River of Night

by John Ringo

  “Change his mind how?”

  “Smith is going to take over some dam,” Kendra answered. “He’s going to get it cleaned up and working and give it to Joanna. In return, he gets you. You get to stay here, along with the old guy and the kid in the clinic.”

  “Can’t believe that you’re working for that fucking psycho,” Risky said. She looked at her restrained hand and judged the distance to Kendra.

  Too far.

  “She isn’t the one that insisted that you stay inside,” Kendra said. She didn’t even look back at her. “Smith’s idea. Keeps you out of the way and safe. Kohn will send for you—she wants to persuade you—help you see things. There will be an after.”

  “After what?” Risky replied, as she felt around in the pockets of her skirt. “Hey, where’s my knife?”

  “Either after Tom fails and dies or he gets the dam for Joanna,” Kendra answered flatly, watching Risky pat herself down. “The guy that tased you searched your stuff before I got called. He took anything that could be a weapon. Actually got in trouble for it—supposed to let females search females. Joanna was mildly pissed. If you had a knife, it’s in the armory now.”

  Risky had frozen when Kendra mentioned the dam mission.

  “Just let me see Kohn,” Risky said. She tried to keep her voice steady. “Kendra, please.”

  “When she calls,” Kendra replied. Seeing the look on Risky’s face, she sighed. “And even if you beat me and got out, there’s a guard outside. There are two with Smith, who’s fine, by the way. He’s leaving soon, with Randall and the other soldier you brought. There’s another with Kohn. You don’t have any weapons and you’re tied up. I know it sucks, but it’s over.”

  Risky eyed her speculatively and kept her hand on the prize in her pocket. They didn’t find all of her weapons. And she knew where to get more.

  Outside the CHU, Risky heard a brief cheer, but Jones didn’t even twitch.

  * * *

  Tom kept the battered Suburban under twenty-five, carefully driving around the same car wrecks that they’d passed on the way into Site Blue.

  The SUV felt strangely empty, but he could feel the tense silence that filled the space between himself and the others. His anger was red hot, and no one else seemed happy either. Rune had flagged him down a mile outside of camp and now he was riding shotgun while Luke Connor watched opposite side. Connor was jittery and Tom knew that the teen would be the first to talk.

  “Mr. Smith, how long do you figure till we get to the dam?” he asked after a few miles had slid by.

  “Fifteen miles to the dam on the map the Gleaners have,” Tom replied curtly, keeping his eyes front. “Figure anything from a couple hours to half a day.”

  The reminder of his own culpability in the loss of the map made Tom’s mouth fill with bile. Leaving Risky behind stoked his building anger even higher. He’d walked into Site Blue, blithely expecting to be welcomed and instead Kohn had outplayed him.

  After their meeting, an armed-Schweizer had chivvied him outside to a podium facing the communal eating area. There, Tom had delivered a glad-handed speech, banker-style to a few dozen folks, mostly from the bank. He’d covered how glad he was to find them all safe, how he was going to scout the possibility of restoring a hydroelectric powerplant so that they could have electric fences, better food, more illumination and limitless hot water. The audience had seemed the most interested in the latter, perhaps inspired by Astroga’s lusty cheer in the background.

  “Where are we going now?” Luke asked from the back seat. “Why are we leaving Miss Risky and the Army guys behind?”

  Tom ignored the teenager.

  “Kid, we’re heading for the nearest dam,” Rune answered tersely. “Just like we told you already. Now shut up and watch your side.”

  Tom knew that he was radiating anger and that wasn’t fair to a loyal teammate who’d just gone through his own version of hell, but he was mastering his rage and didn’t trust himself to talk.

  Tom could tell that Paul Rune was aggravated as well. If anyone deserved a break, it was Paul. His head had a lopsided bandage on it, held on with an abundance of tape: Astroga’s signature.

  Immediately after forcing Tom to talk, Schweizer had hustled Tom and Connor to one of the SUVs, under careful guard. Lastly, he’d passed over their empty weapons.

