Death Springs Eternal: The Rift Book III (29 page)
Read Death Springs Eternal: The Rift Book III Online
Authors: Robert J. Duperre,Jesse David Young
The general grinned.
“Very good, Sergeant.
Very, very good.”
“Oh, but I’m not finished,” Cody said, eagerly rubbing the chair’s arm again. “We also let the Churchies and all them take the niggers, do with ’em what they want. It’ll help solidify our relationship, give ’em the impression we’re completely on their side.”
“Even better.”
Bathgate was downright beaming now. “But you forgot one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The first step.”
“Which is?”
“We take out their power structure, their leadership, but we do it quietly.
The sooner, the better.
A body without a head won’t know what to do until another head is attached. You know who’s in charge over there, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. When you leave here, make sure you tell Lumley I want them brought to me, post-haste.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cody felt excitement run through him. The general had liked what he had to say. Hell, he’d
praised
him. He couldn’t remember the last time that’d happened, and it helped make him bold. He thought of all the pussy they’d brought back, and he stood up quickly, almost knocking over his chair in the process.
“Sir, you know the numbers. How many chicks we got here?”
“Huh?”
“Women.
How many women?”
The general’s smile faded.
“Around thirty-two hundred.
Why?”
It was Cody’s turn to pace. “So over nine
thou,
and only three thou are girls? That don’t seem right, boss…I mean sir. I mean, guys got their needs, right? If you wanted to boost morale, why not give away some cookies? And not to mention the fact we need more pussies if we’re gonna make babies. Dudes don’t
got
the right wiring.”
The corner of Bathgate’s lip twitched. “What are you getting at?”
“Half the people we brought up from
Pittsburgh
are bitches, sir. What if, when we make our move, we round ’em up, maybe even some of the whiter black ones? We could…I don’t know…have a party or something. Keep the girls around, let the men go at ’em.”
Bathgate sighed. “I’m not sure if that’s such a great idea, Sergeant. We do have families here. And even the evangelicals would most likely have a problem with slavery, especially if it’s white women.”
“See, sir, that’s the thing.
They don’t have to know about it!
We get Morales and Porcello involved—we all know the hillbillies and the spics like to have a good time—and keep it between them and the enlisted men. No one else needs to be told about it. We put the COC in charge of security and call it a private party.”
“You mean make an event out of it.”
“Of course!
And oh shit, how’s this for an idea? Let’s, I don’t know, put on an auction or something. Get the bitches out there, show off the goods,
let
the boys bid on ’em. It’d be fun. Build camaraderie, all that sorta bullshit.”
“I don’t know,” said the general. “It sounds risky.”
“No, not risky.
It’s
perfect.
Trust me.”
Bathgate drew in a deep breath and set both his hands on the desk. “Very well, Sergeant. I’ll give you a tentative
yes
, but I’m going to have to think on it for a bit. I’ll call in Pitts and Porcello and see what they think.”
At the mention of Pitts’s name, Cody cringed. How he hated that greasy fucker. “Um, okay,” he said.
“But until I get back to you with a final answer, I want you down by the Deepwater Terminal.” Bathgate reached into one of his drawers, removed a notebook, opened it, and started writing. “The 72
nd
is working with the engineers from
Corinth
, fixing the bridge. They’re yours now. Make sure they do what they’re supposed to. Consider it your reward.”
“Whaddaya mean, they’re
mine
?”
“The 72
nd
.
They’re under your command now.”
“The whole unit?”
“Yes, the whole unit.
All one hundred and fourteen men.
You still have your responsibilities with the Marauders, of course, so don’t forget that.”
“I won’t. Thank you sir, thank you sir,” Cody stammered, the wind knocked out of him.
“This isn’t a gift, Sergeant. It’s a reward. You earned it. Now leave.”
“Yes, sir!”
Cody bolted to the door, but he paused before he left the office. Turning around, he tentatively faced the man, who acted as if he’d already gone. The general had given
him
remuneration, the least he could do was offer something in return.
“Sir,” he said, “
when
you’re thinking on this plan, you might wanna also see if there’s any girls that grab ya. I mean,
there’s
some hot bitches there. Having one around might do ya good.”
