One question answered itself the moment I got out of the car and watched the larger of the two scavenger vehicles drop its passengers on the ground—and found myself face to face with someone I hadn’t expected. “Is that you, Dan Harris?”
The leader of the New Vegas group—or at least that’s what he had been when we’d rallied to attack the Colorado installation back in the day—gave me a mock bow, but just like back in the day, his grin was real as he responded. “Fancy meeting you here, Ms. Bree! So good of you not to do anyone a favor and turn out dead for real!” Yup, that was definitely the guy I remembered, if a little more ragged and worn-out than before, and, if not quite sober, not as tweaked out as his compatriots. The two younger scavengers taking position next to him were the ones I remembered from the ship up to New Angeles—Amos and Eden, if I remembered correctly. Actually, I vaguely remembered seeing most of them there, with Harris the single exception.
“Always a pleasure,” I responded, not quite lying. Harris had turned out to be one of the good ones, and had helped us with our cover story once I’d fallen ill and decided to do that fateful trip up to the Silo. I’d assumed he had died in the altercations with the scavengers everyone had told me about, but that was obviously not the case.
“I must say, I’m almost offended that you didn’t drop by for a visit,” Harris went on, still using that soft drawl of his but now with a slight edge to his tone. “Almost like you didn’t want to associate with us.”
I briefly glanced at the Ice Queen to get a clue from her, but she was busy staring down the other present parties while everyone got ready for the upcoming parley, so I was on my own. Marleen sure seemed interested in what was going on here but since she wasn’t a California native, she probably had no clue about any of this, either.
“Ah, you know how it goes,” I offered to Harris, doing my best to appear way more relaxed than I felt. “After being on the road for so long, all I wanted was some chow and a soft bed, so I went to my folks first. Kinda relied on them to relay the good news, you know? After all, if you know someone competent to do the task, why not let them handle this?” No need to nod at the Ice Queen but I still did, since she must have been the one to get Harris involved.
Rather than more scowls, I got a downright jovial laugh from Harris. “Smart thinking, Ms. Bree. No surprise there since that has always been your strong suit. Letting others do the work for you, never a bad idea. But you’ll have to come visit our splendid city, you and your husband, once we got him back. It’s the place to be these days!”
And that was definitely a veiled threat—and I wasn’t stupid enough to antagonize him now since we might as well depend on him later. “Sure thing,” I offered as friendly as I managed, with his people still glaring daggers at me. Oh, that would be a visit for the ages. Suddenly, jumping over all the hurdles yet ahead of us didn’t seem so bad as falling might come with some advantages, too—like avoiding that visit.
Harris took that with a nod and turned to his people, whispering what were likely commands, hopefully not to kidnap me. When I turned to the others, I found Marleen staring straight at me. “You know people,” she surmised, more neutral than I would have expected, present company considered.
Glancing out at the bunch gathered for this not exactly clandestine meeting, I had to agree with her. “I do know people.” Way more than I had expected, to be true.
Richards, clearly heading the army group, wasn’t a surprise, and neither were Cole and Hill behind him. I even spotted Gallager in the background. I didn’t know any of the other seven soldiers—all men—but the tall, bald guy next to Red looked both ready to chew through steel and quite unhappy to be here, and like he was someone who had an opinion as well. Since they usually were big about keeping their traps shut when their officers got up to shit, I presumed he was someone semi important—a sergeant maybe? At least that was my guess.
To their left, the marines were definitely from the Silo, and I knew five of the people gathered there, still more intent on glaring at the group on Red’s other side than us, their not-quite fellow marines. It took me a few moments to remember his name, but Sgt. Blake hadn’t really changed from when he’d been my silent shadow at my last stay at the Silo, before we’d decided that facing the music at the base in Canada was better than watching me rot away piece by piece. Sgt. Buehler next to him I remembered more favorably, since she’d helped Nate and me hide on the destroyer after coming back from France. I made a mental note to ask her what had become of the ship itself since I wasn’t sure it could still be operational. My guess was that she and her people must have joined the other marines already at the Silo. And, lo and behold, I knew the three otherwise unremarkable guys lurking behind them as well, although the way they fit perfectly in with the entire bunch made me do a double take at first. True enough, those were Francis and his two friends who I’d not-so lovingly dubbed the Idiot Brigade who we’d met on that trek up to the Silo. Glancing briefly at Harris, I wondered if he’d recognized them as well but if so, he gave no indication. My plan had been to implant them at the Silo as possible moles for New Angeles. It stood to reason they hadn’t been captured and kicked out if they were here now, but I had no idea if they’d changed their minds about me. Back then, they’d been pretty stoked to meet us, after I hadn’t killed them for getting a little too close and personal with me. I had a feeling I’d soon know either way. As not to blow their cover, should it still be intact, I decided on letting them approach me—I had enough on my plate already as it was. The other five men I didn’t recognize, neither from the Silo nor the destroyer.
