by David Lucin
A bead of rainwater slid into her eye, and she blinked it away while continuing to focus on the Humvee. To breach this position, it would have to barrel straight through a line of cars. That would cause some damage, wouldn’t it? Hopefully the machine gun didn’t open fire first.
It’s the military, she told herself again. Relax.
“I think they’re slowing down,” Freddie said.
The rooster tail appeared shorter now, maybe half as tall, and it was shrinking with every second. Soon, it had all but disappeared. About fifty yards out, the vehicle came to a rest, the machine gun atop its roof angled downward, not swiveling around in search of targets.
Her heart rate dropped. This must be the National Guard. Why else would the Humvee stop in front of the roadblock? If these were raiders, they would have begun firing by now, right? Any delay would give the defenders time to reinforce the position.
The Humvee remained motionless. Rain pattered the hood of the Tesla, and Freddie sniffed a few times. Tanis coughed.
Jenn opened with the boilerplate line she’d been told to use in this situation: “You’ve crossed into Flagstaff municipal territory!” She tried to put force behind the words, but her lingering anxiety came through in every one. “Identify yourselves immediately or you will be considered hostile and fired upon!” A hollow threat, since the machine gun could kill half her squad before she could squeeze off a round and chamber another.
After an agonizingly long few seconds, the Humvee’s passenger side door eased open, and out stepped a man in a black jacket atop a tan-brown uniform. He was bald, save for a few gray hairs above the ears. A white beard, the mustache thicker and fuller than the rest, hid much of his face, but Jenn recognized him right away.
Sheriff Jordan Wilson from Prescott.
She unclenched her jaw and stood up straight, but the moment of relief was fleeting. The appearance of the sheriff so soon after the coup couldn’t mean anything good. Could she handle another crisis already? Nearly three months had passed since the CFF incident, but Val’s death continued to weigh heavy on her heart. It was hard to deny the weariness that had begun sapping her willpower, her desire to fight. Battle fatigue, Dylan called it. With every danger and every new threat, the feeling grew, spread out, like shadows during a sunset. Eventually, it might consume her, but for now, she had to remain strong, not just for herself and her family, but for her squadmates. So she’d resist those shadows for as long as necessary.
“Stand down,” she said, loud enough for her entire team to hear.
“You sure?” Freddie continued peering down the sights of his AR.
Jenn climbed over the hood of the Tesla and came down on the other side of the roadblock. “It’s okay. I’ve met him before.” She didn’t add that Jordan had blown out the tires on the Nissan prior to accusing her of killing one of his deputies.
“Before?”
“Long story,” she said and slung Espinosa over her shoulder. As she walked toward the Humvee, she wondered why Jordan was here. Had something happened in Prescott? The town had several confirmed cases of New River flu, so maybe he’d come to report on that. He might also have more information about the coup. Could he be here to discuss forming an alliance with Flagstaff? A mutual defense agreement of some sort? Without functioning state or federal governments, the surviving communities in Arizona needed to work together. But why the Humvee? And who was driving? The National Guard?
Jordan held his arms out wide. “Well, well, well, look who it is,” he said in his warm, grandfatherly voice. “What’re the odds you’d be the first person I ran into?”
“It must be fate.” She offered her hand for a shake. “I took the liberty of letting you greet us without rolling out the spike strips. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You won’t ever let that go, will you, young lady? I suppose it’s understandable. I might not have, either.” Smiling broadly, he stepped back and inspected her for a moment. “Look at you. You running this little team out here?”
“I am,” she said with no small amount of pride. “Nice ride you’ve got there. Who’s driving?”
He smacked the hood of the Humvee, and the driver’s side door opened. To be safe, Jenn held up a hand toward the roadblock, telling her troops to continue holding their fire.
A man dressed in brown-camo fatigues came around the front of the vehicle. A thick, dark beard covered his cheeks, chin, and neck. Jenn read the name tag on his uniform, then said, “Sergeant Murphy. Good to see you again.”
“You two know each other?” Jordan asked. “How?”
