Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall (27 page)

Capt. Taggart watched as his words were deciphered by the gang leader. He’d just said that Black was instrumental in having such an overwhelming success with the mission—which was true—and reminded him of all the new gangbangers he now had under his command. Also true. Dammit.

“Yeah… Yeah, puto. That’s right, G.I. Joe. You need us, we don’t need you. Remember that, fool. And I got more people than you, now. This is our ’hood. We know the place, every corner and tunnel. Fuck with me or my people like that again, fool, and you ain’t making it back from the next mission. We clear, bitch?”

Taggart let out a long breath. This was not going to work out. It would soon be necessary to part ways with Black and his gang, one way or another. Very soon. “It wasn’t intentional, but yes. Crystal clear, Black. I understand you perfectly.”

But Black had huffed and turned away before Taggart replied, so he never saw Taggart’s half-hooded eyes or marked the cold, almost venomous anger on his face.

- 14 -

2200 HOURS - ZERO DAY +30

FRANK LOOKED AROUND at the other assembled Clanners, surrounded by what looked to be almost all of Peter’s people. They were armed and very quiet, which set Frank on edge. This wasn’t a good sign. He had a feeling something bad was about to happen. He spotted Michael nearby and began slowly scooting toward him. Not that Michael could do anything if something bad happened. Still, he’d feel better being near the Clan’s ace defender.

Peter strutted back and forth in front of the Clanners, looking puffed up and cocky, the bastard. “It appears that one of you Clanner pieces of shit managed to escape today. Now, I’ve tried to be nice to you people. I’ve given you productive work to do, so that all of us—White Stag and Clan alike—will have enough to eat for the winter and into spring. And I’ve given you all food, even though rations are low. But despite my kindness, one of you has fled your responsibility, no, your
duty
, to care for one another.”

Peter paused, feet apart and shoulder width, left elbow resting in his upturned right hand, left hand stroking his chin. It was, Frank thought, a rather melodramatic pose, and ridiculous. Peter must have sensed his audience starting to drift because he broke his “camera opp” pose and continued: “I would normally punish all the Clan for allowing this to happen. But instead, I think I will allow one of you to suffer the consequences for all of you. That’s a kindness you don’t deserve, but we are all in this together despite your treachery. I hope eventually you’ll learn that.”

Then, pointing at one of his White Stag guards, he ordered, “You—fetch me Cassy. I’m tired of her eagerness to make everyone starve rather than reveal the location of the food storage. Tired of her stubborn refusal to answer my simplest questions. You all can rest easy tonight, knowing that in the end, she redeemed herself through personal sacrifice.” The guard started to leave, but Peter called, “And guard? Get me a machete.”

Frank finally managed to squirm in next to Michael just as Peter finished his speech, and grunted a welcome.

Michael nodded and muttered, “So are we gonna let him do this to Cassy?”

Frank frowned. “What can we do? If we try anything we’ll be mowed down. You hear how quiet his people are? They’re tense. It’s bad, man. It feels really bad.”

Michael said, “At least Jaz escaped. Someone has to live through this. Remember when help was a three-digit phone call away?”

Frank said nothing. A reply wasn’t needed. Then Peter smiled, and Frank followed his gaze. The guard had returned with Cassy, still chained about the neck, and carried a black machete in his left hand. He handed both chain and blade to Peter, who smiled down at Cassy like the sick bastard he was.

“Hear this, Clan,” Peter said with a grin that got nowhere near is eyes, with his chest puffed out as if he had too much personal power to contain it all without making extra room. “Your leader means less to me than you do. She has failed to tell me where the food is stored, though that would have given all of us full rations. She has failed to tell me where the gear is stored, so that all our lives could be made a little easier. And now one of you fled. On foot. Cassy was there, yet she did nothing to stop the escape or alert my guards. The guards are here for your protection and ours. They needed to know. Should the sentence be death?”

Peter walked up and down the line of sitting Clanners, staring at each in turn, as he led Cassy on the chain like a leash. No one spoke up, and Peter’s grin grew.

“None of you want her to die? Not one?”

Still there was silence.

