What You See: Sons of the Survivalist: 3

by Cherise Sinclair

  Her husband sat at the small table and ate the pie she’d brought him from the cafeteria. He liked making her wait on him. Especially on the nights he wasn’t on sentry duty and he could fuck her before he went to bed.

  Oh, Frankie, you were so right about him.

  Fear for her friend made her fidget. They knew about Frankie, and Obadiah had asked over and over why she’d have come to Alaska. Kit kept repeating that Frankie’d always wanted to vacation in Alaska. Obadiah had lost his temper and broken her arm, ending the questions.

  Because she’d passed out.

  They knew, though. They knew Frankie was here for Kit. If Nabera thought Frankie had learned too much, he’d hurt her, even kill her.

  How could I have been so selfish to put Frankie’s life at risk?

  Pattering footsteps sounded outside, then Aric raced through the door, slamming into her legs.

  He’s why.

  She bent to hug her son, breathing in the wild fragrance of little boy. Oh, she would risk Frankie’s life, her own life, the whole world for him.

  “What are you doing here, you little bastard?” Obadiah slammed his fist on the table, making Aric jump.

  Stepping away, her boy clasped his hands at his waist and bowed his head.

  “He’s finished his work and came to say good night.” Kit tried for a light tone, then turned to Aric. “Get on back to your barracks, honey.” She hugged him with her uninjured arm and whispered, “Sweet dreams, my baby.”

  Be safe. Oh, please, be safe.

  Without speaking—something he did less and less—Aric trotted out the door. He might go back to the barracks; he might not. Within a month of being here, her son had found every hiding place possible. Other children tried to hide; Aric succeeded.

  “Whiny-ass brat.” Obadiah turned his attention back to his food, chewing it thoroughly. Crumbs tangled in his yellow-brown beard.

  Hoping not to attract his attention—his interest—she concentrated on tucking in the blankets.

  With a loud belch, Obadiah pushed the empty plate away. “Clean up good before you go to bed. Captain Nabera’s going to pay you a visit some time tonight. When he gets back.”

  Her balance wavered, like the floor had sagged beneath her. “Why?”

  “He says you know more ’n you’re saying.” Her husband’s jaw jutted forward. “You better not lie to him, or you’ll learn what a real beatin’ is.”

  “I told you the truth,” she whispered, going clammy with fear.

  “If so, he’ll probably reward you with a cleansing.”

  She’d undergone those “cleansings” before with Nabera. With Parrish.

  Frankie would call those sessions rape.

  Me, too. As sickness welled inside her, Kit started to gag.

  Obadiah slapped her to the floor, and pain exploded in her head. “Get those sinful, hate-filled thoughts out of your head. The Captain is right. You need to be purified.”

  Holding her hand to her burning face, Kit regained her feet. Her arm throbbed, but she kept her head bowed.

  She probably wouldn’t survive the next twenty-four hours.

  What will happen to my baby?

  Damn. Bull had known Frankie had secrets, ones that involved the PZs. The truth, though, was a hell of a lot more than he figured.

  “We’re going downstairs,” he told her and held open the door to the stairway for her.

  He might’ve been angrier except he understood her reasons. If she’d told him, he would have insisted on going with her, and she hadn’t wanted to put him at risk. Not if she could accomplish the mission herself. He’d have felt the same.

  Her loyalty to her friend? Well, fuck, he had to love that about her. Who wouldn’t?

  With her behind him, he led the way down to the tunnels that connected the five houses together. The cool, damp air held the harsh tang of minerals…and weaponry.

  Because, naturally, the sarge had built a bomb shelter as well as an armory beneath his house. Mako, you were one crazy bastard.

  His brothers and JJ were already in the room, pulling out what they wanted to take.

  A few feet past the thick armory door, Frankie stopped to stare.

  Bull smiled. “Impressive, isn’t it? Mako did most of the construction himself.”

