Grey could only conclude that he'd been seen and that an ambush had been set up. He was angry at himself for his lack of judgment and he was angrier when he realized that he would have to abandon the Subaru and jog back to the lake.
"Fuck," he said and then adjusted his gear to keep it from bouncing too much. When he was ready he took one more pull from his bottle and started jogging on a straight line through the forest. "I wanna be an airborne ranger; live a life of sex and danger…" he chanted the old cadence and ate up the miles.
At one minute after four he came up to the temporary mooring spot of the Floating Island and surprised the sentry who had been practically dozing with the heat and boredom.
"You scared me," Marybeth said, a little embarrassed that he had come so close without her noticing.
"Next time splash cold water on your face when you get sleepy," he advised. "You got a whole lake of it."
"How'd it go?" she asked, clearly deciding not to dwell on the issue of her inattentiveness.
"Good," he answered, walking past her and to the edge of the formation of boats. He took off his boots, emptied his pockets, set his M4 against a tree and waded into the water. The entire settlement roused themselves to watch as he dunked himself.
"Hi Mister Captain Grey, sir," Jillybean said from the shore. "Did you win?"
"I won a battle, but not the war. How's Eve doing?"
Jillybean scratched her butt and answered: "Happy. She likes people and people like her. Ipes says she's getting spoiled, but this was after she stuck his ear in her mouth and got it all drooly."
"That's great," Captain Grey replied before immersing himself again. "Anyone have any soap? I might as well take a bath and wash my clothes while I'm here."
While one of the women disappeared from sight to fetch some soap, Michael Gates said, "Why don't you tell us what happened first?"
"Not much to tell. I killed a few of them; four for sure. The good news is that they're not military. Defensively they were respectable, which was surprising. Offensively they suck. I was ambushed and all they managed to do was kill some bushes. They couldn't shoot worth shit."
"Ahem," Jillybean said. She had taken off her tennis shoes and was rolling her pants high up on her legs in preparation to join Grey.
Grey ignored her and her puritanical streak. "It was a learning experience. They had to have had at least three observation sites. Next time I'll take them out first. Then they'll be blind."
"Maybe," Clara Gates said. She and a few others had their heads poking through the fake Christmas trees; they reminded Grey of human ornaments. "They have lots of observation sites."
Her husband, Shawn agreed. "They have more than you think. They always catch you coming or going."
"That would be better if it was true," Jillybean said. She was up to her bony knees in the water, while Ipes was safe on shore.
Grey looked at her sharply, trying to discern her meaning and Shawn turned his sandy-blonde head to her and asked, "What do you mean by that? Are you calling me a liar? Grey, you should teach that girl manners."
"She has more manners than I do," he replied. And she has more brains as well, he thought, but didn't say. Why would she call Shawn a liar? Or was it just the fact that she didn't think they had lots of observation points that was the issue? He shrugged; it seemed to be an inconsequential point in his mind. "They have enough to do the job. That's what counts."
"I don't think they have any," Jillybean said. Now, she was bent over getting the sleeve of her yellow shirt wet as she fished for something under the water. She pulled up a rock. "Watch me make it skip. That's what means making it jump on the water."
It didn't skip at all. She threw using only her arm, not getting any of her skinny little body behind the throw and it just plopped into the water. "Hmm," she said, with a look of disgust.
Captain Grey didn't concern himself with the rock. "Why don't you think they have any?"
She suddenly grew sad as if what she had to say was going to pain her. "Because they don't need any, I guess. Miss Clara told them you were coming. So having observational…"
"What did she just say?" Clara demanded, furiously. "Did you just say what I think you said?" Clara Gates was not an attractive woman in Grey's mind and when she grew angry and her eyes bugged and her hair stood up and went in every direction, she reminded him of the medusa from Greek lore.
"You don't talk like that to your elders, little girl," Shawn said, angrily. "You owe my wife an apology. Now say you're sorry."