The general lifted his head from his notes. His eyes drifted to the window, gazing out as if he was seeing something imperceptible to most humans.
“Not necessary, Sergeant,” he said without once glancing in his direction. “Now get out.”
CHAPTER 11
WELCOME TO
RICHMOND
, PART II
A
LAND
OF
FLAGS
“What the hell is that?” asked Kyra.
Josh kept his foot pressed on the brake, fingers tapping away on the steering wheel as he stared at the large sheet of fabric flapping in the wind. “I think it’s a flag,” he said.
“Well, duh,” Jessica said from behind him. “But what’s it
mean
?”
“No clue.”
The flag was navy blue, with the letters
S-N-F
sloppily painted on it. It hung high on a flagpole just off the highway, rising above a billboard that ironically suggested
everyone make sure to get your flu shots!
They were just outside
Laurel
,
Virginia
, a few short miles from
Richmond
. It had been a grinding, seven-day trek from
Allentown
—just as he assumed, the closer they got to the coast, the more impenetrable the obstacles in their way became. Just like before, they resigned themselves to traveling only a few miles a day and hiding out in the suburbs come nightfall. But they were finally back on I-95 now, and for the first time since this whole mess started, the highway was clear of impediments. Josh’s inner optimist was growing flighty with anticipation.
“Holy
shit,
and what’s
that
?” asked Kyra.
“What?
Where?”
“Behind the flag.
To the right.”
Josh threw the SUV into park and stepped out of the vehicle. He approached the guardrail and rested one foot atop it. Kyra was by his side in a matter of seconds, as was everyone else he’d been driving with. He heard the doors of the second SUV open, and soon the entire surviving populace from
Dover
,
New Hampshire
followed his gaze.
“What is it, Mr. Benoit?” asked Andy Carlson.
Josh reached down and tousled Andy’s hair. “Andy, do me a favor and run back to the car and get the binoculars, wouldja?”
“Yessir!”
Andy took
off,
Francis on his heels as usual. Not even a minute later they were back. Josh gave Kyra a squeeze, patted old Emily on the back, and lifted the binoculars to his eyes.
“Ho-ly shit,” he said.
“What is it?” asked Mary.
“See for yourself.”
Mary took the binoculars from him and looked. Her mouth hung opened and she gasped.
“Okay guys,” said Jessica, bouncing Zachary on her hip. “How about we cut the suspense and just spit it out.”
Josh turned to the group. He could barely contain his excitement.
“It’s more flags,” he said.
“The good old stars and stripes.”
The object Kyra had spotted turned out to be a whole lot of objects—a procession of flagpoles, all with the
US
flag waving proudly atop them. There were at least ten that he could count, rising above the trees like beacons for weary travelers. They’d obviously been erected very recently, and his heart filled with hope.
“So what’s this one mean?” asked Yvette, pointing at the flapping banner above them.
Josh shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care.
Maybe someone’s initials or something.
Does it matter?”
No one said a word.
“Then I say we all get moving. The city can’t be more than an hour away from here.”
As he sped on down the road, Josh peered to the left and right, and his spirit soared all the more. On either side of the highway were heaped-up wrecks. He assumed they’d at one time been littered across the highway, obstructing movement, which meant someone had cleared the way. That, in turn, meant that
Richmond
was
the place to be, and maybe Dream Marcy was wrong and they’d have a chance at happiness and safety there, after all.
Rolling down his window, he stuck out his hand, fanning his fingers the way he had since he was a kid, fighting against the wind to keep his arm straight. A loud honk startled him, and he veered sharply to the right, almost losing control of the car. Kyra yelped, Jessica screamed, and the kids hooted. In a confused panic he glanced left, only to see the other SUV beside him, Mary at the wheel. Emily, her white-gray hair blowing like ribbons behind her, pointed at him from the passenger seat. Mary then leaned forward, her face comically stern, and gestured to the road ahead. Even mousy Yvette made her presence known, rolling down the rear window and shouting—yes, actually
shouting
—at him while the gaggle of children beside her laughed.
“What the hell are they doing?” asked Kyra.
Josh grinned and said, “They wanna race.”