  And Tom had meekly driven away.

  While Tom hoped that the presence of the National Guard contingent encouraged Kohn to stick to the deal and keep Risky safe, he still seethed. He was fighting the emotion, knowing that he needed all of his experience and smarts to overcome the next challenge, but he continued to replay the scenario, recognizing that he’d been outmaneuvered from the very start. He’d failed to predict her hostage tactic. Now he’d left Risky behind.

  There was still a mission ahead. When he finished it, he would return to settle Site Blue. He still had an ace in the hole and Kohn and her coterie didn’t know.

  * * *

  Harlan Green impatiently wiped the lenses of his binoculars, and refocused on the far shore. Despite the shelter of an umbrella held aloft by a flunky detailed to that sole purpose, the persistent morning rain immediately began to again smear across his field of vision. His lieutenant-on-probation, Mr. Young, was at his side, scanning with a set of his own binocs. His longtime lieutenant, Loki, stood glum-faced, flanking Green on his other side.

  Green had been visiting the various towns where his Gleaners had already cleared the zombies and installed a small contingent to maintain control. These towns were sited at important crossroads or other nearby high value locations such as the National Guard armory where they’d found and repaired a very large, wheeled armored vehicle. However, the good news where he’d been was trumped by the disappointing news at his main camp.

  Khorbish was dead, presumably electrocuted by some sort of advanced defense. Eva Green was severely injured and had failed to bring him any prisoners or new intelligence other than confirming the very irritating military proficiency of their new opponents. Worse, Loki had failed to win over the camp that Green himself had identified on the captured map. More than likely he had relied on brute intimidation rather than subtlety. Green suppressed a melodramatic sigh.

  Good help was indeed hard to find.

  Well, the banker’s camp was secondary. He could return to it at his leisure. In front of him was the real prize.

  The powerful binoculars brought the hydroelectric facility to within arm’s distance.

  Everything reported by Young appeared to be accurate. The facility was intact and operating and the defenses were considerable. Green grimaced. Between the first confrontation, the losses incurred by his scouting groups and general wastage, the Gleaners’ supply of foot soldiers had become seriously depleted. Yet, the winter season was very nearly upon them and he could ill afford the time needed to recruit back up to strength and train to any meaningful standard.

  If Biggs had killed off Smith at the first meeting, if O’Shannesy had mousetrapped the damnably competent ex-banker instead of getting herself shot, if Loki had secured an alliance with that viper Kohn just a day sooner, he wouldn’t be facing the need for a direct attack against a prepared enemy who might be ably led and highly motivated.

  No matter.

  He had to get his group under cover and into winter quarters, and he’d made promises. Electricity, abundant hot water, fresh loot, recreation. Green didn’t overestimate the quality of his organization and he understood the fate of any leader that couldn’t deliver on promises.

  “The obvious route’s too obvious,” offered the former cop at his side. “Attacking over the bridge would be very expensive.”

  “True,” Green said, squinting at the dam and the pile-mounted bridge that ran directly above it.

  It would still be less expensive than failing to take it, he didn’t add, continuing his study.

  Above the dam itself, and supported by concrete pilings, was the kilometer-long bridge for the state highway.
The two-lane road was thoroughly blocked by a series of scuffed concrete Jersey barriers spanning the roadbed in multiple places. Getting a vehicle heavy enough to displace the barriers would be the only way to avoid the infected in view as well as provide shelter from the defenders’ inevitable armed response. The length of the bridge would keep any vehicle under fire for a long time and clearing the barriers on foot, under fire would indeed be expensive.

  Below the highway, the dam was topped by an access path, not quite wide enough for a single vehicle. Dotted along the walkway were sheds or storage huts. The upstream face was a sheer drop to the lake below but downstream, rotating cams blocked the spillways between the near-shore barge lock and the far-side power house. A modest amount of barbed wire and chain-link provided security, and no zombies were in view on dam proper.

