River of Night

by John Ringo

  They arrived just at dusk, pulling to a gradual halt inside the chicane that protected the direct approach to the closed gate. He’d visited Site Blue once before, during the initial assessment, but it was nearly unrecognizable now. The SUV’s bright halogen headlamps were making the unfamiliar gate guards squint, so Tom instructed Ralph to shut them off.

  “My name is Smith, and this is my camp,” Tom announced, swinging his door open into the yellow illumination of their parking lights. “Who’s in charge here?”

  There was a brief unintelligible conference among the guards, and much consulting of a clipboard before they answered. Tom could feel his ire begin to mount, but he suppressed it, squeezing his anger down into the tight ball of rage that had been building for months.

  This was not the time, just as he finally reached the gate of his own facility. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled very slowly through his nostrils.

  “Howdy, Mr. Smith. My name is Bustamante, and Administrator Kohn gave directions to pass you directly into camp if you was to show up,” answered the central man finally, walking forward to shine a light inside the battered Suburban. “Y’all the second arrival today; another truck from the bank pulled in a few hours back.”

  Tom’s eyes had narrowed fractionally when he heard Kohn’s name, but his face underwent a transformation of relief when he heard that the others had arrived.

  “They made it?” Tom asked eagerly.

  “Yeah, and they’re in better condition than you all,” the guard replied, looking the entire party over. “Okay, y’all need to go the dispensary first.”

  The guard waved the gate open and jumped on the running board. “Keep y’all’s speed down and follow where I point.”

  Ralph followed the ground guide’s directions and a short drive later, the guard rousted out some muscle to help Pascoe and Junior out of the car.

  “You got a doctor?” asked the teen.

  “Well, what we got’s a decent medic and a dental hygienist,” said Bustamante, snorting. “Practically the same thing, nowadays.”

  “Kid needs an IV and antibiotics,” Tom ordered. “While he gets seen, take me to the other folks that got there, then to Kohn.”

  “Let’s head over now,” the guard replied. He looked at Tom’s torn sleeves and blood-splattered trousers. “They all in the same place, if you can walk.”

  “Try me.”

  There was a brief delay once they entered the building.

  Tom recognized Ken Schweizer and began to pass him after a polite nod. Before he reached what was clearly the next door, Schweizer placed on hand on Tom’s chest, barring his way.

  There was a pause as Tom looked down at the palm that was flat against his chest. He slowly stretched, rolling his neck and shoulders before speaking.

  “Is Risky inside?” he inquired very, very mildly. “Because if she is, you are going to want to move your hand before something unpleasant happens to it.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Smith,” answered Schweizer. “Administrator Kohn is in a meeting. It’s great to see you, but I can let her know that you’re here while you wait.”

  Tom’s face became even more composed and, with an apologetic smile, he used his good right hand to lock Schweizer’s extended wrist in place and then suddenly leaned sharply down and forward, hyperextending the arm and wrist. Schweizer buckled at the knees, wincing in sudden pain as the small bones in his hands and wrist were torqued to the point of breaking. Tom stepped carefully around the suddenly kneeling man and swung the door open firmly.

  If Tom noticed that the downed man had dropped a hand to the pistol on his belt, he didn’t show it.

  His eyes first sought out Risky, who was facing the desk at the front of the room. As Tom stepped through the door, he saw Risky turn and stare for a moment, and then there was a moment of confusion.

  Almost instantly, Tom was hit from a distance of six feet by a guided missile comma brown haired comma female comma one each. Risky managed to wrap all four of her limbs around Tom, hugging him tightly enough that it actually hurt a little.

  Tom wouldn’t have moved her for worlds. She smelled clean and felt…just felt right. In the background he heard the inevitable peanut gallery.

  “Damn,” said Astroga observantly. “It’s like she fucking teleported or something.” Schweizer stepped through the door, rubbing his wrist while he apologized to Kohn, who raised one eyebrow but waved away the interruption. Kohn watched the couple without interference while her security chief explained about the truck and the injuries.

