have wounded her father country badly, but America would never die so long as the president and his force stood. The fight would continue until the country was rebuilt and once again restored to its former glory.
She took in the smell of bleach—she had recently cleaned blood off her white uniform. The scent lingered around her like perfume, but she wasn’t going to give up wearing white while she worked. It allowed her projects to fully appreciate the beauty in her art of torture.
Her dossier today informed her of one James Eric Masters, who had infiltrated the National Guard and then stolen a helicopter in order to rescue the number one most wanted terrorist in America, Damian Zerris. Damian had been the lead medical researcher on the Feline Flu vaccine, which the terrorist had used to cripple America’s population. James had apparently returned to infiltrate their stronghold with the help of his friend, Mick McCracken.
Within their safe zone, Blaire had claimed an upscale steak house as her home and base of operation. The building was beautiful and had survived the battle for DC with minimal damage. From the balcony she had a breathtaking view of the Capitol Building, which constantly reminded her what she was fighting for. The former kitchen had metamorphosed excellently into her torture chamber. The space was large, filled with sturdy metal tables and plenty of places to hang things in place of pots and pans. Most conveniently, there were drains in the floor. She used a series of battery-powered LED lights to illuminate the room so she could see her work clearly.
Soon they would likely get back many of their old comforts. The president had put together a detail to head to the local water and power plants to see if they couldn’t get things back in order. He had told her that once they had power and water they could stop looking for survivors because they would come like a moth to the flame.
She took great joy in each step of the rebuilding the United States and gladly offered herself to help in any way possible. Oftentimes this involved the great honor of sharing the president’s bed.
The large kitchen doors swung open as two guardsmen walked a shackled man up to a metal table. She wrapped up the cloth sheath that held her instruments and went to meet her new project.
“My, my, James. It amazes me you were able to infiltrate the ranks of this great country’s military for so long, since you were stupid enough to return after your escape,” Blaire said.
The two guardsmen finished shackling the naked man to the table. Dismissing the troops with a wave of her hand, she was sad to see that her target had already been bruised. She much preferred a clean canvas.
James looked at her with blue eyes that reminded her of arctic waters.
“I was always a dutiful soldier,” Jem said.
“I have evidence to suggest otherwise,” she said, letting her knives clank along the table as she unrolled the sheath that held her instruments.
“I’ve already been sentenced to public execution. Do what you will,” James said, resting his head back like he was getting ready to take a nap.
“I will give you one chance to tell me everything. Who are you working for? Where is your cell set up? Where is the terrorist Damian Zerris? You tell me these things and I promise your last few days on this Earth won’t be painful.”
Though she made the offer, she prayed that he wouldn’t take it. She wanted to draw the information out of him. Let her hands do their beautiful work. Create a masterpiece, a piece of art the spilled blood of her countrymen deserved, and something so amazing that the president would be pleased with her.
“I’ve been through SERE school. Good luck,” James said.
Blaire clapped her hands like an excited kid. “I’m glad you said that.”
She always liked to start small to see what her quarry was capable of. The first things she pulled out were the sewing needles. Ten of them—one for each finger. Slide, slide, slide, blood, stop. With the first needle fully embedded under his pinky nail, she had to give this man credit—he hadn’t flinched once. His strong jaw was set in defiance. Slowly, at a pace only the universe could truly appreciate, she started on his ring finger. A minute later, when she finished the insertion, he still hadn’t let out so much as a gasp. She proceeded through the other eight fingers. Upon the insertion of the tenth pin, James’s hands were flexed tight while small trickles of blood ran from a few of his nails. He hadn’t made a sound. Excitement and worry danced inside of her as she recognized her victim’s fortitude. No one had ever before remained silent through all ten nails. If she could break him, he would be her best work yet. She tried not to entertain the idea that he might not be broken. Blaire buried the worry and smiled to herself. She was in for a fun week.