  He let his eyes travel to the opposite shore. A few distant uninfected humans had been briefly visible inside the obvious defenses. Slightly closer, an outboard-equipped boat was pulled up onto a small gravel beach, itself screened by tall chain-link. The steep path that led upwards through the riprap had several gates that would impede infected, and on the bluff above the water’s edge was perched the original construction, a two-story concrete gray blockhouse. It was well supplied with windows protected by folding louvers. A tall auxiliary smokestack dominated the open area that surrounded the structure, and outside yet another ring of fencing, he could make out the unmistakable shapes of the previously suspected electrical defense.

  “Are those space-heater looking things the lightning machines that killed Khorbish?” asked Dragon.

  The mushroom-shaped devices were situated at even intervals, creating a visual barrier that was also demarcated by dozens of naked corpses. Green had nearly decided that his Triad recruit was excess to needs when the tattooed convict had returned from the meeting engagement outside the bank’s camp considerably sobered and reflective. Pairing him with Young and Eva had perhaps matured him to a functional level of utility.

  Green would afford the man a chance to prove it.

  “Yes,” replied Green, with a measured glance. “They’re called Tesla coils. They were popular for entertainment purposes before the plague. Evidently they’re also useful for eliminating zombies, but they’re not dangerous to us if you don’t stupidly walk within range. They do require a lot of materials and expertise to construct. Someone over there thought well ahead in order to stockpile that amount of supplies. We could use a person like that.”

  “Can’t we just shoot them?” rumbled Loki. “The coils? Shoot everything that looks important?”

  “We can,” said Young, “and we will. They’re fragile. But we’ll want to keep our direction of approach hidden till it’s too late. They might have mines and other defenses as well. And more importantly, we want to be careful about what we destroy. The entire purpose of this operation is to capture a hydroelectric power plant in working order.”

  “Just so,” said Green, with an approving glance at the ex-cop. “So step one will be to deploy a little surprise that will occupy the attention of our friends across the river. We will force them to deal with as many zombies as we can lure into their preparations. Every mine, every bit of fence stomped flat and every bullet they expend on the zombies is one that we don’t have to contend with ourselves.”

  There were a few grins in the group now. Softening up the defenses was a concept that they could get behind.

  “So, if just charging across is too expensive, then how do we do this?” asked Dragon.

  “Consider that,” Green said, gesturing to the river itself and then upstream to the north side of the waterway.

  “We’re in a new era where we’ll have to rebuild using the tools and practices of a much earlier time,” Green said. “Given their focus on the defenses for the bridge and dam, I suspect that our technical geniuses across the way aren’t avid students of history, or they would’ve considered what the father of the old United States did to defeat the Hessians on the Christmas eve of the revolution.”

  Most of the men could only muster a blank stare, and even Young looked faintly puzzled.

  “You’re saying that we’ll sneak across the river in the middle of the night—” Loki chuckled evilly—“and murder them in their sleep.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” replied Green.

  Now the grins among the Guard were universal.

  “Mr. Loki, pass the word to move the rest of our convoy as soon as possible,” Green ordered confidently. “Mr. Young, please organize this place to receive our men and equipment. If possible, I want to be able to attack tonight.”

  * * *

  Robbins looked up at the interruption.

  “Jordan, I didn’t mean it!” protested Eric, as he was towed into view by one firmly clutched elbow, trailed by Katrin and Cheryl.

  The boy was mortified at the manhandling being dished out by the surprisingly strong, though older teen.

  “Doesn’t matter what you meant!” Jordan replied angrily. “I told you and then I showed you all where you can’t go and you went and did it anyway! That cliff is unstable. If you fall into the lake, you’re dead! You were supposed to stay inside and you shouldn’t even be here in the first place!”

  “Please don’t tell!” pleaded Katrin. “We’re just really bored, is all.”

  “Besides,” added Cheryl, “back at the ranch, Specialist Astroga told us that we should always try to build our understanding of the tactical environment.”

  Robbins watched from around the corner as Katrin and Eric nodded in agreement, and he could tell that his daughter was suppressing an urge to tear at her hair.

