by John Ringo
“Let’s go, big man.” Summoned by a tilt of Kohn’s chin, Schweizer strode to just outside Loki’s considerable reach and motioned with a drawn pistol. “Let’s walk.”
Scanning further, Risky saw that all the guards had drawn their weapons. Considering that the room was a jumble of people, she really hoped that no one began shooting.
Risky began to surge, but Copley had slid his hand from her elbow to her biceps. A surprisingly strong grip kept her anchored and he gave Risky an even more quelling look.
“No,” Loki said before nodding to his aide, who stood. “We’re done. You had your chance, Kohn. Next time you see me is the last time.”
Without awaiting a reply, he walked briskly down the center aisle, the top of his head brushing the lowest beams. Both Gleaners ignored the weapons around them and strode briskly towards the door, trailed by three armed camp guards.
Risky got a good look at him as he passed. Loki returned the favor without breaking stride, his black eyes sliding over her appraisingly.
After they filed out, Kohn clapped her hands to regain everyone’s attention, and Risky faced forward again, pulling her arm from Copley’s grasp.
“Ms. Khabayeva, do you in fact have a young refugee with you?” Kohn asked directly. “And where is Mr. Smith?”
“Joanna, I’ve got only three people—” Risky replied.
To Risky’s confusion, there were a few gasps from other civilian members of the camp staff.
Kohn held up an open hand.
“Please, be calm everyone,” she said. Her smile was sad, even though her eyes never changed. “Ms. Khabayeva is not offering offense by omitting my title. She is clearly overwrought from her harrowing journey. She is unaccustomed to our cultured ways inside the camp, as we begin to restore civilization.”
“Title…” sputtered Risky. “Culture? This little place? Cultured ways?”
She sought additional words but Copley placed a calming hand on her shoulder, making her twitch.
“Ah, Ms. Kohn. Right?” Copley said, stepping forward. “We’ve been looking for Mr. Smith but no dice. We four are pretty tired. Any chance that we could let the other two into the camp, maybe get some food and wash up? Afterwards, maybe we can relax and share our story and get this sorted.”
“Sorted, Mr.…?” inquired Kohn.
“Sergeant Copley, New York National Guard, ma’am.” Risky listened to Copley glibly stroke Kohn’s ego. “I meant, that we could sort out the details and figure out what to do next. This was our destination, like.”
“Of course, Sergeant,” Kohn said, turning to Copley. “But your idiom recalls the Commonwealth. You would not happen to be from Australia, would you?”
Her eyes glittered.
“No, ma’am,” Copley replied, putting on his best shuck and jive. “I’m Army; we’re from everywhere.”
“Just so, Sergeant,” Kohn said before pivoting back to face Risky. “Well, then. Welcome, Ms. Khabayeva and Sergeant Copley,” she said, holding up both hands, palm up. “Does anyone in your party need medical care?”
Risky didn’t trust herself to speak, so she limited her response to a quick headshake.
“Despite the challenges, we are happy that you have returned. Mr. Schweizer and…”
Kohn’s gaze panned the room, and stopped on a tall, gaunt blonde with a crew cut.
“…and Ms. Jones will assist you to get oriented. After you have eaten and cleaned up, we will meet back here in two hours and we can answer any questions you might have and help get you settled. Ken, please stay for a moment. Kendra, perhaps you could show our guests to the CHU area.”
Risky turned her head to look for the familiar figure of Kendra Jones and instead found a pair of empty eyes staring back at her.
* * *
“Yes, Ms. Kohn,” Schweizer said as soon as Jones closed the door behind the last newcomer to file out.
“Ken, I need you to keep a very close eye on our latest additions,” Joanna said, her hands clasped together on top of her desk. “I want to know how they relate to each other, if any are unhappy and if any might be persuaded to work with us.”
“I understand, Ms. Kohn,” Schweizer said.
“And watch Sergeant Randall as well,” Joanna added. “We need to ensure that we can rely on our loyal team members.”
