Enclave

by Thomas Locke

  Hamlin frowned. “Am I correct in guessing this is not your true aim?”

  “Peace is. Absolutely. But not like they expect.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.” Caleb could feel the press of events pushing him onward. This contact was no longer an end in itself. It was merely one step forward. And he could feel himself being pressed to accelerate. “Can you turn the bars into gold coins?”

  “Can I . . .” Hamlin clearly disliked how he was no longer in control of the dialogue. “I suppose, yes. It’s certainly possible. But . . .”

  Caleb stood and reached across the desk for pen and paper. The image he had received just before entering the lawyer’s building made sense now. It fit together with the dawn impressions and Maddie’s message like pieces of different puzzles that only made sense when re-created into one unified structure.

  He swiftly drew the design he had seen imprinted in the rain. “Make them half-ounce coins. On one side print this.”

  Hamlin rose and turned his head to study the drawing. “It looks like a revised symbol of the American eagle.”

  “Right. That’s what they’re to be called. Eagles.”

  “And on the coin’s other side?”

  “Alternate words. Freedom. Unity. Peace. Democracy.”

  Hamlin took the pen and wrote on the paper bearing the symbol. “Rule of law.”

  “Good.”

  “Declaration of Independence. One man, one vote.”

  “You decide.” Caleb wished he could dwell on the moment, for the sensation that accompanied the discussion was . . . exquisite. But there was no time. “I need a way to communicate with you. Where we can be certain no one else will hear what we discuss.”

  Hamlin straightened and studied him a long moment. “Such a thing, if it existed, would be extremely expensive and highly illegal.”

  Caleb just waited.

  Hamlin must have seen what he wanted, for he seated himself and reached into his bottom-right drawer. He drew out a bulky apparatus, about twice the size of a gold bar. “This is called a satellite phone. It works on the basis of technology from before the Great Crash.” He pointed at the ceiling. “High overhead are . . . Never mind. What you need to know is this. It only works between midnight and three o’clock in the morning, when the last functioning satellite is directly overhead.”

  Caleb forced himself to concentrate as Hamlin showed him how to use the phone, then accepted an extra battery pack and instructions on how to charge them. Hamlin assured him the two batteries were fully charged and would stay good for many hours of conversation.

  Caleb wrote down the number for Hamlin’s own device, stowed it all in his backpack, and said, “Whoever else comes with more gold bars, tell them of this conversation. Ask them to treat what we have just discussed as my dying wish.”

  Hamlin’s features crumpled with the effort to maintain control. “I dislike such farewells intensely.”

  “Let’s hope this isn’t one.” Caleb offered the lawyer his hand. “I have to go.”

  41

  Caleb’s bond with his unseen allies grew steadily after he left the lawyer’s office. He started back toward the hotel, only to be turned around by a distinct impression that his aim was off.

  The sleepless night had left him disoriented, as if his feet had trouble connecting to the wet sidewalk. A light rain still fell, the droplets so fine they drifted in the air before his face. The wind had died while he was inside with Hamlin. The drifting mist clung to every surface. Caleb smelled fresh-baked bread and grilling meat from some nearby restaurant. He breathed in and out, hunting. He sensed a delicate presence, one he could not name. Not Maddie. Of that he was certain. Someone else.

  Caleb stepped back until he met the office building’s stone facade. The thoroughfare was busy at midmorning with any number of vehicles, mostly horse drawn but some motorized. Pedestrians passed him with faces shielded by umbrellas or slickers. No one paid any mind to the young man idling by the building’s front steps, becoming drenched in the drifting rain.

  Then Caleb’s vague sensations coagulated. The grey light and the mist grew denser, more defined. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as a shadow took form in the rain, standing there directly in front of his face. It was indistinct at first but gradually took on form and clarity.

  Caleb asked, “Who are you?”