That left the newcomers from the north—who Pia was mostly focused on—as the last remaining bunch I knew someone of, in this case their leader, who turned out to be none other than Rita herself. That also answered the question whether Dispatch was going to get involved. I’d wondered about that since she and Nate had been tight—a little too tight for my preference—and she had helped us, or at least Nate, on a few occasions. That she had no love lost for me wasn’t a secret, but back when we’d been gunning for Colorado, she had seemed to at least respect me. Now, I had no clue. The same went for the woman by her side—Tamara, one of Dispatch’s communications specialists and frequent radio hosts. I’d gotten drunk with her and her sister the one time we’d hit Dispatch. The next time we’d seen each other, they’d been less friendly. Now, she didn’t even glance at me so I figured nothing much had changed—at least not for the better. With them were two men; the rest stayed in the cars, looking ready to bolt. Interesting.
Next to them, the seven people—two women and five men—were likely traders, judging from their mismatched outfits that ranged from worn-out fatigues to outdoor and hunting gear. They were well armed and alert but didn’t seem to need to broadcast either. They’d kept farthest away from the posers, which further made me guess that they weren’t too keen on associating with them. They had visibly perked up when Rita and her people had arrived, and took equal notice of us. Harris and his people they seemed to want to avoid, inching closer to the Dispatch group as they were.
Last were the glaring marines between us and Richards, who screamed “operator” to me to a “T”—from their uniform, dark fatigues to their behavior. I wouldn’t have been surprised if we’d missed a good bit of chest pounding with our ahead-of-schedule but still-late arrival. Theirs was the smallest group with only five men, but they looked ready to rumble at any moment. They also kept glancing our way with disdain, so that boded well. I had a feeling that, should they join us for real, I’d get into some trouble with them within the first hour at a campfire. Too bad that Nate was going to miss this.
We all spent a good five minutes getting out of the cars, getting in prime posing positions, and staring at each other before everyone seemed ready to get this underway. Pia caught my eye, quietly raising her brows at me in question—how did I want to play this? Not at all, if I’d had that choice, but since that wasn’t an option, I gave her a small nod to
proceed. After all, she’d been the one who’d contacted the most groups from what I could tell, and while I doubted I would leave this meeting without putting my foot in my mouth, it was a good idea to let her start things off.
Taking a step forward from our haphazard bunch to both draw attention to herself and be able to look at everyone unhindered, the Ice Queen raised her voice. “Thank you all for coming here today. I presume nobody is still missing? Good. As you all know, the matter is time sensitive, so not wasting another couple of days waiting is a welcome change of pace for once.”
There came some quiet murmurs from the traders, but everyone else was either too tense or too well trained to mess around. I couldn’t help but crack a smile when I felt myself very tempted to turn to either Martinez or Marleen, between whom I’d ended up standing. When had Martinez sneakily positioned himself between me and Harris and his bunch? Our two guards had appeared there as well, while Sonia and Burns stood behind Pia.
“Should we do introductions first?” the Ice Queen proposed. “I assume most of you know who I am. I’m rather certain all of you know who she is.” She paused to glance my way, which I rewarded with a big grin. I could have waved as well but there was already so much glaring going on that I didn’t want to accidentally trigger anyone. Sheesh, this was going to get messy soon.
I’d expected Richards to speak up now, but one of the marines did, a wiry, bearded guy in his late forties. “We’ve already wasted enough time as it is, so let’s get this underway quickly. MARSOC sent us, our qualification is none of your damn business.” He then went nodding at each of the groups. “Army. Silo navy boot hill lickers.” That drew scowls and near-silent sneering from both Buehler and Blake. “Dispatch.” Which Rita accepted with a small nod. “Traders.” He didn’t wait for acknowledgement there before looking straight at Harris. “No fucking clue why anyone would invite you.” And last, Pia. “And New Angeles.” He said that with barely less belligerence than when he’d talked about Harris’s bunch.
Keeping my eyes on him but leaning toward Martinez, I mouthed, “Do I need to know what MARSOC is?”
His snort was telling me he hadn’t expected more of me—he knew me too well—but dutifully replied. “Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command—their special forces branch. Don’t garble the acronym or you’ll make someone cry.”
That, in turn, made me chuff with suppressed laughter, drawing a little too much attention from all around. Pia ignored me, although from the way she stiffened further, she wasn’t happy we weren’t as well-behaved as some of the others.
“I invited them because we need strength in numbers, and from what I can tell, neither of you is ready to provide anywhere near what we will need if we have to create a distraction. And you are mistaken—we are on our own, and have never acted as representatives of any city or faction except our own.” Disdain was dripping from her clipped words, and she didn’t leave time for him to respond. “To clear any further misunderstandings up ahead of time, you can and will refer to me as Zilinsky, no rank required. I am in active command of the rescue mission we have gathered here to plan. Please state your names for the record so every negotiator knows who they are to address.”
Scowl Beard narrowed his eyes at Pia but ground out, without protest, “Scott.”
Red went next with a rather neutral, “Richards,” and Blake bit the bullet for the Silo people. I was a little surprised that Rita offered up, “Connel,” only then realizing I’d completely spazzed out on her surname when someone must have told me before. The traders didn’t offer a peep and Harris just grinned maniacally at everyone, which the Ice Queen ignored after a momentary glance in his direction. Marleen waved at Richards and Rita both, and only Richards seemed aware of it, quickly averting his eyes. I didn’t ask; she still volunteered, “You know Rob, right? Such a cutie pie when you forget that he’s probably constantly psychoanalyzing you. Not half bad in the sack, either. A bit of a slut, though.”