* * *
Kendra had instantly recognized Risky the moment that she walked in. She noticed, in a detached, former intel analyst way, the condition of Risky’s clothes, the fatigue in her stride and the way that Risky’s eyes took in everything. Despite the obvious signs of an arduous journey, Risky radiated attractiveness, from the swing of her hips as she strode into the room to her long brown hair that appeared to have been washed only days ago.
If Kendra had been inclined to feel anything, she might have felt jealousy.
No one deserved to feel so normal.
Once the Suburban had been rolled inside under the supervision of camp security, Kendra turned to the four newcomers.
“Hi everybody,” she said without inflection. “I’ll show you guys to a temporary room that you can share. We’ll put you next door to the guys. Clear all your guns and leave them locked in the truck for now. No one will bother them. If you stay, all the guns will go in the armory. Randall will take the guys over to their hut and I’ll walk you over to yours.”
She paused. “You’re staying, right?”
“You got hot showers, girl?” replied Astroga.
“Hot water we have,” Kendra said. “Long, hot showers are harder, but do-able. After you clean up, we’ll feed you and then we can talk, if you’re up to it.”
“Why can’t we keep the guns, Kendra?” asked Copley.
“Camp policy,” Schweizer said, interjecting as he walked up. “If you stay, you follow the rules. We have our reasons. You might have had it tough out there, but there’s plenty of tough times to go around. Get cleaned up and eat. Then we can swap questions and answers. Cool?”
Kendra watched all four nod.
“Great,” she said. “Ladies, follow me.”
She turned her back and walked towards the women’s shower hut.
Schweizer fell in behind the men.
* * *
After cleaning up and eating, Worf felt almost human. Next door, the ladies hadn’t even left the shower yet, so he lounged around outside, staying inside Schweizer’s field of view.
“Hey, Worf,” Randall said as he sidled up to his old Army boss. “Man, I never thought I’d say this, but it is good to have you around.”
“Hey, Gunner,” the sergeant replied. “I won’t tell anyone that you said that. So, what’s new?”
“Nada,” said Randall. He turned to their current escort. “Kendra, Ken—would you mind if I talk with my old boss privately first? Might make things easier to understand, coming from me. The others are coming out, so I’m going to take them to get some food. When the administrator is ready to talk, come get us at the dining hall.”
“Sure thing, Randall,” Schweizer replied, looking over to Jones, who was watching the scene while she leaned against the hut, one foot’s sole against the corrugated siding. “I’ve got plenty to do. You still need an escort for the ladies, though. Kendra will stay. She can grab a coffee while you chat. I’ll come get you when Ms. Kohn is ready.”
Worf watched the byplay as Kendra looked at Schweizer and nodded, seemingly bored. The Army National Guardsman watched Risky try to catch their old comrade’s eye, but Kendra looked right though both Risky and himself before she kicked her weight off the CHU.
“Food is this way,” she said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Worf noticed that Kendra was still armed. So was Schweizer.
* * *
As she joined the table, Risky glanced toward Kendra, who sat well apart, staring into a white ceramic mug of cooling coffee.
“So what’s the story with Jones?” asked Astroga. “That girl looks dead. And I don’t like that Billy Idol thing she did w
ith her hair at all.”
They were sitting in a corner, enjoying the finest textured vegetable protein and rehydrated beans that pre-Fall Bank of the Americas dollars could buy.
“That bank guy we talked about?” Randall said before he paused as another camp resident walked past. “He and Kendra became a thing after we got here. Then they weren’t anymore. Then Rune got himself infected, as far as anyone knows.”
“How did Kohn sell it?” said Copley.
“Just the way it sounds,” Randall shrugged, keeping his voice low. “An op for vaccine supplies went bad and Paul was in charge.” Randall laid out the story.
Rune infected. Schweizer assigned disposal to the same townies that helped snatch Rune. Kohn’s set up and Kendra’s justice.
“…Kohn let Kendra do it herself. She put two into each dude less than five minutes later. Didn’t even blink. Cut her hair super short that night and hasn’t changed it since.”
“Okay, that makes more sense,” Risky said after Randall finished. “How tight was Kendra with Kohn before Rune died?”
