Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall (14 page)

They spent the better part of twenty minutes going over where to put everything. Frank had a gut-churning feeling that whatever they did, it would be too little, too late.

* * *

0800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +24

In groups of two or three, the Clan filtered into the outdoor kitchen area for breakfast, coming in from whatever work they’d been doing for the first couple hours of the day. Cassy greeted them individually as they came in, following Frank’s idea of greeting people personally and eating last. It had a great effect on morale—a fine thing, considering the psycho messiah who was bearing down on them all. Once again, she found herself wishing Frank had put his own steady hand to being the Clan’s leader, though she understood why he declined it, given the situation. Her farm, her rules, and that trumped everything. But she still wished she could just hand it over to Frank.

This morning, she had another purpose in mind besides raising morale. Once she was sure everyone other than sentries on duty had come to the table, she strode to the head of the long, improvised seating area and raised her hands.

“Your attention please, Clanners,” she began, and waited for the hum of conversation to stop. She looked from person to person, hoping this would make each of them hear her next words as though she spoke to them personally.

“You already know we will soon face off against the greatest threat so far, and we had some doozies during the trek here. This ‘Peter’ fellow and his people are coming, and if they can, they will take what is ours for themselves. But we’re going to make sure he has a surprise waiting. Peter is about to find out that in this new world, not all people are content to sit back and watch or be victims. We are the Clan, and together we’ve beat every challenge to come our way. The ’vaders couldn’t stop us from getting here, they couldn’t stop us from settling here. The Red Locusts tried to take us as their next meal, and failed. Starvation, which has claimed so many lives outside the Clan, has been defeated here, by us, as well.

“I’ve heard some of you comment, half-jokingly, that you wish we could just call 9-1-1 like in the old days. But what do we need old-world police for? To protect us? Pah. Together we have more courage, more
grit
than any stranger in a blue uniform.
It’s our fight, not theirs,
and we’re not helpless.
The way I see it, we don’t need protection from Peter and his kind. No,
they
need protection from
us
if they are stupid enough to come to the party we have planned for them.”

Cassy looked over the crowd of Clanners and hoped her pride showed. She saw little fear among them but lots of smiles and nodding heads, even a few cheers. Where there could have been fear, she saw instead an iron determination. They would defend the farm, its resources, and the Clan to the last man, woman, and child.

Having set the stage, it was time to reveal the true purpose of her stumping this morning.

“So every one of us can defend ourselves, our farm, and our families, I am going to ask Michael to train all of you with our firearms, our stockpile of M4s. That means everyone, right down to kids old enough to hold and use a weapon. In groups of ten, he’ll cycle everyone over the age of ten through a simple shooting drill. Those who excel will partner up with those with less experience or skill shooting, so that
all of us are ready
when the time comes. Peter wants to take our land? Well, we need to make sure
we take his life
, instead. Are there any questions?”

She hadn’t expected anyone to speak up—it seemed pretty straightforward—but to her surprise, a hand shot up. It was Choony, damn it. Cassy had a feeling this was going to be a problem, but she motioned Choony to continue anyway. Every Clanner had a voice and the right to speak their mind, even though it was Cassy and her council—Michael, Frank, and Ethan—who had final authority on things Clan-related. At times like this, that could be frustrating.

Choony stood and made a slight bow to Cassy and then to the roomful of people. “Cassy, I know that we all respect your wise leadership,” he said with apparent sincerity. “And this plan is a good one, a wise one. But it is a
worldly
plan. I have a higher responsibility to my conscience. I’m sorry, but I don’t feel I can pick up a rifle, much less kill another human being, even at the cost of my life. I will risk my life for all these good people, but I cannot take anyone’s life even in defense.”

Dammit. Cassy clenched her jaw, the muscles standing out as she struggled to remain calm. Screw Choony and his high-and-mighty morality. “Choony, would you really be willing to let other Clanners die at Peter’s hands without lifting a finger to help defend them? Their children? Defend
my
children?”

