Ashen Winter (37 page)
“No,” Levitov replied, “after your stunt with the bulldozer, I convinced Washington to authorize us to reclaim the wheat you found on the stuck barges to feed the inmates. Conditions improved. I traded my leaf for a bird and was moved out here.”
I wasn’t sure how to take the fact that he actually remembered me from among the thousands of prisoners at Camp Galena.
“We’re barely getting enough food here,” Mom said.
I snorted. “More than we got at Camp Galena.”
“Enough,” Colonel Levitov said. “Talk.”
I clamped my lips shut, but Dad started talking. Told Colonel Levitov the whole story: girls disappearing, his nighttime patrols, the battles with the DWBs.
When he finished, a long silence ensued. “Not acceptable,” Levitov said finally.
“What’s not acceptable?” I said. “That your guards are corrupt or that we had to do your job and protect the refugees ourselves!”
“Both. And you do not understand our mission here. If I could write my own orders, protecting refugees might be my first priority. But what the politicians care about is preventing a flood of refugees from entering the yellow and green zones. People in areas that were less badly affected by the eruption, at least initially, are afraid of being overrun by refugees.”
“You can’t keep people locked in camps forever,” Mom said.
“True. Our strategic posture is unstable.”
“Will civilian control order you to kill the refugees?” Ben asked.
Mom gasped, but Colonel Levitov didn’t seem fazed. “A massacre? It could happen. I would not obey such an order.”
“You would be within your rights under the Fourth Geneva Convention, which specifically protects—” Alyssa kicked Ben in the ankle, and surprisingly, he shut up.
“So what happens to the other refugees? To my girls?” Mom asked.
“I will see that those responsible for allowing the DWBs to enter the camp are reassigned.”
“Reassigned?” I said. “They should be prosecuted.”
Ben added, “Courts-martial would be the proper—”
“I don’t have the manpower for that. But the kidnapping of inmates will end. You have my word on that.”
I didn’t believe him, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.
“So what happens to us?” Alyssa asked, her voice low.
“You’ll be transferred to Camp Aledo in Illinois tomorrow. I recommend you keep your heads down. If you continue to make trouble, things will not go well for you there.”
“Better that than where I was,” Alyssa whispered.
“Why not just let us go?” I asked. “Then we’d be out of your hair completely.”
“My orders don’t allow for that.” Colonel Levitov strode past us, toward the exit.
“And the DWBs?” I yelled after him. “The ones who actually did the killing and kidnapping? What happens to them?”
“Not my concern,” Levitov yelled back. “I’ve got bandit gangs coming out my ass. It’s all I can do to hold off the Peckerwoods’ raids.” He left the tent.
I slumped. I was further than ever from finding Darla. Tomorrow I’d get shipped to some other godforsaken camp. Something was in my eyes, making them water, but I couldn’t rub them with my hands cuffed behind my back.
Ben’s voice cut through my morose thoughts. He yelled after Levitov, “I know how you can get rid of the Peckerwoods completely.”
Levitov reappeared in the doorway to the maintenance tent. “How? You’ve got thirty seconds.”
Ben replied, “They’re based in Anamosa—”
“I know that.” Levitov sounded annoyed. I cranked my head around, straining to see him standing behind me.
Ben didn’t pick up on it, just kept right on talking. “The Sister Unit and I were at the old prison.”
“It’s a limestone fortress.”
“It is vulnerable because it is set up like a prison,” Ben said. “The electronic systems are all offline, but the manual emergency lockdowns should still work. There are fewer than 150 of the original prisoners still there. The rest have left or been killed. A small force, attacking at the right time, could take control of the manual lockdowns. Then you could lock the Peckerwoods out of their own armory and split up the forces that bunk in each wing. Once they’re isolated, you can clear the area via force or leave them there to starve.”
“Not the most humane plan,” Mom murmured.
Alyssa glared at Mom. “Not half as bad as they deserve!”
Colonel Levitov strode back into the tent and crouched in front of Ben, who was staring at his own shoes. “Do you know how to operate the emergency lockdowns? You know where they are? Can you draw us a map?”
“Yes, I can map most of the prison. I did not see it all.”
“Cut him loose,” Levitov ordered.
“Um, Ben?” Alyssa said.
“Cut the Sister Unit free, too,” Ben said.
