by Lopez, Rob
Packy was laughing. “I knew it. That just made my day.”
Unwilling to try again, the two raiders got out and started running up the road. Red opened fire, a round ricocheting off the asphalt. The raiders picked up the pace and Red fired again and again until one of the raiders fell. The other kept going without a backward glance and disappeared behind the trees. Red turned to Packy.
“Why didn’t you open fire? You could have got them both with that thing.”
Packy, wiping tears from his eyes, looked at the Mac-10 still in his grip.
“This?” he said. “Nah. It sprays bullets everywhere. I didn’t want to hit the car. Do you know that’s a Fairlane 500 R? They only built sixty of those. Terrible car, but boy is it rare.”
Red stared at him. “You’re out of your mind.”
“No, no, no. The phrase you’re looking for is I have a transcendent mind. I’m like, above it all.”
“You’re fuckin’ nuts.”
*
The fight went on longer than Rick anticipated. In their desperation, the raiders were actually doing the right thing: attacking the ambush. A couple had even climbed gingerly into the stake pits and were using them as trenches. Rooting them out took time. Rick expended the last of his ammunition on the M4 and stooped to pick up a raider’s rifle. A bullet zipped past his ear and he saw a raider lying in the grass by the track. Rick swiftly aimed his new rifle and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Taking cover behind a tree, Rick yanked the breech open, seeing the dud round that had failed to fire for the previous user. Two more shots hit his tree while he cleared his rifle. Switching it to shoot from his left, he peered around the other side of the tree, where the raider would not expect him to peek. The raider saw him, but by the time he switched his aim, Rick put a bullet between his eyes. Scott dashed by to take up another position, and Rick looked behind him. His six shooters were advancing more cautiously, unwilling to expose themselves to fire. Rick beckoned emphatically, urging them forward. He wanted to hit the raiders hard before they had another chance to recover. With Scott in position to cover him, Rick dashed forward to the next location. Passing a stake pit, he saw a raider lying at the bottom in an awkward position, a bloody stake sticking up through his thigh. He couldn’t reach his fallen weapon and, upon seeing Rick, raised a hand to surrender. Without a second thought, Rick shot him and moved on.
As the raiders’ numbers depleted, the militia grew more confident. Sweeping through the woods, they shot at raiders trying to run away. Rick made his way up the slope until he reached Lauren’s position. He found her surrounded by spent cartridges, with a dead raider only yards from her trench. Leaning over her rifle with her head bowed, Rick thought she was wounded. He jumped into the trench and lifted her pale face. She winked at him.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she said.
Rick held her tight and noticed she was trembling. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. I’m just hyped.”
She moved to step back and stumbled, her knees giving way. Rick caught her and lowered her down to sit.
“I feel sick,” she said.
“You’re in shock. It’ll pass.”
“They nearly beat us.”
“No, it just looks that way from here.”
“I had a boy die on me. He looked … he looked just like Josh.”
Rick could see a young militiaman lying half out of a dugout, his mouth locked open as he stared at the sky. He looked nothing like Josh, but in the heat of the moment it might have seemed that way. It jolted Rick, nevertheless.
“It’s not over yet,” he said. “We have to finish this and make sure it really is over.”
He called Scott over. “Get everyone together. We’ve got to take Round Knob.”
Lauren sagged back. “I’m not ready to do that again.”
“You don’t have to,” Rick said to her. “Leave it to us.”
Scott came over to the trench. Rifle cracks continued to sound in the distance. “Give us a few hours and we might be able to do it,” he said.
Rick turned to him. “We don’t have a few hours. We need to take Round Knob right now, before they can recover.”
“They ain’t the only ones who need to recover.”
Scott glanced across the trenches. Sally and some volunteers were tending to the wounded. Doug, his arm bandaged, looked solemnly on as a sheet was laid over a dead body. Militia members stood around looking dazed. Some appeared close to tears.
“Scott, we’ve got to attack while we’ve still got the initiative.”
Scott stared at him. “These aren’t soldiers,” he said slowly. “You can’t about-turn them and march them straight into battle. They’re not ready.”
“Then get them ready.”
Scott sighed. “I can’t, okay?”
“Scott …”
“No.”
Rick gazed at his feet for a second, biting his lip. “I’ve never had to give you a direct order, Scott …”
“And you’re not about to now. Open your eyes. Look around. They’re not combat ready, and you know it. Don’t get bull-headed.”
“I want this to be over.”
“If you get everyone killed, it will be over. The raiders won’t attack again today. The majority of their strength is right here, bleeding into the dirt.”
“You don’t know that.”
“As good as. Let it go. Give these people time to rest.”
Rick saw now the lines around Scott’s eyes, and the dark shadows that lay there.
“You’ve never backed out of a fight before. What happened to you?”
“I got old.”
Scott walked away, and Rick watched him.
“It’s for the best, darling,” murmured Lauren.
But Rick wasn’t sure it was.
22
“You’ve achieved great things,” said Doug, poking at the camp fire, “but I don’t know why we have to attack the raiders directly. They’re not going to mess with us after today. Maybe we can negotiate a truce.”
