The Next Dawn

by Cooper, C. G.

  She still haunted his dreams and overshadowed his image of Montana. Now, when he imagined himself in that lazy river, an oversized trout hammering his line, it was a grizzly that burst through the trees and snatched the fish from his hook. Other days, it was a wolf. One day it was an eagle that swept down and clawed his face. But all the dream animals had one thing in common. He knew with the intuition of the dreamer that they all possessed the soul of Dottie Roth.

  They left the smaller bands in outlying locations alone. His people didn’t know why they were on the lookout for this specific woman. Fran would say different things on different days: she had information they needed that would ensure their own survival, or she was the key to some mystery that Fran’s predecessors had long sought. But really it was all for Fran, and if they knew that they would have killed him. He knew it.

  Just like he knew that if he stamped Dottie out, the clouds would clear, and the trout would be his trout once again. So when he looked down at the community in Corolla, North Carolina, his senses tingled. This was it. He had to be right. He was averaging an hour of sleep every night, and even in his heightened state, the edges were starting to wear, the treads on his mind worn down to nubs. It was all he could do to keep it together and remain pleasant around his troops, because right underneath those niceties, blood boiled and curdled into a thick stew called revenge.

  He gave the order. “Move in, but don’t hurt the women.”

  He heard a man next to him snicker and almost turned around and slapped him in the face. Too close now. Hold it together, Fran.

  “And what about the kids and the men, boss?”

  “We’re not baby killers, you idiot. Lock the kids up. And if the men don’t fight back, put them in zip ties and in the personnel carrier.”

  The survivors didn’t stand a chance. Fran and his troops swooped in like a barbarian horde. However, this horde was more disciplined and only four lives were taken. The fallen were men with guns who’d been aware enough to raise and shoot. But half the sentries had been taken with only a few bruises, and when the rest of the community had been awakened, they stood around in mute shock. Some at first thinking that the U.S. government had come to rescue them.

  One woman had fallen to her knees and begged Fran to let her go home to see her babies again. Fran pushed her away and inspected the rest one by one. It didn’t take long to see that Dottie Roth was not here.

  And now he took the ultimate gamble, really put his cards on the table. “We’re not here to hurt you. We’re looking for one woman, a criminal. She killed ten of my men.”

  There was quiet chatter in the crowd. Fran let it go. Let them wonder for a time. And then he pulled one man out of the crowd.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Fabian.”

  Fran pulled him closer. “Do you know a woman named Dottie Roth?”

  “No, I swear. I just got here this morning."

  Fran could tell the man wasn’t lying. He had the look of a coward who would spill the beans on his own grandmother to save his soul. A man like that could come in handy.

  “Lock him down,” Fran ordered, and Fabian was dragged away.

  When he was gone, he said to the rest of them, “I’m looking for Dottie Roth. You tell me where she is, and I’ll leave right now.”

  The crowd was too scared to uncover the lie. Soldiers with guns tended to have their way.

  “I said I’m looking for a woman named Dottie Roth. The first person to come forward and give me information will be given a year’s worth of food.”

  More chatter from the crowd. Then a man stepped forward.

  “Dottie’s been gone for weeks,” he said. “But she’s a mean one. I know she’ll be back.”

  A woman next to him, hissed, and the man backhanded her.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” he said, and then turned to Fran. “Where’s my reward, Mister?”

  Fran smiled. “You help me catch Miss Roth and that food is all yours.”

  “That’s not what you said,” the man argued.

  Fran shot him a look. “I’ll get you the damn food. But first, we have a little chat.”

  The man’s name was Jeff, and he was from Philadelphia. When Fran was sure that Jeff was telling the truth, he pulled the man in further, promising him safe passage, weapons even. Jeff said he had more friends from Philadelphia and that they’d be willing to help too. And so the plan was set.

  The trap took shape. The idea was for the budding community to carry on as if nothing had happened. Jeff and his fellow Philadelphians would be Fran’s stooges, while Fran and his troops would stay hidden, Fran’s gut told him they wouldn’t have to wait long.

  And they didn’t, because two days into their charade, one of Fran’s scouts radioed in and said there was a small SUV headed their way. A woman was driving it.

  This was it. The moment he’d been waiting for.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Sandy Kaplan

  Luck was with him again. He and little Adam were in the habit of walking day or night. The baby had been restless and the best way for Sandy to soothe him was to go for a walk, careful to check in with the sentries. They were new to the survivor community, and Sandy wanted to play by the rules, even if he didn’t plan on staying for long. Everyone seemed nice enough.

  What was it about this situation that made his senses that much more heightened? Snap judgments weren’t only important they were a means of survival. So maybe it had really been little Adam who’d used his heightened senses and prodded Sandy along for a walk. They didn’t go far, just down the beach. Sandy wanted to see if there were any turtles left or whether it was after turtle season. He’d always dreamed of seeing baby loggerheads break from their nests and waddle to the water. There were no turtles in the moonlight, only ghost crabs scuttling away as he passed.

  They hadn’t gotten far when they heard the first gunshots.