Instead of apologizing, Jillybean studied Shawn for so long that he grew uncomfortable and looked to Grey for an answer. Grey had been staring absently across the lake while his mind worked, going over every moment of the ambush. Finally he said, "I think you're wrong on this one, Jilly. They were prepared but not nearly prepared enough to suggest someone from this camp warned them."
"You are actually entertaining the idea that Clara somehow told them?" Marybeth asked in disbelief. "That's crazy. Maybe you don't realize this but not only was she taken by them her daughter was as well."
"The little girl knows it quite well," Michael Gates said. "She was talking with Joseph and he told her everything. I overheard it. Just like I overheard some other, more interesting conversations she had when no one was around. I think we all know what I'm talking about. Maybe we should just move on to another subject."
They were talking about Ipes. Grey could tell by the raised eyebrows and the nods going around the camp. He didn't know what to think about Jillybean's state of mind except that whether she was insane or not didn't seem to affect her perception.
"You think Miss Clara warned them I was coming?" he asked her. She nodded, but seemed too nervous to explain her answer with everyone watching. He decided to get the truth from a different direction. "The adults think the raiders have observation points set up; probably in water towers or up tall trees. They probably have radios and are able to coordinate ambushes. But you don't think so. Why?"
Jillybean glanced once at Clara and then looked back down at the water. "Look at the map you showed us before. Look at all the places where someone would have to keep a look out, not just to defend their piggy store but also to have captured so many of the boat people."
Grey slogged out of the water and went to the map and began counting. Next to him Jillybean stood squishing mud between her bare toes. With a sigh he said, "Twenty three at least."
"Plus the three you say are in Warrior," Jillybean said. "That's twenty six altogether and there are only thirty to forty of the bad guys."
"They don't have the man power," Grey realized.
Michael was suddenly there staring down at the map, his worried blue eyes searching and counting the roads out of Birmingham and realizing that the numbers weren't adding up. "Maybe they only cover a few parts of the city at a time."
"And you guys were always unlucky and just happened to get spotted every time?" Grey asked.
The leader of the group didn't answer, his body was stiff and it seemed to Grey he was forcing himself not to look in Clara's direction.
Grey grunted and said, "I'm a fool. I see it now. They knew I was coming but not from what direction, so they had squads spaced all around. Jillybean you were right. Why would they need defensive observation points? Before today no one had ever thought to attack them."
Shawn Gates came stomping off the Floating Island splashing mud. "You're just guessing. There is not one shred of proof, not a bit of evidence that anything this crazy little girl is saying is true."
Fred Trigg followed him off the boat. "Everything points to Clara! She says she escaped from the raiders but how do we know? And she didn't want to let this soldier-guy go attack the raiders, remember?"
Everyone was looking at Clara who looked as if she had been slapped. People began to whisper among themselves. "Calm down!" Michael ordered. "Everyone just shut up." He turned on Jillybean. "Do you have any evidence other than this map? Because it could be any one of us, eve
n you, Fred. You were really quick to place blame on Clara."
Fred acted as though the question was preposterous and started to splutter out a rambling indignant answer, but Captain Grey interrupted and ordered Jillybean to answer the question.
"Oh, I don't know, logic-ness mostly," she said. "I started thinking something wasn't right when me and Ipes were rescuing Captain Grey. Miss Clara seemed more concerned with protecting him than finding out about her daughter, which I don't think is normal-acting."
"That's right!" Trigg said, snapping his fingers. "She wanted to gag him at first. Who would do that when he could tell her what was happening with her kid? And then there was the fact she knew he wasn't one of them. Either she was lying then, hoping we would release a raider who might blab about what she'd been doing, or she was lying about being blindfolded to begin with."
"She was trying to protect an innocent man," Shawn said, his voice far less strident. "All this seems so far-fetched."