The light from the flames lit Rick’s face from below. He stared across to where Scott and his family sat by another camp fire. Daniel lay curled up in Scott’s lap while Scott and April talked. The conversation appeared jovial as Scott, being Scott, made jokes and sarcastic remarks, and April stifled her laughter. They were happy, but the somber atmosphere on the rest of the mountain meant it would have been obscene to laugh out loud. Four members of the community had died today, and at least seven had suffered wounds of one sort or another. Maybe if today had truly been the final battle, the mood would have been more celebratory, especially since laughter often accompanied a release of tension, no matter how inappropriate. Thoughts, however, were turned to the next day’s operation, which Rick insisted should go ahead.
“There’s hostages in that camp,” said Rick to Doug without looking at him. He kept his eye on Scott.
“We can include those in the negotiations. Cut a deal.”
Rick inserted another bullet into a magazine. The dead raiders’ arsenal included several AR-15s, providing Rick with enough ammunition to replenish the M4s and the M16. Among the dead, however, they’d also discovered bundles of cable ties. The raiders were clearly planning to add to their hostages.
“There’ll be no deal,” said Rick. “I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“You’ll only be happy when they’re dead,” sighed Doug, shaking his head. “You military types believe in absolutes.”
Rick watched Scott lean over to kiss April. “Some of us do,” he said.
He’d never figured Scott for a family guy, though it seemed pretty natural to assume so now. Rick, on the other hand, was a family guy. Or supposed to be. But he felt a fraud as he observed someone else’s family. Before the storm, he’d been obsessed about retiring from the service. Looking at Scott now, he could see what a guy who really was ready to retire looked like. If he’d seen Scott like this ba
ck then, he’d have dropped him from his squad. For his own safety as well as the squad’s. Every man had his limit. Today he’d glimpsed Scott’s. Too often, Rick had heard about soldiers who, after losing that fire in the belly, went on to make mistakes in combat. They’d lose their focus and, if they didn’t then quit, they usually wound up dead.
As an old soldier, Scott likely encountered that more than Rick.
Rick stood up. “Talk to your people,” he said to Doug. “I want to know exactly who’s coming with us tomorrow morning. And we’re going to be starting out early. Tell them how important this is. If we get tomorrow right, this nightmare can be over. They’ll be able to sleep in real houses instead of shacks, and nobody will push them around. But they’ve got to be willing to die for it, otherwise I’m not going to waste my time.”
Doug sucked in his breath. “Might leave out that last part.”
“Don’t. It’s all or nothing. That’s what I want you to tell them.”
Rick left Doug and walked over to Scott’s fire. Acknowledging April, he sat himself down. Daniel was asleep, and Scott stroked the sleeping boy’s hair.
“Still pissed at me?” Scott said absently.
“No. You?”
“I never had a problem with it.”
April could see it was a moment for the two men to be alone. “I’ll put Daniel to bed,” she said, lifting the boy up.
“You don’t want to be doing that,” said Scott. “The kid’s heavy.”
April gave him a complicit smile. “I’ll be fine. You two talk.”
When they were alone, Scott turned to Rick. “So, we talk.”
“Are you in this tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“No. I mean really in this. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
It was Scott’s turn to give a complicit smile. “There might be a time for that someday, but tomorrow’s not it.”
“It’s got to be for real. No doubts.”
Scott thought for a while. “It’s real. Let’s finish this.”
“Okay.”
Rick stood up to leave.
“What would you have done if I’d said no?” asked Scott quietly.
“I’d have canceled the operation.”
Scott inclined his head. “That would have made sense.”
“It’s going to be a dawn attack. Make sure you’re ready.”
“Aren’t I always?”
Rick looked at him for a moment, but said nothing. Nodding once, he walked away.
*
“More wine?” said Connors.
Jeffries held up his cut-glass goblet, and Connors poured the crimson liquid in, the candle light refracting and swirling in the goblet as it was filled.
“This place is amazing,” said Jeffries.
Connors had already shown him around the chateau with its various wings, servants’ quarters, tower observatory and libraries. They were now alone in the vast banquet room, replete with tapestries, intricate moldings and three side-by-side fireplaces underneath a six-foot tall carved frieze of peasants, horses and carts.
“Vanderbilt certainly had taste,” agreed Connors. “Here’s to the gilded age.”
“Where did you find this wine?” said Jeffries. “I thought it all got taken in the looting.”
“The place hasn’t suffered too much, and I found a secret cellar. You wouldn’t believe the number of hidden passages this house contains.”
“You can’t really call it a house.”
“No. It makes all of Saddam’s palaces look cheap. You don’t need golden toilets when you’ve got this level of artistry.”
“And you’ve got the militia housed here?”
“Yeah, but they only take up a fraction of the space. I don’t let them into this area. Most of them are on maneuvers or home leave anyway. We only really have to house the recruits we’re training, like the group we got from Hendersonville. We’re putting them through their paces right now. Won’t be long before we field a second company. And that’s where our problems begin.”
“How so?”