  Sandy paused, thinking that maybe they’d sent out a hunting party.

  More gunshots. No, that couldn’t be right. He still didn’t have his pistol back. He felt naked. He could have kept walking. Of course, he had to think about food for Adam, but for some reason, Sandy had a feeling that if he wanted to, the child could take formula as a supplement, rather than as its main means of nourishment. He stood there for a long time, listening. No more gunshots, just silence. He wished he had been closer. Maybe he could have heard screams or a commotion. He knew in his gut what it was. It was some sort of attack. Maybe from the inside, maybe from the outside.

  Since arriving, he’d heard repeated whispers of a woman named Dottie.

  “Wait till Dottie sees the baby...”

  “I wonder what Dottie’s going to say...”

  “Do you think Dottie and Chuck will be back soon...?”

  It seemed like a lot of fuss about one woman. But Sandy thought that maybe this was Dottie coming home. Maybe they’d ambush her. Maybe she’d been the one to attack. He had no clue but was curious. So he took his time picking his way in. It wasn’t hard. He perfected his craft during the preceding months. And when he climbed to the second story of a beach house to get a better look, everything looked as he left it. The occasional sentry walked to and fro. Everyone else was probably still asleep.

  So what had that noise been? It could have been fireworks, but then where was everyone? He hadn’t been gone that long and he hadn’t been that far away. He decided to wait and watch. Besides, the couch he was sitting on was comfortable and Adam had fallen asleep. There was a decent view of the ocean on the other side. And when the sun came, he would watch the sunrise. But when he moved to set Adam down on another chair, his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he thought he saw something moving in the corner.

  “Is someone there?” he whispered; his skin suddenly covered in goosebumps.

  “Who are you?” came the whispered answer.

  It was a woman’s voice. Maybe he’d stumbled into someone’s secret hideaway.

  �
��I’m sorry. Didn’t know this was your—”

  Her voice cut him off. “I don’t know you. Are you new?”

  “What? Yeah, we got here yesterday, or the day before.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “Did you see what happened?”

  “You mean the gunshots? No, I was on a walk. The boy wouldn’t sleep, and I go for a walk when he can’t sleep.”

  She came out from the corner now. Her footsteps not making a sound.

  “You have a baby,” she said. “Can I see him?”

  “Oh,” he said, “he’s asleep right now. I’d rather you left him, if that’s okay, but feel free to look at him.”

  She knelt and looked at the baby. “He’s so beautiful.”

  “His name is Adam. I just named him.”

  “From the dust,” she said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  She looked up at him. “That’s what the name means. From the dust. Appropriate.”

  “I was thinking of Adam and Eve.”

  “I know,” she said with a smile.

  There was something beautiful and wise about her. And that’s when all the pieces came together in Sandy’s head. The whisperings, the gunshots, the stranger in the shadows. “You’re Dottie, aren’t you?”

  She didn’t look surprised. “How did you know?”

  “They’ve been talking about you. I think they've been waiting for you to get back. Where have you been?”

  “Searching,” she said, and she stroked Adam’s face with a finger. Then she looked up at Sandy. “And what is your name?”

  “Sandy. Sandy Kaplan.” He didn’t know why, but there was something about her that made him want to stand up tall, to be proud, to maybe even salute, if he knew how.

  “Well, hello, Sandy Kaplan. I know we only just met, but I need your help.”

  Sandy trusted Dottie Roth immediately.

  She took him downstairs to what had once been a game room. Sandy could picture a Ping-Pong table, maybe even a pool table, a dart board, and some movie posters. Somewhere for the kids to hang out or somewhere for the adults to play beer pong when they’d had a few. On the floor lay a man who, even in the dim light, looked pale.

  “This is my good friend, Chuck. Chuck, say hello to Sandy Kaplan.”

  The pale man’s eyes snapped open. “Well, hello there, Sandy Kaplan. I’d stand up and shake your hand, but I’ve been shot. And Dottie here says I should probably take it easy until I’m well on the mend.”

  “He almost died,” Dottie said. “I need you to keep an eye on him. Can you do that for me, Sandy?”

  “Sure. Of course. But where are you going?”

  Dottie pointed to where the community lay. “A group of mercenaries took over the camp. I’m going to take it back.”

  “Wait, by yourself? You can’t do that. Let me help.”

  Dottie shook her head. “You’ve got baby Adam to take care of. And now Chuck too.”

  “Wait, did you say ‘baby’?” Chuck asked. He tried to sit up, but immediately fell back down. “Oh, holy cow... that hurt.”

  “I told you to lie down,” Dottie reprimanded, though there was a deep sense of caring in her voice. Sandy thought that maybe the two were close friends or even lovers. Sandy could understand the attraction, for what Dottie lacked in Hollywood beauty, she more than made up for in confidence and sheer animal intensity.

  “Will you help us, Sandy?” she asked.