“The alternative is easy. I can show Cassy some mercy. I can spare her life, despite her treachery. But it’s up to you, because she’s one of you. And the choice is simple. One of you only needs to volunteer to take Jaz’s place beside her. One of your so-called leaders. You take Jaz’s place and end up like Cassy here, taking her extra punishment onto yourself, or she dies. Anyone brave enough or loyal enough to do that? Are you all cowards and vipers? There’s got to be one who would step up to spare Cassy.” Peter pointed the machete at the crowd, sweeping it back and forth at them all.

No one spoke up and even Frank was stunned into silence. He didn’t have the right words to describe how he felt about Peter at that moment.

Peter laughed out loud, a forced sound, like a polite laugh at a badly told joke. No one mistook it for humor. “Very well. Since none of you want to take Jaz’s place, Cassy’s sentence is death. You Clanners will get what you asked for. Hey Cassy, how does it feel to know that no one here will step up for you to save your life?”

Cassy spat on him, her face a mask of anger. “You didn’t give them a real choice. You’re a sadistic bastard, and someday you’re gonna reap what you sow, motherfucker.”

Frank felt a jolt of shock. Cassy almost never swore, not like that. But Peter didn’t bother to wipe the spit from his face. He smiled again, and said, “Defiant until the end. It’s why you have to die, you know. So be it. Cassy, bend over so I have a good shot at your neck. I’m gonna be as quick as possible, because mercy is a virtue. If you don’t, it won’t go well for the rest of your people. I think you understand what I’m saying.”

Cassy stood tall and proud, Frank thought. “You’ll kill me either way. Let’s just get this over with.” She spat again on the ground and bowed at the waist as low as she could. “I hope you’re good enough with that knife to get it right the first time.”

Peter moved to Cassy’s left side to put her between himself and the crowd and placed the machete blade on her neck. “Let’s find out,” he said, and raised the blade up over his head.

Frank’s mind finally caught up to what was happening, the shock flowing away like the tide. “Fuck this,” he muttered to Michael, and leapt to his feet. Michael tried to pull him back, but Frank shrugged him off and shouted, “Stop! This isn’t right, Peter. I’ll take Jaz’s place, just spare Cassy’s life. Chain me, instead,” he shouted.

There was a collective intake of breath from the other Clanners, and Frank’s wife, Mary, let out a strangled sob. But it was too late to back down now, even if he’d wanted to.

“Only one among you is brave enough. How sad. Very well. I told you I’d spare her, and I’m a man of my word. I respect you, what’s your name? Frank, right? Then get over here and let’s get this over with so everyone can go to bed.”

Frank wove his way through the crowd. He kept his gaze on Peter, but it was more to steady his nerve than to show bravery. That, and he couldn’t bear to meet his family’s eyes. He reached Peter and stopped a few feet away. Looking at the ground, Frank said, “I’m ready for the chain.”

Peter motioned a guard, who walked up to Frank and put the chain around his neck. The guard then put on the lock, closing it with an audible click. Frank fought the urge to shake from all the adrenaline pumping through him. What the hell had he just done? Well, Cassy was worth it, he told himself over and over.

Once the chain was clasped, Peter furrowed his brow and pursed his lips and with his left hand tapped his chin. After a moment he said, “Something is missing. Let’s see…” He continued with his bullshit showmanship, and Frank felt dread growing in the pit of his belly. Then Peter’s face lit up into a happy smile. “I know what’s missing! You see, Jaz fled, leaving all of you here to deal with the results. I can’t have anyone else running off willy-nilly, now can I?”

Peter then turned to his nearest guards. “Grab him by the hands and feet and stretch his stupid ass out. He’ll bear Jaz’s punishment, just like he wanted.”

As the guards piled onto Frank, he struggled, landing one solid elbow into someone’s nose, but it did no good. In seconds he was buried under a mound of White Stag people, and his arms and legs were pinned, spread-eagle.

Peter, still grinning, walked to Frank’s left side, putting Frank between himself and the Clan. The better for them to see whatever he had in mind. Frank stared at Peter and considered terrible ways to kill the sonofabitch. Peter looked him in the eyes, and grinned again. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said quietly. Then, louder, he said, “Jaz’s replacement will never run away. Ha! He’ll never run at all, after this. You Clanners, watch this and remember. This is the penalty for disobedience.”