“Ben!” Alyssa whispered. “All of them.”
“Yes,” Ben said, “Ben will help you if you let all of Ben’s friends go free.”
“That’s almost as good as transferring us to another camp,” I said. “You can report that we escaped.”
“I’m not allowing any of you to go anywhere until I’ve verified the intelligence you’re supplying.”
I had to go on the raid. Darla was in Anamosa. Or she had been a few days ago when Alyssa last saw her. “Fine. Take us all when you attack the Peckerwoods. That way if anything comes up, Ben’ll be handy. When you’re done kicking the Peckerwoods’ butts, you let us go.”
“Five noncombatants in the middle of a firefight? Forget it.”
“Ben can’t go by himself,” Alyssa said.
“I could, in fact, go by myself, Sister Unit.”
“Take us all. You can leave us outside or locked in a truck or something while you fight. We won’t be in the way.”
Colonel Levitov nodded slowly. “Deal. Captain Billson!” he yelled. “Escort these five to the infirmary. Put them in the empty bunks with a twenty-four-hour guard, three-man detail.”
One of the camo-clad guards yelled “Sir!” as Colonel Levitov pivoted and disappeared. They cut the cuffs off our wrists and marched us into the abandoned WalMart. It was subdivided into hallways and rooms with canvas walls. After a couple of twists and turns, we arrived at a small room into which a dozen cots had been packed.
It was easily the most luxurious sleeping arrangement I’d seen since I left Worthington. One of the grunts even brought us two pails of water—one to wash up in and one to drink from. We huddled together and talked over what we’d learned from Colonel Levitov, trying to keep our voices low enough that the three guards just outside the doorway couldn’t hear us.
We were stuck. We had to help Colonel Levitov no matter how much we distrusted him and hope he kept his promise to release us. Then maybe we could find Darla and hightail it back to Warren.
“I promised to let you take the truck so you could drive to Worthington,” I said to Alyssa.
“Well, I . . . do you think your Uncle Paul would take in a couple more people?” she asked.
“I think he’d be glad of the extra help,” I said.
“I don’t know,” Dad said. “They were running awfully low on food when your mom and I left.”
“Things got better. We were doing okay when Darla and I left,” I said. “And Alyssa and Ben would pull their weight.”
“Yeah,” Alyssa said, “I’d like to go to Warren with you . . . if that’s okay.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and she leaned closer to me. “You’re the only decent guy I know in this shitball world.”
“Alyssa, I’m not—”
She blushed. “I know you’re not interested in me that way. But we’re friends, right? I’d rather stay close to you. I don’t know why, okay?”
“Okay.” Alyssa had seemed different—less confident—since that morning in the tent. But I’d be glad to have both her and Ben around. I put my hand over hers and squeezed.
Mom and Dad were looking at me. “What?” I said as I released Alyssa’s hand.
“Nothing.” Mom shook her head.
“I’m going to try to get some sleep,” I said.
I picked out a cot at random, lay down on my side, and rested my head on my forearm. We had missed dinner—my stomach was gnawing on a hard knot of nothing. I was exhausted and weak, but sleep refused to come.
My thoughts spun, revolving through the same worry over and over: Darla. I knew she was alive. She had to be. I’d know it if she were dead, right? Or was that total crap made up by movie writers and believed by overly optimistic morons like me? Was she still in Anamosa? When Black Lake attacked the prison, how could I be sure she wouldn’t be hurt?
Amid all these worries, a tiny but fierce flame burned: hope. Tomorrow I might find Darla. Finally.
It didn’t happen. The next day we were trapped in the infirmary. Black Lake employees came and went all day, setting up kerosene lanterns, bringing paper and pencils to Ben, and quizzing all of us about Anamosa and the Peckerwoods. They even brought food—some kind of wheat porridge—and more water.
Mostly they talked to Ben. I saw Colonel Levitov twice, but he didn’t acknowledge anyone but Ben. We bugged our guards, but no one would give us any information. We passed a frustrating day of enforced rest and nervous chatter.
• • •
That night, I was startled out of a troubled sleep by the light from a lantern. A Black Lake guard barked, “Get up. We move out in fifteen minutes.”
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Getting ready in fifteen minutes was not a problem—I had nothing but the clothes I was wearing and the seeds still secreted in my jacket. I rolled out of bed, stretched, and waited for the guards.