  Kevin and his team were scarcely a mile inside the Atlanta boundary fence, going extremely slow as a bevy of farm wagons and herds of cattle blocked all but one lane of the road. No one else seemed the least bit interested in hurrying anywhere. They joined a long line of vehicles threading their way through the rain-swept havoc that framed the city’s main produce market. They could hear the cries of animals and the shouts of drovers and the calls of merchants over the engine’s constant growl.

  Finally they were past and just beginning to accelerate. Kevin had no idea where they were going, only that soon they would need to dump the truck and continue on foot. But where?

  As he leaned down to ask Pablo that very question, Irene shrilled, “Stop!”

  Pablo hit the brakes so hard they all tumbled about. Behind them, a wagon driver shouted angrily. Pablo restarted the engine and pulled to one side of the road. “What just happened?”

  “Shush!”

  Kevin pulled himself up from the jumble of packs and bodies and stared down at Irene. She appeared unaware that she lay sprawled atop Forrest.

  Kevin offered her a hand up, but she did not seem capable of seeing, though her eyes were round and staring. He reached down and, with Forrest’s help, levered her to a sitting position on the bench. Irene gave no sign she even noticed. She stared blindly at the canvas top. Pablo cut the engine. The only sound was the soft patter of rain and the swish of traffic beyond their vehicle.

  Irene continued to search with sightless eyes, then she called softly, “Caleb?”

  42

  Indistinct was the word Irene used to describe her communication with Caleb. Like trying to hear someone standing at a distance and shouting through a heavy storm. Even so, she emerged from that first connection knowing their destination. A tavern on the square fronting the university entrance.

  They abandoned the truck in the chaos surrounding the city’s central market. People streamed about them, a steady flow with most faces covered against the rain. Kevin’s team unloaded and hefted their packs and started off. Three times he stopped at food stalls, buying meals for those who were hungry and asking directions. No one showed more than a passing interest.

  It took them almost two hours to reach the square, long enough for the youngest and weakest to be groaning softly from carrying their sodden packs. Even Kevin was shivering from the rain. But he did not mind, for up ahead was his friend and, even more important, answers.

  When they arrived, Caleb was there to greet them. Kevin’s gold secured them two comfortable chambers overlooking a tree-lined square and the university gates. They enjoyed a very fine meal of stew and fresh-baked bread and cheese and clay pitchers of lemonade spiced with honey from the inn’s own hives.

  Eventually the last of the crew emerged from the showers. By sharing what they had, everyone wore dry clothing. The beds were covered with inert bodies, some sleeping, others propped up against stacks of pillows. Those who were awake watched Kevin and Pablo and Caleb intently. They might not fully understand what was at stake. But they could sense things. Kevin had noticed this about them. Small elements that, when woven together in such quiet reflective moments as this, revealed abilities that were not yet fully understood. One of these elements was how Kevin remained busy redefining the word team.

  As though in response to Kevin’s thoughts, Caleb asked, “Tell me what you can do.”

  Pablo replied, “Most of us only have a faint inkling of what might be possible.”

  Caleb was seated in the chambers’ best chair. Pablo had drawn it away from the writing desk and positioned it near where Kevin stood, f
acing the main room and the double doors. Everyone could see Caleb clearly as he nodded his understanding. “You have survived this long by hiding. You’ve never had a chance to test your boundaries.”

  Carla said, “This is as true for you as for any of us, yes?”

  Caleb nodded again. “The one time I showed an outsider what I could do, I risked the safety of everyone and everything I hold dear. How did you find me and Maddie?”

  “It was Kevin’s idea,” Carla said.

  Pablo pointed to Forrest. “He found you, then tracked Maddie through that connection. Irene—that’s her over there—she tried to communicate directly.”

  Irene spoke for the first time since Caleb had joined them. “Shouldn’t I try to tell Maddie we’re coming?”

  “Not until we know the how and the when,” Caleb replied.

  “But she’s so frightened.”

  “I don’t think fear is the right word to describe what she sent our way,” Caleb replied.