  Rough-cut wood panels with iron brackets lined the walls. One side held semi-automatic handguns and revolvers like the S&W Magnums and Glocks. The adjacent wall displayed semi-automatic shotguns like Kalashnikovs. There were AK-47s, AR-15s. Hunting rifles like the Ruger 10/22 as well as old-fashioned Mossbergs and Remington pump shotguns.

  Naturally, the paranoid survivalist had also accumulated anything a soldier needed for an apocalypse—from grenades to night vision goggles.

  Okay, so maybe Sarge wasn’t the only crazy one.

  Over the years, they’d all contributed to the fun.

  The hip-high counters held pull-out drawers with ammunition. The far corner had reloading equipment and supplies. An oversized table in the center of the room was for cleaning and assembling.

  “This is… Is this stuff even legal?” After dropping the backpack she’d retrieved from his house, Frankie turned in a circle.

  JJ glanced over. “Most of it. When it comes to preppers in Alaska, it’s apparently ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’. However, unless civilization collapses, using things like explosives in inhabited areas is called terrorism and wins the user many years of free meals behind bars.”

  “Oh. Okay,” Frankie said in a faint voice.

  Gabe looked over. “Gear up, bro.”

  “Yeah.” Bull grabbed a body-armor vest in dark camo.

  Around him, his brothers and JJ were doing the same.

  In the short time before arming up, Gabe and Caz made calls and pulled strings. They’d done all they could, and now it was up to Audrey to organize the incoming health professionals, social services, and law enforcement. Bull didn’t worry; the woman was superb at juggling resources.

  Lillian and Dante had already left, taking Regan with them. His niece would spend the night with her bestie.

  The two seniors were recruiting trustworthy people and getting them to the right place at the right time. The plan called for a lot of volunteers, some for the distraction, others to guide the women and children out. Even more would help transport everyone to town.

  The mission was organized with Gabe’s usual attention to detail. They’d penetrate the compound during the darkest hours of the night—between 1:00 and 3:30 a.m. Before and after that, the twilight-gray sky would be too light for covert endeavors.

  The narrow window of opportunity was worrisome.

  “If we—” Bull’s mind stuttered to a stop.

  Frankie was trying on a small bulletproof vest—the one Caz had worn as a skinny teenager.

  Jesus fuck. “What are you doing?” He thought that was a very reasonable question.

  “You’re all wearing body armor. I thought you’d want me to wear one, too.”

  “I would if you were going on this op. But you’ll be in town with Audrey and coordinating the agencies.” Bull’s voice hadn’t risen; he was sure it hadn’t, but Caz turned away hastily with a smothered snicker.

  “Shh.” JJ punched the doc in the belly.

  “Frankie, you’ll be in town. Safe in town,” Bull repeated, in case she didn’t understand what he’d just said.

  “No. I’m going with you to the compound.” Frankie settled the vest on her shoulders.

  Bull’s gut clenched like he’d eaten a barrel of green apples. Like his woman had just told him she planned to walk into what would likely turn into a fucking firefight. “No. No, you’re not.”

  When she rolled her eyes and eyed the handguns, he turned to the one person to whom she might listen. “Gabe. You’re in charge.”

  His brother folded his arms over his chest and eyed Frankie. “Convince me.”

  “Easy enough.” She set her hands on her hips like Mom had done when squaring off again
st Dad. Bull’s heart gave a painful twang.

  “You guys are huge, even before you add the armor. All in black. Deadly.” Frankie shook her head, frowned, and started to braid her hair back. “You’re forgetting these women have been abused. Why in the world would they go with you? You’re going to come across as even more terrifying than the cult fanatics.”

  Bull opened his mouth, closed it. Cleared his throat. “We’ll tell Kit that you sent us.”

  “Maybe she would believe you…eventually.” Frankie looked at Gabe. “In that plan of yours, did you build in time to explain matters?”

  The sour expression on Gabe’s face said she was right.

  She’d be coming with them.

  “God-fucking-son-of-a-bitch.” Bull heard the echo off the walls and winced. Hell, that was his raised voice.

  Frankie didn’t even flinch, just chuckled. “I love you, too. And I know I’m no soldier, and I’m scared spitless, but I need to be there so Kit trusts you. If she does, maybe the rest will, too.”

