Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall (23 page)

Well that was a bit of good news. The damn bunker might hold the key to winning the war, if what Ethan had told her was right. “Listen, Jaz, you mustn’t tell them about it. You’re one of only a few people who actually know where it is. And speaking of Ethan’s obsession with those old HAM radios, he’s a spy or something, working with some secretive group that’s trying to beat back the invaders. What he’s doing, it’s probably more important than all of us put together. He doesn’t talk about it much, but please promise you’ll listen to me on this one.”

Jaz leaned her head back against the pole. “I promise. Shoot, I wouldn’t tell anyway. Screw them. I wouldn’t roll on Ethan, either. I doubt Jim will stop if he gets what he wants, anyway. I’m ‘too much fun,’ as he puts it. Also, Choony’s missing. Never found him or his body, Frank said. But I have some bad news for you.”

Just great. What could be worse than that? After a long moment of silence, Cassy said, “So what is it, this terrible news?”

“I’m getting to it. It’s not easy. They’re asking about your kids, Cassy.”

A jolt of fear and rage shot through Cassy. What would they want her kids for? Only one reason that she could think of, and that was to punish her. Steely-voiced, she said, “What are they asking?”

“Their scouts saw you and your kids together. They know you have two kids, but they don’t know which ones are yours. I guess that scout didn’t make it through the last battle, and I hope he burns in Hell. When they were asking about your kids, Brianna was about to step forward, but Gary’s wife stepped up to them and put her arms around them, told them to shut up. I forget her name.”

“Marla,” Cassy said.

“Yeah. Well, she claimed them as her own children,” Jaz said. “Frank told them your kids were in the house when the fighting started, and that they must have run off when it began. But Cassy, they’re going to grill everyone about their kids, and then grill the kids. It might take a few days, but they’re going to figure it out eventually.” Jaz paused, her beautiful face stiff from Jim’s brutal fun. “I’m sorry, Cassy.”

“So Choony was right,” Cassy muttered. To Jaz’s confused look she replied, “When we wanted to exile Gary for hurting his wife, that one night. Choony was against it. He said it was bad karma, and we should give the man the chance to atone. Boy did he. I was there when Gary died—the first shot of the battle took him out. It’s his blood all over me.”

Jaz let out a low whistle. “If you’d exiled him or worse, your kids would be in their hands now. Karma’s something else, isn’t it.”

Cassy nodded. “Karma, or God. Mom says God doesn’t control us because of free will, but that He puts bad actions to good purpose. If the incident with Gary hadn’t occurred and we didn’t face the problem head on, Marla might not have been so brave when my kids were at risk. It seems that since we had the chance to show Gary the mercy Choony wanted, she trusts us.”

Jaz was silent a moment, and then said, “I never much believed in God, but after listening to your mom all this time and seeing all these stupid little things that have such a totally big effect on everything… You know? I mean, it can’t be all chance. Like, too many bad odds turned into good endings for that.”

Cassy chuckled, but then the memory of Gary’s blank, dead stare flashed through her mind, and guilt washed over her. If only it had been her that died, instead of him. Why did she deserve to live and he didn’t? She forced the image from her mind. “Well, Jaz, if that’s how you feel then do me a favor. Say a few prayers for my kids, okay? And don’t forget a couple prayers for yourself, too. You’ve turned out to be a lot stronger and smarter than I ever gave you credit for, back when you stole my granola bars. Things were so very different then…”

A sudden, barking laughter made Cassy jump, startled. She turned and saw Jim there and visualized choking the shit out of him. She realized she was flexing her hands like claws and forced herself to stop. “What are you laughing at, you deviant shit? If my knife had been another inch over, your days of fun in the sun with your ‘little tiny buddy’ would be over for good.”
 

Jim smirked and replied, “All I heard was that she stole granola bars. The idea of someone getting over on you like that amuses me. Me and my ‘little buddy.’ And yeah, you did almost kill me. First you fuck me over and then you try to kill me when I figure out what you were up to? Man, I hope Peter treats you the same way you treated our scout. You know, the one you left out to rot. After what you all did to that poor guy, you call
me
a deviant?”