“That’s right, sir.” Murphy shook Jenn’s hand. “My team and I picked her up outside Cordes Lakes in May, then took her to Edward Beaumont in New River.”
Jordan clapped Jenn on the arm and gave her a light shake. “You sure made a lot of friends during your little road trip, didn’t you?”
And some enemies, she thought, remembering her two encounters with the Major’s forces. “I guess you could say that. So what brings you guys here? Or did you just miss me?”
His smile faded, replaced by a weary expression that brought out the wrinkles around his eyes and the leanness in his cheeks. Jenn’s mouth went dry, and she doubted the sheriff was here to simply pass along news or information. Something was wrong.
“We’re here to speak with Mayor Gary Ruiz,” he said dourly.
She masked her growing trepidation with a joke: “Are you here to congratulate him on his victory in the election? If you are, you’re kind of late, but I’m sure he’ll still appreciate the sentiment.”
“I’m afraid not. It’s about New River. We’ve got a situation on our hands.”
5
Liam pushed open the door to the conference room at Flagstaff city hall, his hands slick with perspiration. Two hours ago, Baker had radioed Militia HQ, informing Liam of a military Humvee coming north into town on I-17. The next radio call came as a relief; the vehicle wasn’t hostile but instead brought the sheriff from Prescott, who had requested to meet with Gary right away. Gary, upon receiving his guest, subsequently sent for Liam. Not a good sign. He tried not to let his mind run amok with possibilities, but it did anyway, considering any number of scenarios in Prescott: raids, internal strife, a mass outbreak of the flu. Deep down, though, he had a feeling this involved something bigger, something that threatened both towns.
At the far end of the oval table stretching the length of the room, Gary was flanked by two men Liam didn’t recognize. The one on the right, he assumed, based on the badge, was the sheriff. To Gary’s left was a mid-thirties National Guard soldier in desert camo fatigues. Dark bags hung beneath his tired, sunken eyes, and dirt and dust caked his skin and uniform. The three chevrons and double rocker on his sleeve identified him as a sergeant first class, and his name tape read MURPHY.
All three looked up from a paper map splayed out before them. “Liam,” Gary said. “Welcome. Thank you for coming by on such short notice.”
The sergeant stood at attention. Gary must have already told him about Liam, his former rank of major in the U.S. Army, and his role as the Militia’s leader. Mostly by habit, Liam responded with, “At ease.”
Murphy relaxed into parade rest, his feet twelve inches apart, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Liam Kipling, commander of the Flagstaff Militia,” Liam said, like Murphy didn’t already know, and held out his hand.
The sergeant’s grip was firm, the skin calloused and dry. The handshake left a layer of dust in Liam’s palm. “Sergeant First Class Colin Murphy. It’s a pleasure, sir.”
Liam noted the man’s use of “sir.” Was he simply being polite or showing respect to Liam’s position? “Likewise, Sergeant.”
Next, he offered his hand to the sheriff, who said, “Jordan Wilson, Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office.”
“Nice to meet you, Sheriff.” Liam gestured to the map with a nod. “I take it no one will be offended if we skip the pleasantries and proceed right to the issue? I’m ge
tting the sense this visit isn’t recreational in nature.”
Gary indicated a chair on Murphy’s left, and the four men took their seats. “Sheriff,” Gary said as he poured a glass of water and slid it toward Liam. “If you wouldn’t mind catching the commander up on the situation.”
Wilson sipped from his own glass, then dried his mustache with his thumb before saying, “Mayor Ruiz informed me that you folks got wind of the purported coup of the federal government. We did, too, so I went ahead and sent a messenger down to New River to confirm with our National Guard friends there. This morning, the sergeant here shows up at my office.” He pointed at Murphy with his glass. “Sergeant, it might be easier if you explain the rest.”
Murphy sat ramrod straight, facing Liam. “Sir, I’ll cut right to the chase. At the news of the coup, our ranking officer, Major Liu, deserted his post, along with New River’s remaining civilian leadership, as well as three junior officers and nearly a hundred enlisted personnel, reducing our effective strength by over fifty percent and crippling our command structure.”