Jillybean nodded. "It does except when it's all thrown together, the odd behavior, the observation points, Captain Grey's ambush, and you guys always getting unlucky. It all fit together in my brain because she also has a motive. On TV that's what means she has reason. If her daughter is still alive the bad guys may be forcing her to do this. That's very sad, I think."
"Yeah, that is sad," Michael replied, quietly.
"We should check her gear," Grey advised. He started walking toward the Floating Island which was drawn almost to the shore. Clara met him with tears shining on her cheeks.
"They'll kill her," she said in whisper. The group was so quiet that everyone heard.
Grey stopped with one foot on the boat. Out of habit he'd picked up his M4 and now it was pointed just to the right of the older woman. "Probably," was all he said as he stepped on board. She ignored the gun and grabbed him with both hands and began to knead his wet shirt as if the feel of damp cotton was new and strange to her.
"No, they will," she insisted. "They said they would skin her alive if I didn't go along with them. It's not any kind of excuse, but I couldn't let her die…I'm her mother. Do you know what that means? It means I'll do anything for her. Anything…so do what you want to me, but just don't let them know I'm dead."
"That's not my call," Grey said. "I'm just securing the radio."
"My tent is that one." She pointed a shaking hand. "It's under the sleeping bag."
Grey left her to get the radio and no one else moved or said a word. Clara stood apart from them. She hung her head; her hair, brown shot through with grey, hanging limp in front of her face. Her hands shook.
He found the radio and held it up for all to see. "It's an AT RF23 EPM handheld multiband transceiver with enhanced resistance to radio-electronic warfare designed for tactical command level. Nice."
Clara didn't say anything. No one said anything; they were all too stunned—all except Fred Trigg. "She has to die. She is responsible for…"
"Hold on," Michael said, interrupting.
Fred wouldn't listen. "No, I won't hold on. How many of our friends has she been responsible for killing? How many of your family members, Michael?"
"I bet she killed Paul," William Gates said, with a voice that shook with emotion. "Was the ambush your doing?"
She nodded, confessing to the murder of her brother-in-law with the little move. William became so upset he pulled at his thinning hair and cried, "What about Liz? Is she a part of this? Is she going to be safe like Amy?"
Clara shot her nephew, John Gates a guilty look and then went back to staring at the deck. "They've never let me talk to her."
"You fucking bitch!" John cried. "Did you even try?"
"A little, at first, but then they got mad at me. I'm really sorry, John."
He laughed harshly. "You're sorry that you helped kill my dad and you didn't do anything to help my mom. Really? Well guess what? You're not fucking forgiven. I'm with Fred, you don't deserve to live. All in favor of killing Clara raise your hands."
"Wait. Not yet," Michael said coming to the edge of the boat. "We haven't heard all the evidence."
"She's admitted it, Michael," Fred said with his hand in the air. "There's no reason to prolong this. As you can see we have the votes." Sixteen hands were in the air including Michael's daughter, Anne. Fred reached for his gun saying, "We should get this over with."
Michael looked around in stunned confusion, but didn't seem able to stop what was going on. No one said or did anything, not even to remove Clara's ten-year-old son, Joseph from the scene or to even cover his eyes. It was all happening so fast. Her husband, Shawn stood stiffly, his eyes unfocused and staring; he was shaking his head very slowly, but that was the only thing he did to stop the execution of Clara Gates.
Fred held a .38 caliber in his raised right hand. "Any last words?"
"No," she whispered.
Fred thumbed back the hammer and that was when Captain Grey stepped forward, his M4 held in one hand, pointing at Fred like a giant pistol. Grey looked relaxed to the point of apathy, but his heart was going strong and his gun hand was twitching to pull the trigger. "I need her, alive," he told Trigg.
"This isn't your problem," Fred answered trying to sound tough.
"It is," Grey replied. "I need her to get my friends back. This radio is useless without her."
"Your friends are not our concern," Fred replied.
Captain Grey took one more step and pressed the black barrel of the M4 into Fred's stomach. The flesh felt soft. "Does this concern you?" he asked, quietly.