I had to bite down hard on my tongue not to offer a candid, “Oh, you don’t say?”—that probably wasn’t needed judging from her brief, bright grin. I wondered if I should warn her not to get too comfy with him in front of Buehler, or maybe any number of other women. Or maybe it didn't seem necessary, considering that list pretty much boiled down to the Ice Queen, Sonia, me, and Rita—who was a mystery on that count but probably hadn’t bumped uglies with Richards as he was likely too young to have been around before she’d dropped off the map.
Marleen wasn’t done yet, still whispering in my ear. “That was a while ago, while he was ROTC in college. Do you need dirt on him? Because I can tell you a few things that will make him go as red in the face as his hair is.” She grinned and answered her question before I could. “Of course you do. Remind me later.” Pia glaring at her made her shut up.
Turning to the gathered groups at large, the Ice Queen acknowledged, “Perfect. Who is actually here to fight? Because if anyone was wondering, those fine individuals over there are our support to bring additional provisions for us, and not part of our actual fighting strength.” That explained why the traders hadn’t even nominated a speaker. Scott looked downright offended at her insinuation as he raised a hand; Richards and Blake followed suit with no hesitation. Rita kept her arms crossed over her chest, making no move to volunteer anything. Harris kept on grinning, which nobody could have mistaken for disagreement. Pia did her best to ignore Rita, but I didn’t need Marleen to lean over and stage-whisper, “Oh, trouble’s a-brewin’,” to know that this was the case.
Pia got ready for the next question, but halted when Buehler stepped up next to Blake, glaring toward Scott. As far as I could tell, she hadn’t stopped since Scott had called them Wilkes’s boot lickers. “Just to clarify for anyone who is stupid enough to listen to that clown, we are part of the over four hundred proud members of the US Marine Corps currently stationed at the Silo, and we cooperate with the less than fifty US Navy personnel who are running the day-to-day affairs but are in no way our command staff. In fact, we have been the ones who have worked diligently to keep up relations with both the army and the free agents in this country, often lending support or neutral ground for negotiations, while this is the first time since the shit hit the fan that I hear that, supposedly, there are still Marine special forces in the field. What exactly have you been doing that makes you puff up your chests like that while we’ve been on the ground, doing our jobs?”
Scott looked less than impressed with her tirade but voiced little of that. “We’ve been guarding the president,” he offered. A round of murmurs rose, almost drowning out his much smaller amendment to, “Presidents.”
I hated taking the reins out of Pia’s hands but that one was too good not to jump on it. “We actually have a president? Or several, if I heard you right?”
One of the hulking figures next to Scott grumbled, “Hard to keep them alive if they keep dying on us.” I must have let out a snort, or otherwise looked amused because his eyes narrowed. “Not that you’d know anything about that.”
“Learning how to survive and kick ass? No, absolutely not,” I offered, but chose to ignore him in favor of Scott. “What happened? I know I’ve been out of the loop for a while but I have a pretty good idea of what went down the summer of the apocalypse and the first year afterward. Why did we never hear anything about surviving politicians? And since when do the marines guard the president?”
I should maybe have dropped the last point unasked since more than one military member from our happy circle scowled my way, but the rest were valid questions—not that anyone seemed to care that I kept asking those.
Scott scratched his beard, not happy that I was—intentionally or not—questioning his competence. “The why is easy to explain—right place at the right time. I formed my team from competent members that I found through several steps of the evacuation process, and we ended up guarding one of the bunkers where then-vice president Thompson was waiting for further news from his family. The only news
we ever got was that the secret service had gotten overwhelmed and lost fifty members of congress and the White House, including his three predecessors, so we took over from there. To you, the numbers may look like incompetence, but we’ve been battling assassination attempts since the first hour. We are right now on our Commander in Chief number fifteen.”
I couldn’t hold back a whistle. “That’s quite a lot. Any idea where your leak is?”
His expression darkened further as he ground out, “We have suspicions. Danvers here is convinced that we’ve had attacks from several interested parties over the years.”
Much to my surprise—but I probably should have seen this coming on some level—Marleen next to me spoke up. “You actually do, and on so many levels. Not to trash your conspiracy theories, but number twelve, Evans, was me. Very likely unrelated, so better disregard that entire fracas.”
Scott looked ready to chew through stone—and several of the members of the other factions drew up short—but the fact that he didn’t point any guns at Marleen or even tried to come after her told me a thing or two. Again, this was too good to drop.
“You killed a president?” I asked, not quite sure whether to settle on awe or derision.
She shrugged both emotions mingling in my tone off as if I’d accused her of double-dipping into our morning coffee reserves. “Trust me, I did the world a favor. I accepted that contract the week before everything went to shit, just before your husband contacted me and let me know that, just maybe, he’d need me on standby should that thing he had going on go south. Since there was no time bonus on the contract, I postponed it—and the rest is history.”
Green Fields (Book 10): Uprising: Page 25