  When Risky and Tom broke apart slightly to inhale, the administrator spoke.

  “Well, Mr. Smith, it’s good to see you,” she said. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Water, please,” Tom said, looking up to address Kohn as he took in the room. “Looks as though there have been some changes to the plan. Where’s Paul Rune?”

  “I’m sorry, Tom,” Risky said, this time squeezing his hand especially hard. “Paul’s dead.”

  “How?” Tom replied stiffly. His eyes blazed, as he looked down at Risky, then over to the others.

  “They’re saying that he tried out some bad vaccine,” Copley waved a little too casually towards Kohn and Schweizer. “That he got sick and turned. That all of our vaccinations might be no good.”

  “Impossible,” Tom said, looking directly at Kohn. “Can’t happen that way. Paul had the primer and the booster less than six months ago. He can’t contract H7D3.”

  “And yet he did,” Kohn replied smoothly. “That is a big question and until we have the facilities and scientific staff it will remain an open issue which we cannot answer directly. Worse, we have another major issue which demands our attention.”

  “What could be more serious than Paul dying from the virus after he was vaccinated?” demanded Tom.

  “Tom, listen to her!” Risky said, again squeezing his hand, invisibly grinding a few fingers together.

  Tom looked at her for a moment, then back to Kohn, his eyes once again mild.

  “You, Mr. Smith,” Kohn leveled her gray eyes at him as Schweizer nodded to some people outside the door. Four more staff walked in, lining the wall behind the bank crew. Tom had accepted the request to disarm as they exited their SUV. Now he noted that these four all wore holstered pistols.

  “You, and the fight that you apparently picked with one very large, capable and organized force,” she went on. “They are here now, and their price for not attacking this camp is also you. You—personally.”

  * * *

  It was nearly midnight before everyone had been settled, still disarmed, in their respective CHUs and most of the guards had been withdrawn.

  Tom was visited by a delegation composed of Copley and Risky, who were admitted by one of Kohn’s armed staff.

  “Are the others okay?” Tom said, standing up from his seat on the bed as they closed the door behind them.

  “They’re fine,” answered Risky. “We wanted to share what we learned so far.”

  “Are these rooms secure?” Tom said with a casual glance around the little prefabbed hut. The overhead florescent lighting cast dark lines across the faces of his companions.

  “Gunner Randall says so,” Copley said, twisting the door lock. “He’s what passes for the electronics specialist around here. Just keep your voice down.”

  “So, what happened to Paul, really?” Tom asked. “You know the story about bad vaccine is bullshit.”

  Rapidly, the duo filled him in while he listened impassively. He initially brightened to hear that his deputy was alive, but as he considered the situation, any pleasure that he felt was swept away in calculation.

  “So, we know Kohn runs the camp, right?” Tom asked, rubbing his chin contemplatively. “And now we have a name for the bad guys. Do we know what strength this Gleaner arsehole Loki has with him? And what does Kohn have here?”

  “According to Schweizer, who said to tell you that his wrist ‘still hurts like hell and was that reall
y necessary,’ the town clowns that pass for camp security now have seen five vehicles and twenty-five men altogether,” answered Copley. “The camp has plenty of guns and a bit more than a hundred survivors, split between bank folks and local yokels that are firmly on Kohn’s side. What they don’t have are many trained shooters. There might be couple dozen who hunt, but soldiers? People that know how to fight? Me, you, Randall and Astroga and that’s i—oof!”

  He looked to his right where Risky held her fist cocked, ready to plant it in his ribs again.

  “…and Risky, we got her too.”

  Risky smiled toothily at him and relaxed her fist. She reached out and grasped one of Tom’s hands.

  “And the Gleaners?” asked Tom. “We got hit by thirty or more about a three days ago. I don’t know how many we killed, but except for Ralph, all of us are hurt. Add those to the force we saw at the first drama, then factor what Loki has with him—it’s got to be a really large force, maybe hundreds.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Risky.