  “Sure, of course. Let me get Adam. And I’m happy to get to know Chuck.” Sandy was leaving to go upstairs when he heard Chuck say, “You come back to me alive, Dottie. Or I’ll kill the Devil himself to find you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Fran Markus

  Fran instructed his troops to let the SUV pass. He received reports as the vehicle got closer, there seemed to be no rush. He asked for a description and concise details. The ball cap seemed to match Dottie’s description. Of course, he couldn’t be sure, who else could it be? The entire community tensed as radios squawked and the engine of the small SUV chugged down the main drag. It pulled off to the side, parking in front of an old gas station, every window long since shattered.

  The car sat there, and Fran looked through his binoculars at the woman in the driver’s seat—dark hat, sunglasses. But the windows were tinted, and he couldn’t get a clear picture. He couldn’t tell whether it was her, though she looked about how he remembered.

  Fran wondered what she was doing. The car was sitting there idling and she was looking straight out the window.

  It was time. Team two, take the car.

  A rush of activity as four figures descended, the lead man yelling for the woman to put her hands on the steering wheel and turn off the car. Fran watched it all, her hands placed on the steering wheel, the car engine going dead. This was it, if she was going to fight, she was going to do it now. But she didn’t fight. The driver’s side door banged open and she was roughly pulled out. The rest of the team searched the car and gave the thumbs up. Fran felt only elation as he picked up his weapon and made for the final scene.

  “Hey boss, you’re going to want to see this,” said the lead man over the radio.

  “I’m on my way,” Fran answered.

  “I’m not sure you should come down here, sir. We’ll bring her to you.”

  What the hell was this moron talking about? They finally had her and they wanted him to wait?

  “I’m coming to you. Keep her there,” Fran ordered. And he marched out of the house across the street, his eyes never leaving the pavement. The team leader tried to say something over the radio, but Fran ripped it out of his ear. He was done with listening.

  This was it. This was the beginning of the end. By next night fall, he’d be well on his way to Montana leaving these fools behind. His dreams needed cleansing, and this was how he would do it. She had her back to him and oh, how she would wish she didn’t. The team leader raised his hand for Fran to stop, Fran raised his weapon and shot the man in the face.

  “Anyone else tell me what to do and they get shot too. You got that?”

  The three other team members took a step back. They’d all seen this boss before, and none wanted a piece of it.

  Fran reached down and yanked the woman to her feet, spinning her around, ripping the hat off her head and the glasses off her face, wanting to look deep into her soul before he wrapped his hands around her neck. Let the rest of them watch, see him kill the She-Devil.

  Only the face looking back at him was not Dottie Roth. It was someone else, someone remarkably familiar. And she stared at him with wide, blank eyes. Something was wrong with her mouth. It almost looked like she didn’t have a mouth.

  Then he saw what it was—a rectangular piece of tape that someone had colored the tone of the woman’s flesh. He ripped it off and she let out a yelp. Now he knew exactly who she was, his secretary, the one he left behind at the temporary headquarters, not a day ago. And that’s when he knew the mistake had been made. And a second later, the remaining team of three went down in a raging storm of bullets.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Fran Markus

  The next 24 hours were a lesson in terror tactics. Fran wasn’t sure that he would have survived it even with three times the number of troops. His otherworldly enemy had a knack for the extreme. In the first six hours, Dottie Roth, and whoever she had on her side, killed the three men next to Fran, barely giving him a chance to run for cover. Although he was sure she let him go after the other ones were picked off one by one.

  Fran found the first victim himself. She’d been a talented operator, a part-time spy for the CIA. Fran couldn’t remember her name—Angela or Pauline. Either way, Angela-Pauline’s throat had been cut, and she’d been stripped of all weapons and all communications gear. There was a contingency for that of course, if someone hijacked your frequency, but how could you keep a populace under your thumb when your own men were being slaughtered?

  There were a couple of defections, but by t
his time, Fran’s most loyal were with him. But by the end of the 24 hours of terror, it was down to Fran and his secretary, who hadn’t said a word since she’d arrived. She didn’t have to—Fran knew exactly what had happened. Dottie had tracked him. She’d found their temporary headquarters and had played him perfectly. Fran played the only trump card he figured he had left and used the Philadelphians, threatened and cajoled and finally promised, told them that they were to pretend to be defectors. Five of them went out and stood near the dead bodies at the gas station, flies buzzing all around. Fran went on the communications net. He was sure Dottie was listening.

  “I’m killing all five of them,” he said. “You go out there and exchange your life for theirs.” The plan was for the Philadelphians to take her out with the weapons they’d hidden on their persons.

  Worst case, Fran would take the shot from afar. The five stood out in the heat, swatting flies around, looking nervous, stealing glances back at where Fran stood, well-hidden and impossible to be seen. Five minutes and nothing. Ten, fifteen, twenty, still nothing. The Philadelphia five were sweating now. Fran could tell it wouldn’t be long before they’d run. He thought about killing them himself. But choice was taken from him soon after when shots rang out—five in total—and five bodies hit the pavement.

  Fran’s secretary screamed. He backhanded her so hard that he knocked her unconscious. He looked out the window and saw someone coming.

  It was the She-Devil.

  He raised his weapon and found that his hands were shaking.