* * *
Kade, Tiny, and X rode in one of the Tribe’s Humvees and headed for their base, with a white flag sticking out of the top hatch. The plan wasn’t perfect, but Kade figured since there had never been a follow-up attack, the Tribe wasn’t necessarily a unified force. This meant they had a chance of discussing some sort of truce. The point was to convince them that they shared a common enemy now. A greater threat to both.
“There it is,” Tiny said as the military base appeared on the horizon. She slowed the Humvee to a stop a few lengths from the gate, leaving enough room to make a break for it if they had to flee.
“Tiny,” Kade said, and received a nod in return. Kade took a deep breath and opened the door. He stepped out of the vehicle and raised his hands above his head.
The gate was sided by watchtowers. Each tower held three men wearing drugstore breathing masks, all holding weapons trained on the Humvee.
“Identify yourself,” the sentries called.
“Kade Zerris,” he shouted back.
“Freeze,” the man hollered, unable to contain the alarm in his voice. “Anyone else with you—exit the vehicle with your hands up.”
“This was a stupid plan,” X said as they opened their doors and climbed out.
Tiny smiled at him. “When does he ever have a smart plan?”
“Point taken,” X said.
“Place your weapons on the ground,” the sentry barked.
Kade had left his weapons in the Humvee, and as his friends set their guns on the ground, he was glad he had been training as hard as he had been. They couldn’t take his hands from him.
The lead sentry chattered into his radio.
Kade met X’s black eyes and said, “This plan is going great.”
“Great?” X asked.
“They haven’t shot us yet,” Kade sincerely replied.
A feminine voice Kade recognized all too well came through the radio. “Hold fire. Contain them until the commander and I can get there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the lead sentry said. He crossed the space between the two groups and stood an arm’s reach from Kade.
The sentry slammed a punch into Kade’s gut, but seeing the punch coming, Kade stepped into it. He took the hit to his flexed abs before the swing had the chance to reach maximum velocity. Though it hurt, Kade didn’t flinch.
“I imagine you don’t like me much, so I’ll give you that one. Only that one,” Kade said.
The sentry looked back at his line of compatriots and let out a laugh. “Only that one?”
Kade nodded and noticed X toss
his cowboy hat to the side. He knew his friends would have his back if this turned into a brawl, but he hoped that these Tribesmen respected their leadership enough to keep this from turning into a gunfight. The sentry cocked to strike again. Kade slid into him and hooked his punch. Using the momentum, he spun the man’s body, wrenching the arm behind his back. There was a loud snap, followed by a quieter one as Kade dislocated the sentry’s shoulder, then broke his trigger finger.
A gunshot sounded that froze everyone in place, and a loud voice boomed over the group. “You were told to hold fire. I know we didn’t spell it out, but I expected you apes to be smart enough to understand that means not engaging in a fight.”
Kade realized then that during their battle the previous fall, they must have thinned the ranks of the Tribe’s more able-bodied soldiers—otherwise they would have found themselves under attack by the overwhelming numbers. He knew the Tribe couldn’t lead a full-on assault against DC, but they might have a few bodies that could help make Kade’s mission possible. The fear that kept whispering in his mind was that opening communication with the Tribe was the biggest mistake he could have made. A truce would make them more vulnerable than they already were.
The man in command of the group sent the Tribesmen back to their posts, leaving himself alone with the three of them. The soldier was tall and broad, with deep eyes and short brown hair. Just the way he carried himself would have clearly indicated he was the leader. He walked over to where X’s hat lay in the road and picked it up.
“The amazing Kade Zerris, who defeated the greatest soldier the Tribe had to offer, just casually shows up on my doorstep. What am I supposed to make of this?” the man said.
“Before we talk about anything else, I suggest giving my friend his hat back, or I can’t be held responsible,” Kade said.
The man crossed over to X and handed him his hat with a smile. “This would lead me to believe that you would be X the Fake Cowboy, and this would be the one they call Tiny, the—well, our source didn’t give a positive descriptor for you.”
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