  She loved him. Said it out loud in front of his brothers. Fuck, but he’d never tire of hearing that no matter how many years they lived.

  She was scared…and going along anyway. Her loyalty to a friend left him in awe.

  Bull gripped her arms, and the feeling of her tense muscles was its own reassurance. She did know how to fight. Could hold her own. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Jesus, woman.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Hauling in a breath, he fixed her with a hard stare. “You’ll obey orders. From Gabe, me, Caz, Hawk, and JJ. Immediately. No questions or arguments. Immediately.”

  She glanced at the weaponry covering the armory walls. Her lips tilted slightly. “Don’t worry, orsacchiotto. I know when I’m at the bottom of the rank and file.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  If you are going through hell, keep going. ~ Winston Churchill

  * * *

  Frankie’s world had shrunk to the narrow trail and to Bull who was in front of her. Thank heavens she’d become proficient at hiking while wearing her night vision monocular. Using her jo as a walking stick also helped.

  As she’d learned on her previous forays, the trail at night was vastly different than during the daytime. The scents of spruce and damp undergrowth were more pungent. There were noises—owls hooting or worse, the whap-whap sound of big wings overhead. Startled animals crashed away through the bushes. One big animal could sound like a whole stampede.

  Overhead, the tree canopy was dense, giving only glimpses of the three-quarters-full moon.

  Everyone wore night vision equipment. Bull and his brothers had their own and handed out extras to the volunteers who needed them. Not many did. The guys who hunted had their own, as did JJ as part of her cop gear.

  When Bull offered Frankie a pair, she’d pulled out her own along with the head mount—and shown she was familiar with it all. She was gifted quite the measuring stare.

  Near the beginning of the path, she received another long look from all four of the guys when they saw the line of glowing spots that marked the trail to the compound.

  That reflective paint worked well.

  Nevertheless, it was still a long hike. Her legs were tired. Her neck ached from the weight of the NVM that pulled her head sideways. She was relieved when Gabe halted the line.

  They were still far enough in the forest to remain hidden from the compound but much closer than she’d dared since the first time.

  Bull came to stand beside her and gave her a warm squeeze around the waist. He bent to whisper, “Rest and I’ll be back soon,” then disappeared down another trail with Gryff at his heels.

  Waiting time.

  Being patient really sucked. Especially alone. Only, she really wasn’t, not with all the others around her. Now that she’d stopped, she could feel the fine tremor in her hands. Her lungs felt constricted; her heart was beating too fast.

  We’re coming, Kit.

  She squeezed her paint-darkened staff. No firearms for her. Not after Hawk mentioned that people unused to combat tended to hose down everything around them—including their team.

  She’d stick to the non-lethal jo. I don’t want to kill anyone. But she would if it meant keeping her people alive.

  Rifle in hand, Hawk moved silently away, his objective a tall tree across from the corner watchtower. Bull called him a sniper and said he was the finest shot of any of them.

  Good luck, Hawk.

  His first job was to shoot the watchtower guard with a tranquilizer. His second… Bull had suggested that, since Hawk would be climbing a tree, he might as well set up the remote-activated device containing a recording of Gabe’s voice. Hawk’s response had been rude, but he agreed.

  A touch on her shoulder made her jump.

  The eerie night vision goggles he wore made Caz look like an alien. He set a hand on her arm reassuringly before checking on JJ who was hunkered down under a different tree.

  Frankie glanced over her shoulder. All the people behind her were also taking the opportunity to rest. Chevy and Knox nodded to her. The helicopter and cars were parked at their properties. She could barely see Uriah, who owned the coffee shop, or the group of backwoods guys like Tucker, Guzman, Harvey, and Rasmussen who she knew from the bar. The school principal and the old hippie gas station owner were at the rear of the line.

  These men, as well as the diversion group, had volunteered simply because Mako’s sons, Audrey, and JJ had asked for help.