  “Loki told Kohn that he works for a bigshot named Green, Governor Green,” Tom said. “This Green has to be more than somewhat organized in order to field three separate bands of armed scavengers. I don’t know what his tooth to tail ratio is, but he’s got to have one. Even the pros still need two people behind every fighter. That means the Gleaners have hundreds of people.”

  “So, figure this guy is at best a skilled amateur,” Copley offered. “We’ve seen maybe seventy-five shooters so far? Giving him a three-to-one ratio means that his organization needs at least another two-fifty in support for logistics, medical, admin, the usual.”

  “So why is this Loki here with so little force?” Risky asked.

  “Because the rest are somewhere else?” replied Copley.

  “They have the map,” Tom said suddenly. He tilted his head downwards and exhaled. “They’re not here because the real prize is getting a dam.”

  There was a long silence that no one felt like breaking.

  “This is…bad,” Tom said finally, looking around the plywood interior of the little CHU for inspiration. “No one else useful here in camp, Worf?”

  “Not really. The bank people are financial analysts, traders and some of their families,” answered Copley. “I kinda left ole’ Ralph out of my calculations after his performance when we lost Durante. I saw one of yours here, Kendra Jones. She’s pretty out of it. I don’t think she’s altogether present and correct, if you know what I mean.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Risky, plopping down on the bed. “What’s the plan?”

  “If Kohn decides to give Loki what he wants and we fight it out internally, it’ll be a mess,” Tom said, beginning to pace back and forth. He covered the short distance in only a few slow steps before pivoting and walking the opposite direction. “I’m not sure that we can win that scenario anyhow, given how few we are. If we lose, the camp’s defenses are diminished and our wounded are at Kohn’s mercy. Even if we win, we’ll still have less combat power than the whole camp is starting out with, right now. And we’re stuck inside the perimeter while Loki keeps us from joining up with the rest of our people, who are facing pretty crappy odds.”

  “I follow,” Copley said, leaning backwards against the inside of the door. “I don’t like it, but I follow.”

  “If I offer something else to Kohn, it has to look at least as attractive as giving me up,” Tom said, still pacing. “What does she need?”

  “All she wants is power and control,” Copley answered, agitatedly. “And she already has both.”

  “Hmm,” was Tom’s answer.

  “Maybe we make a run for the car?” Copley said, rubbing his trousers along the tops of his thighs.

  “Can’t,” Tom replied. “We have people here, including Robbins’s injured kid. Not to mention the bank folks that were the entire reason for Site Blue in the first place. We aren’t leaving them to Kohn’s mercies while we run to safety, assuming we could fight our way to the truck.”

  “Yeah, I’m just thinking out loud,” Copley said. “Besides, Gunner told me that all the vehicles are controlled access items. Schweizer maintains control of all the keys and the access to the fuel storage. If we bust out, we do it with minimal guns. You got a holdout?”

  He looked at Tom.

  “Just a knife.” Tom produced a large folder from his pocket.

  Copley inclined an eyebrow towards Risky.

  “Teach own grandmother to suck eggs,” Risky answered, and then pushed Tom’s shoulder to get his attention. “Is not the point. We don’t give you up.”

  Tom walked half a step and hugged her.

  “I’m pretty sure that we could blow out of here, maybe get most of us out except for our wounded,” he said. “We’d have to kill or hurt a lot of people to do it, including people whose only crime is being desperate enough to follow Kohn. That would leave Site Blue wide open to the Gleaners. This isn’t just about me and our group. It isn’t even about the damn bank any longer. It’s about keeping the largest number of uninfected people alive that we can. If I make a trade to Kohn, it would be for her to support the dam.”

  “No, Tom,” Risky protested, squeezing him hard. “I won’t give you up!”

  “When you made me promise to stay alive, I said that I would try hard, Risky.” He kissed her gently. “I didn’t promise that I would pull it off.”

  They stayed, embracing.

  Copley stood and made as if to leave quietly.