  “I can’t believe that she really made you call her ‘Specialist,’” replied Jordan tartly. “Screw it, I’m definitely telling, and I’ll make sure that you all go back to Spring City, or else I can’t be responsible.”

  “Responsible for what?” asked her father, Robbins Senior, heaving into view.

  “They belong in Spring City, Dad!” Jordan said. “I’ve got a real job to do and I don’t have time to babysit!”

  In the time since the first mud encrusted ranch truck had finally gained the supposed safety of Spring City, the youngest members of the party had been very excited with the hustle and bustle, breathing life into the boring routine that had dominated since their own arrival.

  An opportunity to accompany her father on the latest inspection of the dam defenses had been an irresistible break in the tedium. In the eyes of ’tweens who had been cooped up for months, the seemingly zombie-free dam area was tailor-made for exploration.

  Brandy Bolgeo stalked over from her ad hoc workshop desk.

  “Jordan Robbins,” she said forcefully, “what are you doing with those kids?”

  “I’m trying to get them out of here, Brandy!” Jordan replied.

  “There’s nothing to do!” Katrin stamped her feet in her best Astroga style. “Can we at least go look in the woods?”

  “No!” chorused Jordan, Bolgeo and Robbins.

  “Why not? There aren’t any zombies,” said Eric.

  “The rain has made the path to the woods unstable, and if you fall into the lake you’re either zombie food or you get sucked into the turbine house,” replied Bolgeo. “And if you little monsters make it to the woods, I’ve scattered half a dozen mid level industrial accidents just waiting to happen inside the treeline. So stay the hell inside this building unless you intend to lower the oversized rug-rat count.”

  “We aren’t kids!” Jonsdottir, the ringleader stomped one foot. “We’ve been training and everything!”

  “Jordan!” yelled Robbins Senior, becoming distracted as the warehouse phone rang. “Take control of your insolent Astroga-wannabes!”

  “Robbins!” he barked into the handset that he’d just snatched up. “No shit? About time. Yeah, send him over in a boat after nightfall.”

  “What’s that about?” Bolgeo asked.

  “My guy Smitty is here from Site Blue and
he’s got news,” Robbins answered.

  “Good news or bad news?”

  “Both.”

  * * *

  Tom kept his own emotions off his face as he looked around the table, trying to gauge the mood.

  Clustered around the waist high map table the representatives from Spring City, the dam and Robbins’s prepper site stood looking at the layout of the dam’s defenses. In the background, warehouse preparations continued, but the general plan was set. All of the adults were wearing some variation of combat gear over a combination of denim, surplus fatigues or hunting attire. The inevitable fidgeting and jostling created a constant rustling susurration as the rain gear rubbed and crinkled.

  The dam’s listening post at the fenceline had reported that several vehicles arrived at the rest stop across the river. Groups of men had debarked and a flurry of distant gunshots suggested that they’d cleared the immediate area of infected. More vehicles were now arriving. There was only one organized group in the area: Gleaners.

  This matched what his gut told him. If their opposition was going to make a move, it would be soon. The debrief and inevitable questions about the happenings at Site Blue had taken an hour, and had been received stoically for the most part. Getting everyone else, including Tom, up to speed on recent events at Watts Bar had taken another hour. Tom was still trying to get a feel for the considerable defenses. The engineers had been busy, but no amount of sophisticated electrified barriers could take the place of sufficient numbers of people. Tom had precious few shooters that he could rely on.

  “Is the rain going to be a problem with the coils?” asked Tom, glancing out the window at the intermittent drizzle. “I’ve used a lot of improvised weapons, but this is a new one.”

  The steel-colored sky outside had ushered in lower temperatures and a steady breeze that was starting to whip up little white caps on the lake.

  “Probably increase the amount of ground conduction and ion channeling,” answered Stantz, shifting his ballcap. “If the secondaries get wet, then the high voltage streamers from the primary might over-arc.”