Chapter 13
Warrior, Alabama
Neil Martin
The night Grey was rescued by Jillybean, Neil and Sadie were indeed captured by the raiders. Three Humvees had appeared out of the dark and had rolled right up on them before Neil could even zip up his zipper. Short of being caught squatting in the bushes it was probably the most embarrassing way to get captured.
"Just a second," he said as if someone had tapped on the bathroom door instead of blinding him with headlights and pointing big guns at his chest. He went to close up his fly.
"Keep your hands up, motherfucker!" one of the men demanded in an extremely outraged tone. Another man had Sadie covered with a shotgun, while six others fanned out to search the woods. They were a surly and ugly lot—from what Neil could tell at least. Their dirty faces were twisted in sneers while their clothes smelled of body odor and grease.
"I think you're safe enough," Neil said. "It's just a penis." He zipped up his khakis and then brought his hands up to chest height.
"Get 'em higher," the man ordered.
"They're high enough," Neil replied without budging his hands. "What do you guys want?" Inwardly, Neil marveled at his own reactions: he wasn't scared. He probably should have been since the men were exceedingly nefarious in their appearance and demeanor, but he was just as calm as he could be.
Before he received an answer, the man pointing the gun into the Humvee cried out, "I got the girl in here and fuck, there's a baby, too. Do we keep it?"
"What would we do with a baby?" someone in the dark asked.
"Man, you are a dumb motherfucker," another said. "We could sell it same as the others."
"Is it cute? No one's gonna buy an ugly baby."
"I don't know," said the first man. He turned to Sadie, ordering, "Get on out here so we can see the baby."
Neil was grabbed and shuffled to the Humvee just as Sadie got out. Flashlights were shined into their faces and then down at the bundle in Sadie's arms. Eve was asleep. She seemed to be perfect in every respect, but the raiders couldn't see it.
"She's too small," one argued.
"How do you know it's a she?"
"The pink she got on, you dumb motherfucker."
"She's gonna cry, you just know it. I don't want to deal with a crying kid. It's the worst thing in the world. I say we leave it here."
"Maybe you're right. Drop the kid, bitch."
There were eight men pointing guns his wa
y and still Neil wasn't afraid. Not that he was experiencing courage either, rather he felt dead inside. Looking at Eve helped and having Sadie near gave him a warm spark, but for the most part he felt little beyond irritation.
"I don't know where you're taking us, but we're not leaving the baby," he declared. The men were obviously bandits of some sort and weren't subtle; Neil fully expected the blow to the stomach he received. He crumpled to his knees and was struck again on the back of the head. Trauma induced lights shot across his vision before he went face first into the dirt.
He heard the same man say: "I said drop the baby and I ain't gonna ask again."
Neil fought his way to his feet and put himself between Sadie and the gun leveled at her. He raised a finger as if he had something important to say. He didn't in fact. "P-Point of order if I may. You people are making great assumptions that your, uh...uh actions won't have consequences. Which they will, let me assure you. And then there is parliamentary procedure to consider. We must have a quorum present before we can deliberate further on the subject at hand. To wit: not all of my men are here and this can't be the majority of your band of hooligans."
"What do you mean by that?" asked the man who had struck Neil.
As he was just spouting nonsense in order to bide time, Neil couldn't answer with any sort of coherency. He again held up the finger but this time to signify that he had to cough. As he made a display of coughing he looked around at the dark evening, hoping for some sort of miracle, like Captain Grey and Jillybean showing up in the nick of time.
Finally, he couldn't put off answering any longer. "My men will be back anytime and it behooves you to, uh, clear out of here before they do. They are the shoot first, ask question later kind of guys. They're a very rough-neck lot."
Some of the raiders looked out into the forest, but not all. "He's lying," one of the men stated, confidently. "They told us it would be just a man and a girl. I don't think the baby counts."
The Apocalypse Fugitives Page 11