  “She’s scared, sure,” Forrest agreed. “But her urgent need for secrecy was louder.”

  Caleb added, “Maddie sent us that layered burst because they are being monitored.”

  “Layered burst,” Forrest said. “I like that.”

  “We need to wait,” Caleb repeated.

  “We can’t let anyone know we’re coming until we’re there,” Pablo agreed.

  Caleb went on, “The question now is, how do we rescue them? It’s not enough to break them out.”

  “If it was just about exploding a few walls, they’d already be gone by now,” Kevin said.

  “I’ve been wondering about that too,” Pablo said.

  “Freeing them from their prison is only step one.”

  “And their families,” Forrest added.

  “Stopping the militia from attacking us once they’re out and we’ve joined up, that’s two,” Pablo said.

  “Breaking back through the Atlanta border fence, that’s three,” Kevin said.

  “Stopping them from following us, four.” This from Hank, who was sprawled on the nearest bed and addressed his words to the ceiling.

  “Which means we need more transport,” Kevin said.

  “All this leads us to the biggest issue of all,” Caleb said.

  This time no one spoke.

  Caleb gave that a long moment, then said, “Where are we going? We need to decide that now. Because once we start moving, there won’t be a chance for further discussion. After we leave this room, speed will be our only friend.”

  More of those lying atop the beds sat up. Several of those in the other room moved forward until they filled the doorway.

  “Where can we find a safe haven?” Caleb looked around the room. “That needs to be our goal. A place where we can live and make choices for ourselves. And for all the other specials—”

  “Adepts,” Pablo said.

  “Adepts. That’s good. I like that.”

  Kevin said, “You have an idea, don’t you.”

  “I think so,” Caleb replied. “Half of one, anyway.”

  Carla asked, “Did you have a far-seeing?”

  Caleb leaned back in his chair. “I like that too. Far-seeing.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you tell us?”

  “Yes,” Caleb replied. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  The rain had stopped by the time they left the inn and headed for the university’s main gate. The sky remained veiled by thick clouds, and the air was very close and humid. Caleb sweated in the heat and worried over having so little to do. He found it hard to observe as others decided their fate. And up ahead, beyond the tall green barrier, Maddie waited.

  “Steady,” Kevin said calmly. “Everyone just walk forward at your normal pace.”

  “Pay attention to the man,” Pablo added. “We all belong. Or we should. And we will, soon as our mentats do their little job on these fellows up ahead.”

  Caleb liked Kevin immensely and was coming to hold the same affection for the former militia sergeant, Pablo. As they approached the sentries manning the university gates, Caleb realized he had not seen Kevin limp once since they had met up. But now was not the time to ask, for right then Kevin said softly, “Everybody on target. Ready?”

  “We are so far beyond ready,” Pablo replied. “We’ve been waiting for this all our lives.”

  “Okay,” Kevin said. “One, two, three. Insert.”

  That was the word the scraggly-haired man named Forrest had suggested. The mentats inserted mental images into the group of six guards, three by the gatehouse and three to either side of the barrier. They blanketed the group.

  The six militia slumped as though caught in a somnolent web.

  Kevin walked at the front of the group. He showed the lead guard an empty sheet of paper. Caleb doubted the soldier saw anything. The guard waved to his mates, and in response they silently raised the barrier. Caleb passed close enough to the senior trooper to touch him. Any question he might have had about the power of his team vanished with that one brief glimpse into those blank, unseeing eyes.

  Inside the barrier, Caleb was tempted to pause and take stock. Most of the buildings he could see were uniform in design, red-brick and three stories and fronted by patios and numerous whitewashed pillars. They stood upon a lawn of emerald green, with ancient oaks lining the quiet lanes. It was a place of carefully guarded peace, except for what lay directly ahead of them.

  Fifty paces inside the barrier, the lane ended in a T-junction. On the intersection’s other side rose the militia headquarters.