A little of the fire left Cassy’s belly. She looked away, no longer able to match Jim’s hate-filled gaze. “We were here first. Your people came to take it from us. Bad things happen in war, they say. But I know you don’t give half a damn about that scout or what happened to him. You’re using a terrible event to manipulate others. It’s what you do. It’s just your nature. I only have one good memory of you—it’s you lying on the road, begging for my help.” She tried to imitate his cruel, lazy smile and added dreamily, “Begging.”

Jim curled up one side of his mouth in a snarl. “You think you know everything. Well, you don’t. Everything I do is for a reason. Peter understands that. It’s why he instructed me to handle Jaz
personally
. To make an example of her, and to pay her back for—”

“For what?” snapped Cassy, interrupting him. “She never did anything to you. You
kidnapped
her and did what you wanted, not what you had to.”

“Of course you feel that way, bitch. Just like a woman to twist everything up. My wife used to do that, you know. You should shut the hell up now, Cassy. Be smarter than she was.”

Then Jim turned on his heels to leave, but stopped. He looked over his shoulder at Jaz. “Don’t think I’m done questioning you, miss thang. Tonight’s gonna be a long, hard night for you. Maybe I’ll even enjoy you for once.” He walked away without another look back.

Jaz began to cry softly and put her head in Cassy’s lap. The poor girl… Cassy wished for nothing more at that moment than a knife and ten seconds alone with Jim. God willing, she’d get a chance to correct the mistake she’d made on the road when she left Jim alive. Next time, she’d make sure he went down. Hard.

* * *

2300 HOURS - ZERO DAY +29

Choony stretched his legs and wished for the tenth time that night that his parents had sent him into the Boy Scouts when he was young. As it was, he’d made a wholly inadequate shelter that was based on something he half-remembered seeing on YouTube—a branch stretching unevenly between two trees, with numerous smaller branches set to lean against that cross-post. On top of this he’d added dirt, leaves, and even a few fresh branches that were still green enough to hopefully provide some camouflage. It looked terrible, and he was glad Michael wasn’t there to see the dismal structure.

Still, it would provide some warmth and shelter when he returned. If he returned, he amended. Tonight he intended to raid the Clan’s homestead for a few key supplies. Well, now it was in the White Stag’s hands, but that didn’t make it their homestead. Anger boiled up, and Choony spent a couple minutes looking into the night sky calming himself, praying for balance and wisdom. There was no use being angry at the world or the people in it. He could only control himself. Anger came when one resisted the world. Peace came with acceptance. But acceptance was harder when people did such evil things. He couldn’t merely think “Accept it” and make it so—these were people he’d grown to care about, deeply. Good people, doing the best they could. The homestead was practically a monument to Buddhist philosophy in the face of chaos and collapse, and the Clan didn’t even know it.
 

That thought made him smile at last, and he could feel the anger recede. There was nothing he could do yet to help the Clan, but he could take what he needed to survive and look for opportunities to aid his Clan, even if perhaps only in little ways. The Stag people had cleared out the Red Locusts, so the national forest he hid within was now safer than it had been since the EMPs had destroyed the power grid. The Stags had done him that small favor at least, although unwittingly.

Right. Time to move out. Move slowly and quietly, he reminded himself. Stay low. Stop often and listen. He remembered that advice from Michael, during one of their many conversations, and thought about his first encounter with the Clan under attack, and him wriggling snakelike up that rise to peek over and see what was happening. His recklessness hadn’t killed him that time, but he had learned much from Michael. With skill, patience, and a bit of luck, he would be able to sneak in, raid the storage shed, get a good understanding of the Stag’s defenses and layout, and get out without being noticed. Of course, one never knew what might be found in the shed, as it was only a way station between the Clanners and the vast amount of goods stockpiled in the bunker. He had no idea where the bunker was and hoped Peter didn’t either.