Cassy was infuriated that Choony wouldn’t lift a rifle, though the saner part of her knew it was just the end result of his principled stand. And then that touch of respect she felt for him pissed her off even more, though mostly with herself. Dammit, she had to take herself in hand before she lost the whole group. Time to get a grip and lead from strength rather than fear.

“Cassy,” Choony said slowly, cautiously, “I would never put other humans at risk, especially those who are my family, and all the Clan is my only family now. My inability to kill people does not equal putting my family at risk. I—”

Cassy narrowed her eyes at him as he spoke, then interrupted him. “Yes, Choony, it
does
equal that. The Clan will defend itself, and I’m not sure I want to make room for someone who won’t pull their weight. The others might not sit well with your decision, either, and this isn’t the time for division.”

Cassy felt a hand on her arm and glanced over to see Frank standing next to her, a concerned look on his face. She glared at him, then deliberately turned to face Choony with an iron gaze.

Choony replied, “I’ll respect your wishes if that’s really what you want. But please hear me, Clan Leader, when I say that there is much I can do to help without ever picking up a rifle. I have First Aid training. I can retrieve our wounded from the line of fire. I can ferry ammunition where it is needed when the battle is underway. In fact, I can even put together quite a lot of pipe bombs and wire them for remote detonation—I’m majoring in Chemistry, you know—and I can do it with the things we have on hand. I won’t place the bombs or press the button to explode them, but I will build them, and you and Michael can place them better anyway. I can do that, but I won’t directly take another life even at the expense of my own.”

Cassy stood frozen, her mind racing. Not only was this newcomer not going to defend the Clan, which endangered all of them, but he was also directly refusing an order
in front of the Clan
. Damn him, why couldn’t he just get a minute to talk when everyone wasn’t around? The fight would be in a day, two at most, and he chose this time to get uppity in public, when unity was needed. Had he come to her separately, she could have talked through it to find a solution that used Choony to the best effect, conscientious objector that he was, rather than have to face down a refusal in front of everyone in the Clan right before The Big Battle. Life or death events left little margin for what amounted to mutiny.

“Choony, you leave me little choice,” Cassy said. Her voice was tight, and if she relaxed her self-control for even a moment right now, she’d definitely regret what she said or did. This was the time for self-discipline, if they were to survive, and she was not about to lose it right now in front of everyone. But she couldn’t stand for outright refusal in the face of an implacable enemy. “You will take up arms and train like everyone else, just as I have ordered, or you forfeit the Clan’s protection, its resources, and its fellowship. We value you, Choony. Your insights, your skills—those are much needed assets. But our people are about to fight for our lives, and some will likely not make it through. I owe it to them to make sure we’re fighting for people who want to be one of us.”

Before he or anyone else could respond, Cassy spun on her heels and walked away with her back erect, head held high. Only her brisk pace now gave away her agitation. But as she spun, she caught sight of Frank, and the tight-lipped look on his face as he stared at her quickly turned her anger into worry. Please, Lord, don’t let it all fall apart now…
 

Then a new anger rose, at Frank. He would have known how to handle that, but he refused to step up, leaving her to hold the bag. Well, she’d done the best she knew how, and that was all she could do.
 

Cassy motioned for Frank to follow and left the “chow hall.” When they were out of sight, she turned and said, “Look, Frank. I know I’m blowing this. I don’t know what to do. The only group I ever led before was a marketing focus group for a media marketing agency. You would have handled this better. I see you look at me with disapproval, and I get it. I disapprove of the job I’m doing, too. But since we both know you can lead us better, why not step up? I’ll step down, willingly.”

Frank looked down, refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m happy to be your right-hand guy, Cassy, but I can’t lead this bunch. I did it on the journey because I had to. Now we’re here, and this is your show. Please forgive me, Cassy, but I won’t step into your shoes.”