“More mouths to feed. While our guys are pulling security, they’re not able to do more productive things like farming or hunting. Meanwhile, the communities we’re protecting are able to do more of these things, on account of it being safer to go out. They’re getting our protection for free, and we’re not getting anything back.”
“Sorry, you want to bill them?”
“I’m thinking of a tax.”
“You’re serious?”
“Sure. Think about it. You’ve already got the General Assembly and a bunch of staff, all doing vital work. The more territory we expand into, the more administrators we’ll need, and it’s all on behalf of the people. It’s only right that the people should contribute something. We can’t run this enterprise on fresh air. As citizens, they all gain from the peace and organization we bring. No such thing as a free lunch.”
“I get what you’re saying, but how are we going to administer it? We’ve got no currency, and there’s no way to monitor people’s earnings and stuff anyway. Unless you’re hoping they’ll volunteer to donate their surplus. We can’t keep track of every individual.”
“No, that’s impossible, so we’ll do it the old way. We assess each community according to what they can give on a monthly basis, say ten percent of crops, skins or meat, then we leave it to the community leaders to administer their own people.”
“That’s going to cause a lot of discontent.”
“It shouldn’t. Less than six months ago, everyone was paying taxes. Hell, they were paying more than ten percent when you included federal taxes, registration taxes and sales tax. I think it’s also important for the state to administer a surplus of supplies in case of hard times. You could even run a program to help out the poor. Or the lesbians, I don’t mind.”
“No need to be so flippant about it.”
“I’m not worried about the details. Just run it through the General Assembly and see what kind of bill you can come up with. If there’s no agreement, well, fine. We tried. But we do have people who need help. Not everybody can hunt well, or grow enough food. After a terrible winter, you’ve got single moms who are single through no fault of their own. There’s old folk, cripples, people who are ill. We need to nurture our population, because we’ve lost enough people as it is. And what about the children? Thinking of making sure they get educated? You might not be thinking of that now, but one day you will.”
“I have been thinking about it. It just seems obscene to be sitting here drinking wine in opulent surroundings while talking about taxing the people.”
“You can redistribute the bone china and tapestries if you think it’ll do any good. But really, I think the best thing you and the senators can do is give the citizens a state that works for everyone. Because another winter will come. Then another. We barely survived the first round of anarchy. If we’re not strong, we might not last out the next. I trust you’re familiar with Hobbes?”
“I am,” said Jeffries grimly.
“Then make sure it doesn’t come to that. I can only do so much out in the field. The rest is up to you guys.”
23
Only eight of the militia volunteered for the attack on Round Knob. To this, Rick added Lauren, Harvey and Packy. It wasn’t much, but his plan only involved Scott and himself doing the heavy lifting. If his calculations were wrong, it would turn out to be a very short operation.
Every member of the team was armed to the teeth with AR-15s, scoped rifles and backup pistols. In addition, Rick and Scott carried bows. They set out on a night march through the woods and over the hills that separated Bergen Mountain from Round Knob. Rick was against using vehicles. They would not only have been noisier, it would have meant using the roads, and Rick wanted to ensure complete surprise, as well as avoiding ambushes. Taking a group of civilian militia through the woods at night was fraught with risk, and Rick wasn’t sure how stealthy they could be, but these civili
ans had been living on a mountain for months without the benefit of lights. They’d become hardened and fit by dint of circumstance, and Rick had no complaints about their subsequent performance as he led them along the ridge that overlooked the deep valley where Round Knob Lodge lay. Slowly they descended to the rocky outcrop Rick had identified in his earlier reconnaissance. Down in the raider’s camp, not a single light flickered, and the only noise was the sighing of the breeze in the branches and the burble of the creek that ran through the valley.
“You know what to do,” whispered Rick to Lauren as the militia set themselves up among the rocks.
They’d discussed the plan a hundred times and Lauren had nothing further to add. She simply nodded. Rick and Scott left them, continuing down the slope.
At the bottom they reached the rail line. A low moon cast long shadows along the tracks. Rick observed the line for a few minutes. Satisfied there was no one to see, he stole across and began climbing the next slope. Crossing a hump, he made his way to the road where he knew a log barricade had been set up. Gingerly, he moved through the trees until he was looking down on the barricade. Quietly, he unslung his bow and notched an arrow. Scott did the same.
Nobody appeared to be manning the barricade, but Rick waited. Sure enough, he heard a gentle cough, but try as he might, he couldn’t identify any human forms in the shadows. He waited some more.
There was a rasp as the guard lit a cigarette, illuminating a single face. The guard was sitting on the bank by the barricade. With another cough, he inhaled, the tip of the cigarette glowing bright red. Rick took aim. The string slapped loudly against the bow as the arrow flew. A split second later Scott’s bow clicked too. The glowing ember tumbled to the ground, and there was an exclamation of surprise, and a choking sound.
Rick slid down the slope, drawing his knife. The guard began an utterance of pain. Sprinting across, Rick silenced him with a stab to the throat, the knife going deep enough to grate against the spine. He held the shuddering body for a few seconds, then laid it down.