When they returned, they hustled us to the vehicle depot and loaded us into a big, boxy truck Ben called an FMTV. Bench seats lined the back. We were packed in with a dozen Black Lake guys in full gear. I eyed them uneasily and got nothing but glares in return. The four of us huddled at the end of one of the benches, and Dad made a point of sitting between me and the first Blake Lake guy. Our truck joined a convoy of four other vehicles full of mercenaries and their weapons.
The ride to Anamosa took longer than I expected—maybe two hours. From inside the truck, I couldn’t tell how fast we were traveling. I tried to peek out the back of the truck once, but one of the Black Lake guys stopped me before I could even reach the latch.
When we finally stopped, all but three Black Lake guys vaulted out. They moved without speaking, weapons cradled to their sides, in a deadly choreographed silence. I started to ask, “What—” but one of the remaining guards put his hand against my mouth.
When I tried to climb out of the truck, he stopped me with a palm on my chest, but that didn’t keep me from looking out the back.
It was nearly pitch black. All the trucks were shut down, their running lights off. I heard a pop and hiss, and suddenly a flare of light appeared about twenty feet ahead of me—so bright it felt as if it were burning the backs of my eyes.
The limestone bulk of the Anamosa prison loomed above me. We had pulled up near a heavy steel side door. The light source was a welding torch that one of the mercenaries was using to slice through the lock.
Something metallic clanked, and the guy using the torch dialed it down from white-hot to orange. Another guy jammed an oversized pry-bar between the frame and door, wrenching it open. Then all the Black Lake mercenaries sprinted into action, charging into the prison in a double file.
I heard the muffled pop-pop of gunfire. The echoes of screams escaped the open door. None sounded feminine, but I still felt the cold hand of terror clenching my gut. Was it a massacre? If Darla was in there, would they shoot her? I tried to leave the truck again, but one of the mercenaries shoved me back so hard I fell, crashing down on a bench. I heard a distant clang, and all the sounds blended into a cacophony of death, pain, and clashing metal.
It was over inside of twenty minutes. Colonel Levitov emerged from the prison door, barked an order, and the headlights of the truck behind ours snapped on, bathing us in light. He stepped up to our tailgate and addressed Ben. “The prison is under control. The last of the Peckerwoods here will be dead or in our custody shortly. Your intelligence was nearly perfect. Well done.” Levitov stuck out his hand.
Ben looked at his feet. Alyssa nudged him with her elbow, and he limply placed his hand in Levitov’s, still staring downward. “You committed to releasing Ben and his friends,” Ben said.
“I did.” Levitov released Ben’s hand and Ben balled it up, pulling it back against his chest. “You’re free to go,” Levitov continued. “Make trouble for my camp again, and I’ll see that you regret it.”
He didn’t deserve a handshake, salute, or thank you from me. I couldn’t give him what he did deserve, so I settled for glaring at him. Evidently Mom and Dad felt the same way—they didn’t say anything to him, either.
I jogged toward the prison door. Levitov yelled, “We haven’t finished mopping up in there.”
Dad sprinted up to me, catching my arm just before I reached the door. “We need to clear out of here. They might still be fighting in there.”
“Darla’s in there,” I said. “I’m going inside to look for her.”
“We’re going back to the farm,” Mom said. “Back to Rebecca.”
“After I find Darla.” I twisted my arm free of Dad’s grasp and ducked into the prison. Inside it was pitch black. It smelled terrible—filthy gas station bathroom blended with rank slaughterhouse. I heard Mom just outside the door, still arguing that we should return to the farm immediately.
Dad followed me into the prison, shake light in hand. He switched on the beam. And I ducked my head, fighting back vomit. Two corpses were sprawled inside the door. A dozen or more bullets had punctured their chests, and their blood had leaked in such prodigious quantity that it nearly covered the entry hall. I was standing in it.
I heard retching noises and looked back to see Alyssa vomiting in the corner. Ben was staring at the corpses, “These are 5.56 millimeter impact wounds,” he said, “from an AR-15 rifle. The U.S. military designation is M16. Sloppy groupings—they should do much better at short range.”
“Whatever,” I said. “Where’s the infirmary? Where they were keeping Darla.”
Dad said, “Alex—”
“I’m going after her. Now.”