Cassy let out a long breath. Finally, she said, “Alright, Frank. I understand. Very well, then—go talk to Choony, and find us a way out of this mess. Then go talk to Jaz. She’s hurting, and lashing out, and I don’t really know why, but I don’t like seeing her in pain. Let’s get our ship squared away, as Michael would say, so that together we can all face what’s coming.”

Silently, she prayed for the first time in years.

- 8 -

1100 HOURS - ZERO DAY +24

PETER WAS DISTRACTED by a commotion outside of camp, and he sent Jim to find out what was going on. Two minutes later, Jim returned with one of the scouts who was supposed to be checking out the spy’s farm, taking notes and drawing maps. Peter’s irritation rose. “What the hell is going on here? Jim, why isn’t this man scouting? Last time I checked, he was a scout.”

Jim nodded. He stood with one hand on the scout’s shoulder and the other held palm-out toward Peter in appeasement. “Yeah, boss. But it turns out those people—they call themselves the Clan—captured our other scout. Tortured him, and probably wrung every ounce of information out of him, before staking him out on the path we’re to take. And boss… They skinned his face off and did some other nasty shit to him. I imagine they thought it’d scare us away.”

Peter’s face flushed red, and he swung his clenched fist through the air. “Goddammit, Jim! I bet they know every fucking thing about us by now.”

The scout lowered his head, and his gaze. “I’m sorry, sir. But it wasn’t a complete waste. I caught one of them walking around alone and brought her to you.” The scout turned to Jim and said, “I expect you’ll appreciate some of her finer qualities.”

Peter saw Jim perk up. Yep, Jim was easy to control. Feed his vice and tell him what a great guy he is, tell him his victims deserved it, and he’d follow Peter anywhere. “Jim, I’ll need you to handle her questioning personally. She’s with the spy and not only has information we need, she deserves much worse than anything you could think up. Use your imagination to get what I need out of her.”

Then Peter looked around to evaluate the faces of his other nearby followers. They looked at the returning scout with doubt and at Jim with disgust on their faces but were careful not to look toward Peter himself. Peter smelled trouble brewing. The failure of the scout, he figured, was the first time these people had seen Peter fail in anything, even before the EMPs. Now they knew he
could
fail, and that was a monkey wrench in the gears unless he could flip it to a win in their eyes. No way he was going to let this fuck up his program.

“Jim, before you question her, I need this ‘Clan’ scouted. Understand? I need it done right, so I’m sending someone more capable than the last crew. You go and handle it personally. I won’t allow their screw-up to endanger the rest of us.”

Jim sidled up toward Peter and said in a whisper, “But boss, I don’t have any scouting experience. What can I do that a scout can’t?”

Aha. So that was it—Jim was afraid of failing him and screwing up a good gig. Very well. Peter smiled, his face full of pleasant goodwill. “It’s good you know your limits, man! But I know you are well-suited to do this. And you’ll have help with some of the tricks—I’ll send the scout who made it back to us with you. He’ll backstop you, and if you say he does well, then he’ll earn his place back from his earlier failure.” Yeah, he gets redemption, people. See?

Jim grinned. He seemed plenty happy with that solution. “You got it, boss. Just one more question, though…”

Peter grinned right back at Jim. So predictable. “You don’t even need to ask. When you get back, of course I’ll expect you to question our little Clan prisoner. Then we can put together what you see, and what she says, and get the full picture.”

Jim nodded, and stood taller. More erect. “I won’t fail you, boss,” he said, shooting a warning look at the scout. “On my life.”

Peter nodded his approval. Yes, Jim surely would put his life on the line to please him. “Before you leave, Jim, make sure our new prisoner is secured, but don’t waste time questioning her. Scout first, then you can deal with her when you and the scout get back. Grab another prisoner too, if one stumbles by.” Go see your prize before you leave, feed your delusion, and be useful, Peter mused. Call it motivational. Peter kept his face open, cheerful and honest as Jim and the scout left while the others looked on. Yeah. Smile at the nice little followers, let ’em bask in your confidence. He winked at the onlookers and turned away to his desk, pretending to have something to do. Obediently, they left, murmuring among themselves.