Choony removed all his clothes except for his boots and underwear, to reduce the noise he made, and then it took only perhaps half an hour to find his way in the dark northward to the homestead. He then followed the southern edge of the food forest, heading generally east toward the pond there. He knew where the traps were, but he would have to swim across the pond itself; skirting it would mean a long, noisy struggle through mud and reeds and thorny hedges. The westernmost pond would have been easier to get to and get around, but the guard tower overlooked it and was surely manned now by the cruel occupiers. And the shed he wanted was on the eastern half of the property, in any case.

When he arrived at the shores of the pond, he squatted down to grab handfuls of mud, with which he painted dark lines across his arms and legs, his torso, and finally, his face. Michael had told him once that random lines broke up a silhouette better than simply painting himself all black with mud. Choony wasn’t quite sure this was what that meant, but he decided to apply it to his own situation anyway. He had no better ideas to go with.

Choony then crept into the water, careful to avoid splashing, and inched his way in a slow, quiet breaststroke across the water. Arriving at the far side of the pond, he crawled cautiously out through the mud. He was colder now than he’d felt in a long time, but it was still adequately warm outside. He didn’t think hypothermia would become a problem before he dried off.

Unfortunately, the swim had removed most of his carefully applied mud. Okay, so that was poor planning on his part, he mused and, shaking his head, set about reapplying a muddy striped camouflage. When it was as good as he knew how to make it, he’d already mostly dried off. “Now for the hard part,” he muttered, adding a brief mental prayer for protection.

The trees on this side of the property were sparse; the food forests lay to the north and south of where he stood. Still, there were enough trees between him and the shed that he felt reasonably confident he could make it undetected, with care and a bit of luck. He moved out in a low crouch.

In seconds he made it to the first tree. It was large and old, maybe oak. He wasn’t sure. He put his back against it and fought to regain his breath and slow his heartbeat, a calming that took longer than it had actually to move there.
 

Once he’d brought his adrenaline under better control, he peered around the tree. Two more trees lay between him and the storage shed, the door of which was on the opposite face of the building. He could count five guards, including one in the tower. There were probably more that he couldn’t see. The one in the tower was shadowed such that Choony couldn’t see him well. The other four, armed with rifles, seemed not to move in any orderly pattern, but then he realized they stayed within a specific and well defined area. They’d walk a set distance, turn around, and walk back, looking mostly at the ground or at the lit, warm-looking house. Choony could imagine them feeling envious of the others inside, relaxing or sleeping.

He rushed to the second tree and repeated his calming process. Now that he was much closer, he could almost make out the face of the nearest guard even in the darkness. That meant it wasn’t really all that dark. The moon was almost half full, and there was some ambient light from the house, he noted. When the nearest guard was walking away from him, and the other guards were faced away, he sprinted to the final tree that lay between him and the shed, slowed as he approached it, and crouched down. The back side of the shed was tantalizingly close, only ten or so yards away. Thirty feet of open ground, but the guards were more interested in watching the farm buildings than the perimeter. They were more worried about their new slaves than outside attackers, Choony realized with some slight satisfaction. Good. That would work in his favor, for the moment.

Choony gulped, preparing himself for the most dangerous part—getting to the shed and inside without being seen. It took some ten minutes of waiting to find the right time, when all the guards were faced away at once. The moment he saw his opportunity, Choony crouched as low as he was able and rushed to the back side of the shed. He took deep breaths to steady himself and listened for any cry of alarm, but none came. He then crept around the corner to the south side of the building. One more corner to go and he’d be exposed fully, but only for the few seconds it would take to get inside the shed. He waited until the nearest guard walked by to the end of his route, turned, and walked back. When he was surely well past the shed, Choony gritted his teeth. It was time.

He moved to bolt around the corner but caught himself short at the last instant. Dammit, there was a guard he hadn’t seen posted right in front of the shed, leaning on the door. He ducked back and counted to ten to calm himself. He had to think this through. Maybe a distraction would divert this guard? There had to be a way that didn’t involve killing anyone. That, he could not do.