“Not particularly,” Randall replied as he looked around casually, before slowly letting one eyelid droop. “Not any more than most, but a lot less than the real kiss-asses like Christine or her toadies that made it here from the city. Until we lost Paul, she was sorta in the middle, helping make shit work. She was only on one committee.”
“And what’s with all the committees?” Astroga said. At the food line the daily, weekly and monthly schedule for meetings was posted for the convenience of the camp staff. Astroga rolled her eyes. “Worse than the Army.”
“There’s a committee for everything, including to boss around the other committees,” Randall explained. “With Rune gone and Kendra basically doing special projects, each committee is run by a person who either owes Kohn or buys into her bullshit. As she likes to say: ‘Everybody works, everybody eats.’”
“Well, that sounds draconian, but this is survival,” Copley said mildly. “Seems legit enough.”
“Except that Kohn decides who does what work, doesn’t she?” interrupted Risky. “And for how long, and defines what’s good enough.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Randall said with an interested look at Risky. “Lucky guess?”
“No,” Risky replied. “Familiar system for anyone that has lived in Eastern Europe, or old Soviet Russia. What matters is we wait for Tom. We get as much information as we can. We play along. When—”
“Hey, hot stuff,” Astroga said, greeting Schweizer unnecessarily loudly as he headed towards their table from across the room. She added a wink. “Looking good!”
“Hello, folks,” Schweizer smiled back, unimpressed. He kept himself at an arm’s distance from their table. “If you’re all done, the administrator will see you in her office now.”
No one made an immediate move.
“Thanks, I got this, Sergeant Randall,” Schweizer said with a glance at Randall. “Why don’t you head back to the radio hut and buzz yourself in? No one can run the watch like you.”
“Well, actually boyo, we aren’t—” Copley said as he began to shield his former subordinate, but Risky smiled back and spoke over her teammate’s nascent objections.
“Sounds fine,” she said with a bright smile at her table mates. “Let’s all go visit.”
CHAPTER 16
Joanna Kohn calmly awaited the newest arrivals to New Hope.
Her preparations were working exactly as intended. Her proxies chaired every important department. She had carefully, systematically converted the survival organization into a working model that they could grow into a better world.
Discipline and focus were needed. That was all. The former bankers could be quite valuable, if she could motivate them as she had everyone else. Kendra Jones was one of her most reliable people.
Now.
Even the arrival of the Gleaners, as they styled themselves, could be managed. She identified Loki for what he was, a simple murderer who was ruled by his hungers. His pathetically bad hair notwithstanding, she recognized his look because she could see its cousin in her mirror, peeking around the edge at her, now and again.
She’d been comfortable with that realization for some time.
Even if, when she gave Loki or Governor Green what they wanted, he wouldn’t be satisfied. Yet, he wouldn’t expect premature treachery from a woman, let alone an effete, urban bureaucrat.
Men had always believed themselves possessed of a monopoly on ruthlessness, and that had lasted for some time.
Before the Fall, one of her many interchangeable security types had been a reasonably presentable man. Not very biddable, but certainly possessed of endurance. They argued in bed, afterwards, over inconsequentialities. Enamored of all things military despite not being a veteran, he was very much known for carrying every gadget and widget for security that he could conceal under his suit jacket, including a dive knife.
When she had pointed out the futility of a diver carrying a knife to defend against sharks and on land at that, he had laughed.
The knife wasn’t to stab the sharks if they came for you, he explained. It was for stabbing another diver and then slowly, calmly swimming away.
That was worth remembering.
Sharks came in all shapes, everywhere.
The knock on her office door was immediately followed by Schweizer stepping through and ushering in Khabayeva and the others.
“Welcome, welcome!” Joanna stood to greet them, stepping around her desk. “I hope that you are all feeling refreshed.”
She waved them into four chairs that had been placed in front of her desk.
“Yes, thank you, Joanna,” replied the dark-haired Russian woman. The other three made polite noises.