Frank watched in horror. Peter put the machete blade on Frank’s ankle and rested it there. Then Peter turned his head enough to look Frank in the eyes. “Brave, but stupid.”

Peter raised the blade high over Frank’s ankle and then brought it down with all his might.

* * *

0500 HOURS - ZERO DAY +31

Grandma Mandy sat near the pitiful fire with Michael, Sturm and Mueller. They were discussing ways to escape or turn the tables on Peter. Mandy had come to the fire after being unable to sleep; the terrible vision of Frank’s foot laying in the dirt with blood spurting everywhere wouldn’t leave her mind. The sound of Frank’s scream when they cauterized his wound would haunt her dreams forever. She shuddered and forced herself back to the conversation.

“If we could get to the stockpile,” Michael said—they never referred to the bunker by name, fearful someone might overhear it—“then we could arm ourselves. Maybe engage the enemy at their weakest, just before shift change.”

Mandy shook her head. “But if Peter somehow followed you, wouldn’t that be the end of Ethan? And with our stockpile, who knows what use Peter would put the Clan to.”

Sturm shrugged. “If we’re armed we can defend that bunker all day.”

Mueller said, “Stow it, Sturm. We will not abandon the civilians we’re entrusted with just to get ourselves to safety.”

Michael nodded and looked like he approved. “Oorah. But we’re overlooking some operational assets that we didn’t know about before Jaz’s escape. Someone was shooting at the guards, a feint that distracted the Stag fighters. They didn’t hit a single guard or civilian. We were all accounted for. I think we have sympathizers among the White Stag people.”

There was silence for a long while as that sunk in. Mandy finally spoke up. “God works in the hearts of all good people, strengthening them through the Holy Spirit. I think He is working toward our eventual triumph over evil.”

Michael nodded. “That may well be. But I know God, and He told me we have to help ourselves first and
then
He will look after us as He did Jaz. What were the odds she’d escape? Pretty small, I think. Yet it came together just right for that to happen. More and more, I believe in Mandy’s God.”

“All of our God,” she said with a smile. “He loves all men and wants them to be saved, even the ones who don’t love Him back.”

Sturm snorted. “Maybe. But here and now, we’re outnumbered. We can rally maybe twenty fighters from among the Clan. Sympathizer numbers are unknown and can’t be factored in. We’re looking at twenty fighters at best, facing at least twice that many enemy forces.”

Mueller nodded. “A direct engagement is out of the question. And, we’re unarmed. We can get armed, but only if luck—or God—goes way above the call of duty to get us into the bunker undetected. Would twenty people even fit in the bunker?”

Mandy felt a wash of resignation flow over her. “No, only about ten people, including whoever’s in there now. At least Ethan, and hopefully Amber as well. So eight of us.”

Michael’s head snapped up to look at Mandy, and he frowned. “And then there’s Ethan. From what I know, his mission matters more than every living person here. He’s kept operational secrecy, so I don’t know exactly what he’s doing, but something to do with coordinating partisan and guerrilla activity.”

Sturm shrugged. “So, nothing. Nada. We can’t arm, we can’t sneak out, we can’t engage the enemy directly, and we lack assets to go guerrilla. What’s left? We sit here and rot.”

Mandy stared into the fire, and the others grew quiet. Each was lost in thoughts they didn’t share, of course. God didn’t put obstacles into the path of the righteous that they couldn’t overcome, was Mandy’s thought, unless their loss served a greater purpose. She could see no great purpose to their enslavement and probable death. Therefore, God had a plan for them. His ways were unknowable though. She had to remember that it wasn’t necessary for her to know, just to keep her faith. Sometimes, she thought sadly, it’s hard.

But then she remembered that the others looked to her for guidance, and she rallied. “You folks are Marines. Christ’s Soldiers. Do not lose faith, brothers and sister. God has a plan for us even if we don’t yet see it. Keep your eyes and ears open. When God presents us with the opportunity, we have to be ready. Tell all the Clan we can trust to be ready. Everyone needs to start to gather and hide whatever supplies they can. We must be ready when He calls us to action.” She turned to Sturm. “What’s your motto? Always Faithful?”