  Frankie shook her head, thinking of the stories shared while waiting at Chevy’s place for everyone to arrive. She’d heard how Gabe and Bull found Chevy’s lost son after a bear attack. How JJ saved Rasmussen’s life after an earthquake, then risked her life to rescue trapped schoolchildren. Audrey taught Knox how to read. Caz tended their illnesses. Hawk flew emergency flights to the city hospitals. The Hermitage family was…there…for the community. Feeding people, helping with repairs for people down on their luck, organizing community events, improving the town.

  The volunteers were delighted that Bull and his brothers had asked them for help. Frankie smiled slightly. And all of them were pleased to thwart the Patriot Zealots.

  Suddenly, a long howl from the southwest, broke the silence.

  Go, Gryff.

  Inside the compound, the dogs went crazy, barking and howling and yipping. Guards shouted irately.

  Frankie turned her gaze toward the watchtower and caught the greenish outline of the guard. He was standing where he could monitor the area where Gryff was howling. No matter what kind of vision enhancement he had, it wouldn’t do him any good if he was turned away from the forest where Hawk would be climbing that tree.

  During the planning, the Hermitage guys had discussed using tranquilizers. How no tranq worked immediately, but would take a few minutes, the danger to the guard, that Hawk would have to climb a tree to shoot. But they didn’t have much choice. None of them were willing to kill the guard.

  But the corner watchtower overlooked the area where they’d be cutting the fence. Mako’s sons could sneak in, but the guard couldn’t miss seeing the untrained women and children escaping.

  If Hawk couldn’t silence the guard, the mission would be aborted.

  Frankie crossed her fingers.

  A few minutes later, Gryff started howling again. Again, there was a cacophony of barking from the PZ’s guard dogs.

  Frankie checked the watchtower. The silhouette of the guard had disappeared. Way to go, Hawk! He must be as good a sniper as the guys had claimed.

  In front of Frankie, Gabe headed for the fence, crossing the open area between the tree line and the PZ fence. Branches inserted in his jacket broke up his silhouette, and the two huge bolt cutters he carried were painted black and wrapped in dark mottled fabric. The Hermitage had one set of bolt cutters. She contributed the other.

  Moving slowly, somehow, he disappeared right into the shadows. That camo stuff was really effective. At the fence, he met up with Hawk, th
e two men creating a slightly darker spot against the silvery fence wires. They would be using the bolt-cutters now, the sound covered by the barking and yelling.

  When the noise died, the two crouched and went motionless.

  Gryff set off the dogs two more times.

  “Put the fucking beasts in their kennels. I am done with this shit.” Someone yelled from inside the compound. A chill ran through Frankie at the sound of Nabera’s voice.

  “Yes, Captain!” one of the guards shouted.

  Frankie exchanged grim nods with JJ. Goal achieved. Gryff, you are such a good dog. There would be no dogs running loose in the compound. Perfect.

  A few minutes later, Bull and Gryff ghosted back, getting silent nods and approving grins as they squeezed past the line of men.

  When Bull put his arm around her shoulders, she leaned against him, and a knot in her stomach relaxed. He was all right. After giving her a squeeze, he nudged Caz, then made a soft sound like one of the birds she’d heard by the lake.

  Letting Gabe know he was back.

  No one moved.

  They waited.

  Soon, soon.

  The sound of approaching cars from the other side of the compound was the first warning of the main diversion. Brakes squealed. Metal screeched and clanged. Glass broke. People were shouting.

  “Time to party,” Bull whispered and moved out. He’d already put on a camo balaclava with the night vision goggles over it.

  Unless they found Kit and thus had proof she was held against her will, the rescuers would keep their faces covered. Since they were, after all, breaking and entering.

  Slow and silent, she reminded herself, rolling down her own balaclava and following him toward the fence. Balance on one foot, set the other down, adding weight while feeling for anything that might snap. Rinse and repeat. Squint eyes to hide the whites. At least, the balaclava hid her white teeth.

  The guard in the watchtower was tranked, but there might—probably would be—people moving around inside the compound. Probably even some guards to keep the women inside, if nothing else.