“While I am very glad to see that more of our old colleagues have reached our haven, you have arrived during a difficult time,” Joanna sat on the corner of her desk, slightly above the sight line of her guests. As she perched, her figure obscured the gleaming white placard which read “Administrator.”
“As you probably learned, we recently lost several staff during a recovery sweep for medical material. One of them was a longtime, trusted friend, Paul Rune.”
Joanna watched all of their faces as she spoke. All of them nodded, nearly in unison. So they’d heard, already.
“When the sweep failed, Paul volunteered to test some vaccine that we recovered, previously,” she went on. “It was tainted and his earlier vaccination failed him. As a result, it has called into question all the early vaccinations administered by Bank of the Americas.”
“You mean that we could still be vulnerable?” Khabayeva stammered.
“Yes, you might be susceptible to infection.” Joanna shifted from a polite smile to a concerned look as she reassured the shaken woman. “We have been considering protocols to keep those personnel safe.” Joanna shifted slightly. “Does your party have any vaccine?”
“We got split up by an attack of infected about a week ago, ma’am,” the grungy-looking sergeant replied. “Haven’t seen the other truck since then. They had a cooler of vaccine, but I don’t know if it’s good anymore. Same stuff that the bank made, so if it didn’t protect Rune…”
“Yes, that is a consideration.” Joanna favored him with a smile. “We now have a quandary apart from the vaccination and recent loss of staff. The party which you saw departing earlier is a new development. They call themselves the Gleaners and appear to be both well equipped and large in size.”
“Where did they come from?” asked Khabayeva. “Honestly, we didn’t know who they were when they started shooting at us.”
“They tell a different tale, Ms. Khabayeva,” countered Joanna. “And we need to have an answer for them. You don’t have the girl or know where she is, do you?”
“We dropped her at a farm, several days away,” Copley said. “Said she was family. Made sense at the time, we were in a hurry to get here and didn’t have room for more people.”
“A farm
.” Joanna decided to let that go, for now. “And Mr. Smith—well, Loki and his leader want him as well. If they do not get what they demand, they are threatening violence. Violence which we would be hard pressed to resist. And if we resisted successfully, we would do so at tremendous cost, wasting much of what we have accomplished to date.”
Her audience didn’t have an answer for her.
“So you can see, while I am very glad that you are safe with us now…” Joanna paused to emphasize her point “…everything comes at a cost.”
At that moment footsteps could be head on the wooden floor outside her office. There was a brief snippet of tense dialogue, unintelligible to Joanna.
Then the door opened briskly.
* * *
Fat Ralph drove the entire way. After dawn, they found a spot where they could observe their back trail. Tom had told Ralph to pull over, and commenced assessing injuries. Once the adrenaline of surviving combat had worn off, the pain of their injuries sharply diminished the humorous chatter.
Pascoe’s eyes were mostly swollen shut; Junior’s leg gunshot wound was red and angry. The gouges and scrapes were dirty, and despite cleaning them, the red streaks up his leg were plain.
“I’ve got bad news,” Tom announced. “The kid is bit, not just scratched.”
“Aw, fuck,” said Pascoe. “Motherfu—”
“The good news is that he had the primer,” Tom added, looking directly into Junior’s terrified eyes. “We’ll get you the booster right now. Then again in twelve hours. This worked on my thirteen-year-old niece, and she had direct blood-to-blood contact. You’re gonna feel sick as hell, but you are gonna make it.”
“I don’t want to be a zombie!” Junior said, shaken. “I’ll eat a bullet first.”
He reached a hand down to touch the pistol at his thigh.
“No one is turning into a zombie,” Tom said, putting his hand on top of the kid’s. “I personally guarantee it. You’re going to get a relaxing break from working and fighting while you smile at pretty nurses at our camp.”
Tom continued to reassure Junior while he pulled out both the small electrically powered cooler and the red folding tackle box that housed their first aid supplies. Despite the pain in his shoulder, for the next hour he did all the nursing, starting with the booster for the teenager and, after a pause, for Pascoe as well. After some first aid and rebandaging, Tom decided to press directly all the way to the camp.