  The Atlanta flag hung damp and defeated by the sultry day. The bottom floor was lined by four broad whitewashed garage doors. The three open doors revealed a pair of gleaming troop carriers and what could only have been a fire engine.

  Pablo called softly, “Everyone keep moving. Don’t cluster. Caleb, which way?”

  The map was clear in Caleb’s head. “We follow the street around to the left.” Then an idea took form. He slowed and studied the militia’s building.

  Two guards, a man and a woman, stood just inside the central portal. They smoked cigarettes and watched the group’s passage with bored expressions. The woman spoke softly. The man laughed, then flicked his cigarette in a high spiral. It landed at Caleb’s feet and died with a hiss.

  The man’s contempt added a further spark to Caleb’s idea. He waited until they had rounded a bend in the road, then said, “Let’s stop here a second.”

  “Why?” Carla asked.

  “Because we need transport.”

  Kevin offered a wolfish grin. “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

  Pablo looked the most eager of all. “That makes three of us.”

  43

  Kevin halted by the corner of the headquarters building, accompanied only by Pablo and three mentats. Caleb had wanted to come, of course. But Irene had pointed out that the team needed a firm guiding hand. Kevin had smiled with the others at how the quiet woman’s reach now impacted Caleb as well.

  At a gesture from Pablo, the three mentats stopped and stood shoulder to shoulder. Kevin told them, “Our goal is to rescue the Atlanta adepts.”

  “And their families,” Pablo added. “And to do that, we need those trucks.”

  Kevin liked how he and Pablo were working in sync. Two sergeants, comfortable with frontline action, trusting their leader to point them in the right direction. He asked, “Ready?” At a nod from the trio, he said, “Okay. Blanket them.”

  Kevin approached the red-brick building with his heart in his mouth. The building was massive and as uncaring as the two guards who watched him. The man who had flicked his cigarette at Caleb said to the woman, “What did I tell you? These students, it’s something all the time.”

  The woman started to reply, but at that instant her face went from edgy and stern to utterly blank. Kevin found his nerves settling as a result.

  He walked up to the guardsman, moving in very close because he want
ed to make sure the man had experienced the same effect. “We’ve been ordered to requisition two trucks.”

  The man appeared to inspect the same blank paper Kevin had shown at the gate. But his eyes were unfocused and his expression as slack as the woman’s. The guard showed no interest in taking the paper. “Sure thing.”

  “Fetch me the keys,” Kevin said. He stuffed the paper into his pocket, or tried to, but it was so wet by then it ripped into pieces. If the guards even noticed, they gave no sign.

  The male guard was already moving. “Right away.”

  Pablo said to the woman, “Open the other door, please.”

  The woman turned silently away.

  As Kevin walked around to the driver’s door of the first truck, two other guards clattered down metal stairs at the garage’s rear. They appeared as helplessly trapped in the mentats’ work as the first pair.

  Kevin accepted both sets of keys, tossed one to Pablo, and told the newcomers, “Go back upstairs.”

  The two turned and complied.

  Kevin cast a swift look at the grinning Pablo, but before he could speak, everything fell apart.

  A boxy black vehicle jammed on its brakes directly in front of the headquarters’ driveway. A dark-suited woman wearing the bulky headset leaned out the side window and screamed, “Sound the alarm! Arrest those abominations!”

  Kevin leapt into the cab, fired the engine, and did the only thing that came to mind. He raced the motor to redline, slapped the gearshift into reverse, and roared out of the garage.

  Straight at the vehicle and the Washington suits barring their way.

  He slammed into the car so hard it rocked up on two wheels, groaned in time to the cries from inside, and fell over on its side. Still Kevin pushed, his own tires burning hot and the massive truck shuddering with the effort. The Washington vehicle groaned louder still and rolled over on its back.

  The dark-suited woman sprawled in the grass, yelling something that was lost to Kevin’s engine. Her helmet was spilled onto the drive and was shattered when Pablo’s truck ran it over. She rolled away, still screaming.