Liam’s cheek twitched with disgust. Even in the darkest stages of the conflict in West Ukraine—not the war in West Ukraine, according to the politicians—when Russian loyalists and East Ukrainian forces had surrounded Lviv, with Liam’s battalion inside, not once did he contemplate deserting his post or abandoning his men. The prospect was unfathomable. “How is this possible?”
“With all due respect, sir, you haven’t seen the front lines. We lost communication with battalion HQ months ago, and we’ve been on our own since then without relief, aside from the single airdrop of federal supplies. There’s no end in sight to the mission, and most of our families are presumed dead. Many of the men had nothing left to fight for. News of the coup was simply the last straw.”
Our families. Liam wondered whom the sergeant had lost, and he counted himself lucky that regardless of what happened here, he’d go home to his girls. Not to mention, as much of a debacle as West Ukraine turned out to be, the mission had a purpose: stifle Russian expansion westward. Simple, easy to understand. The same couldn’t be said about the National Guard’s mission in New River. At first, the Guard fought to defend the place from gangs and raiders, but now, its sole function was to prevent the refugees from leaving. New River had, in essence, become a concentration camp, like those in Brazil or China.
“That was highly presumptuous of me,” Liam said. “And I’m sorry, but your Major Liu is a traitor.”
“No need to apologize, sir. I agree. The man is a coward.” Murphy’s mask of professionalism slipped, and disdain colored his words.
“So what exactly happened?”
The mask returned, and Murphy again spoke coolly. “Soon after we received word of the coup, Liu ordered both Alfa and Bravo Companies to prepare to move out. His plan was to head south and meet up with our Army forces in Mexico. Many of the NCOs, myself included, interpreted the orders as a direct violation of our mission. First Lieutenant Felicia Townsend, my platoon leader, agreed. We tried detaining Liu, but he caught wind of our intent. To avoid a bloodbath, our only option was to let him and his followers go. Townsend became our highest-ranking officer. She assumed command, amalgamated the two companies, and assigned me as her Top.” Sheriff Wilson furrowed his brow in confusion, so Murphy added, “Top NCO.”
Wilson pinched the brim of an invisible hat. “Thank you kindly.”
“What’s your total manpower?” Liam asked.
“At last count, ninety-seven effectives, spread out over six platoons. We also have about thirty civilians, mostly family of the troops.”
“Ninety-seven? We’ve got more in the Militia.”
“That’s right, sir. Liu took most of our equipment. He left us with the one Humvee, three short-range rotocoptor drones, two medium-range recon drones, and two heavy LCDs.” He turned to Wilson. “Legged combat drones.”
Again, Wilson tipped his invisible hat.
“In terms of manpower and materiel,” Murphy continued, “what we have is wholly insufficient to contain New River. In the chaos of the past few days, there have been breaches in several sectors. Hundreds have escaped, and we’ve only reestablished the perimeter at the cost of dozens of civilian lives and two Guardsmen wounded. It’s only a matter of time until we lose control completely and the floodgates open.”
“Is it really that bad down there, Sergeant?” Liam asked. “I’ve heard the reports, but I have trouble believing these people think they’re better off trying their luck at surviving in the desert.”
“The camp’s population is over fifty thousand. We’re a month away from mass starvation,” Murphy said solemnly. “The flu’s killing more than we can count or even bury. The refugees have taken to burning the dead themselves. They all know about Flagstaff and Prescott. Many see your towns as a sort of safe haven and think they’ll be welcomed with open arms and then given food and shelter.”
“Which we can’t do.” Liam looked to Gary for confirmation, which came in the form of a barely perceptible nod. “We almost had a civil war over two thousand refugees in July.”
Wilson gulped the last half of the water from his glass, then filled it from the pitcher before explaining, “According to the sergeant here, those folks in New River getting loose is an inevitability. Nothing anyone can do about stopping that. The first place they’ll be coming is Prescott, on account of it being the closest livable town. Now, it’s quite the hike from New River—about sixty, seventy miles, if I’m not mistaken—but if even a fifth or a sixth make it, we’ll be totally overrun.”