  “Wait!” Tom leaned back and looked at Risky, then the sergeant. Copley froze with his hand on the doorknob.

  “What did you say? What does Kohn want?”

  “Power and control,” Copley answered.

  “What if we offered her more?” Tom said.

  “More what?” Risky asked.

  “Power. As much as she can imagine.”

  * * *

  Risky woke up before Tom and carefully eased her weight from the smallish mattress without waking him. She elected to try out what passed for showers. Inside one of the nearby CHU that had been converted into bathrooms and showers, she found Cathe Astroga preparing to scrub-down at one end of the cramped space.

  “You too?” the indomitable private inquired. “Never pass up a chance to pee, eat, shower or sleep is what my dad always taught me. Rule number four.”

  “Sounds like a wise man,” Risky said, disrobing. She had the seeds of a plan. She began fiddling with the toilet tank while Astroga watched curiously.

  “That thing works fine,” she said. “Used the hell out of it yesterday. Fucking MREs.”

  “That isn’t what…” Risky said, fishing around in her skirt. She took care of a minor chore. The toilet tank lid clanked into place. “…I had in mind.”

  “Oh,” Astroga observed, puzzled but captivated. “Interesting. So you got some more ideas?”

  Risky showed her another weapon, and explained how she’d use it.

  “Hmm, sounds complicated,” Astroga said. “What did Smith say?”

  “My darling idiot thinks that he can negotiate with the snake, Kohn.” Risky went on. “He’s going to try for a deal and seal it with his honor.”

  “Well, Smitty’s a straight up guy,” Astroga said, then smiled as Risky turned around. “Damn, look at those hand prints. You been busy, girl!”

  “What?” Risky replied, then looked down at herself and smiled ruefully. “Well, at least these are good for something.”

  “Oh, they are good for a lot of things, but usually for turning men into fools,” Astroga reflected happily. She looked down at her own lean physique. “I have got to get me some of that. No other privates around to play with.”

  Risky raised an eyebrow.

  “Privates, people of my same or lower rank,” Astroga said, explaining. “I mean, I know that I am promoted and all, but what I wouldn’t give for a handy-dandy E-2 right now. My guys are my bosses and senior in rank to boot, so that’s a no-go. Maybe Junior, once the kid heals up.”
She grinned broadly and shook her hips. “If he’s old enough to shoot, then he’s old enough to…”

  Now Risky held up one hand.

  “Ah, yeah. Sorry,” Astroga subsided and added. “But yeah, like I said. Smith. Straight up guy. Men are pretty hard over on the whole ‘honor’ thing. That can be pretty impractical. Me—not so much. I’m way too little to worry about shit like honor. I have to be Ms. Practicality, if you know what I mean. How about you?”

  “Oh, I am quite practical,” Risky said, assuring her. “Quite.”

  “Ooh—goody,” Astroga said, brightening further. “Let’s share some suds, then. Wash my back?”

  “One thing at a time, please.” Risky rolled her eyes.

  * * *

  Risky walked back to Tom’s CHU. At least she had been able to change into fresh underwear. That, the shower and brushing her teeth had considerably lightened her mood.

  Until she and Tom visited the wounded.

  They found the Robbins boy and Pascoe in the infirmary. Pascoe’s eyes were unbandaged. He could even squint out of the left one, revealing a bloodshot eyeball, but one which he claimed was working, mostly.

  Junior was much worse, burning up with fever. Hampered by his sling, Tom talked Risky through the method to inject one of their few remaining doses of booster while a woman named Evelyn who had been introduced as a dental hygienist watched carefully. Risky tucked Junior back under the covers, assuring him that he was going to be fine.

  The boy’s big eyes still managed to get a quick look at her cleavage, despite the savage chills that shook his body, earning him another smile as Risky assured him that he would be fine.

  Outside, Tom took her hand as they walked.

  “You know that he probably is,” he said. “Going to be fine, that is.”

  “He has terrible fever,” Risky said. “Is that normal?”