“Our goal,” Murphy added, “is to prevent that from happening. Containing the camp itself is impossible, as we’ve learned since Liu’s departure, but if we fall back to a more defensible position on the interstate, someplace between Black Canyon City and Cordes Lakes, we’ll have a better chance of blocking any who try to make the hike into Prescott or up to Flagstaff.”
“So,” Liam began, drumming his fingers on the table, “to sum up: you want to withdraw the Guard from New River, leaving the refugees to their own devices down there, then block the only route north to anyone who wants to pass? Am I understanding your plan correctly?”
“In short, sir, yes.”
“Right. And where will they go once you send them away?”
“To be frank, that’s not our problem. As long as they aren’t in Prescott or Flagstaff.”
Liam tried to think of some other solution, another way to help the refugees while also protecting his town, but he drew a blank. As callous as Murphy’s plan seemed, it was the best option. The only option. “I assume you’ll need the Militia’s support to man this roadblock? Sounds like a lot of work for ninety-seven combat troops and a couple dozen civvies, even with a pair of LCDs and some recon drones.”
Wilson jumped in, plopping his elbows on the table. “The Prescott Police Department’s got its hands full in town, the same as your police here, I’d imagine. My office has taken on the role of guarding the borders, but we ain’t nearly as big or organized as your Militia. I hate asking for favors and hate owing them just as much, but I’ve got to ask one today. The Guard could use your help blocking that road and keeping the horde away while my deputies and I patrol the rear, watching for any who slip through.”
Liam had always imagined—naively, he’d admit—that the National Guard would take care of New River and deal with its inevitable fall. He hadn’t given much thought as to how, exactly, choosing to hope the problem would solve itself.
But the Militia had been raised for this purpose: to defend Flagstaff. Although it might be deploying earlier than Liam hoped, he had faith his volunteers would rise to the challenge.
“We’re a green unit, but we’ll lend a hand however we can, Sergeant,” he said with conviction. “On the plus side, if there’s one thing we’ve done a lot of, it’s watching roadblocks.”
“Actually, sir, this may come as some surprise, but I’m under orders from Lieutenant Townsend to request t
hat all Guard forces at New River be placed under your command and integrated into the Flagstaff Militia as you see fit.”
Well, Liam certainly hadn’t expected that. Apparently neither had Sheriff Wilson, who spluttered and coughed out a mouthful of water, then smacked his chest with a fist. Gary leaned back in his chair, brushing his mustache and, Liam thought, trying to hide his grin. And why wouldn’t he? If Liam accepted Murphy’s offer, Flagstaff’s military forces would double in strength. No, more than that. The Guard also brought equipment and experience, both of which the Militia sorely lacked.
“You agree with this decision, Sergeant?” Liam asked. “I want your honest opinion, please.”
Murphy didn’t hesitate. “I do, sir. Lieutenant Townsend is competent for her age, one of the best young officers I’ve ever worked with, but she was a fresh platoon leader when the bombs fell and only received a promotion to first lieutenant in July. She can’t run a company, and she’s the first to acknowledge her shortcomings. You were a major, sir. We’ve all heard of you and know you fought in West Ukraine.” He spoke to Gary now. “All we ask in return is that you take us in when this is over. With the civilians we have tagging along, we’re less than 150. I understand we’ll stretch your resources, but—”
“No need to explain,” Gary said. “Of course we’ll take you in, but whether your forces become part of the Militia or not is a decision I’ll leave up to the commander. Liam?”
Over his decade-long career, Liam had worked with enough NCOs that he could, more or less at a glance, pick out the good ones from the bad. Murphy, he knew, was the former. Integrating the National Guard with the Militia would create a whole slew of administrative and logistical problems, but together, the two forces could carry out the mission as Murphy had described it.
He pushed himself up from his seat, and Murphy rose as well. They clasped hands, and Liam said, “Welcome to the Flagstaff Militia.”