He floored the petal, and the SUV lurched forward. Those in the back alternated between cheering him on and sticking their tongues out at the other vehicle. Kyra sat back with her hands on her belly, holding her breath despite the smile on her face. Josh patted her on the wrist, telling her not to worry without words. She replied with a nod and a wink.
Josh was so caught up in the moment—Jessica was now belting out an off-key version of
Hot
For
Teacher
—that when he first spotted the flash of silver in the distance his mind didn’t register it. He kept up his torrid pace, pushing the vehicle to almost eighty, and then he heard Jessica say, “Hey, why’re they stopping?” He snapped into it and his brain finally started working. He saw the obstruction for what it was—a line of cars blocking the road, forming an impenetrable steel caterpillar. They were coming upon it quickly—much
too
quickly.
“Fuck!” he screeched, holding Kyra back with his right hand and slamming the brakes. The SUV bucked, the tires squealed, and for a span of time that seemed to stretch out forever two wheels lifted off the pavement. The bodies of those sitting in the back—Jessica and the children—thumped into his seat. Somewhere in his mind he registered Andy yelling and Meghan starting to bawl.
The large automobile skidded to a stop, not twenty feet away from the blockade. Josh panted in his seat, sweat pouring down his brow. He heard Kyra whimper. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to bite his way through the pain that wrenched up his neck.
“GET OUT OF THE VEHICLES!”
Josh’s eyes shot open. He glanced behind him and saw the other SUV.
Mary was still in the driver’s seat, holding her hands up. Emily followed suit. He wondered why they would yell at him like that, why they were acting the way they were.
“I SAID GET OUT OF THE VEHICLES, NOW!”
Slowly, he swiveled his head until he was looking directly at the obstruction he’d almost crashed into. It was a line of vehicles, all right—big trucks, sedans, and a few military transports with camouflaged paint jobs—but these hadn’t been left behind after some accident. There was a fence of coiled barbed wire in front of the lineup, as well as a few wooden barricades that looked like someone had created the world’s largest set of Jacks.
And there were people there, as well—a
lot
of people, standing rock-still behind the vehicles, holding weapons. Weapons aimed at
them.
He heard the squawk of a megaphone, and immediately threw his hands in the air. He noticed Kyra doing the same thing from the corner of his eye. “Stay calm,” he whispered.
“Well, duh,” she whispered back.
His actions must have quelled whoever was in possession of the megaphone, because there were no more shouted orders. Josh leaned over, pulled the handle, and slowly pushed the door open. He stepped out of the SUV with extreme caution, not wanting to make a sudden move and give anyone a reason to shoot him.
Eventually, both vehicles emptied out. The
Dover
survivors formed a line before the blockade, arms raised,
waiting
for someone to tell them what to do. Josh’s heart beat so fast he thought he might be on the verge of a heart attack. He didn’t like the looks on the faces of the men standing behind the cars. They looked hard. They looked
dangerous.
After an extended silence, megaphone-man finally spoke again.
“EVERYONE ON THE GROUND, FACE-DOWN.
IMMEDIATELY.”
A series of clicking noises followed. Josh shot Kyra a panicked glance, and then both of them dropped to the pavement. The rest of the group had done the same—all but Bliss Hargrove, who teetered on her nine-year-old legs, hands held below her mouth, gripping a dirty stuffed dog, tears streaming down her cheeks. Rising slightly on one hand, Josh reached out and grabbed her shirt. He pulled her down a little too quickly, and she lost her balance. Her elbow struck the ground hard, causing her tears to flow even harder.
“Shush,
it’s
okay,” he said, trying to keep his voice low but strong. Bliss cradled her scraped elbow, her lower lip trembled, but she didn’t make any other sound than that.
He turned to
Kyra,
saw her lying awkwardly on the pavement, leaning to one side due to her swollen belly. Her hand reached out and grasped his free one. He felt her shake, watched her green eyes widen in fear. He wanted to do the same as he had with Bliss, but knew it would do no good. A child he could lie to; to the woman carrying his child, all he had to offer was honesty.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She nodded.
Boots treading over pavement came next. Josh released his hold on the two girls and gazed forward. Two men were moving the rows of barbed wire, which were attached to long wooden planks. A huge pair of feet strolled through the opening, marching with an easy swagger. It struck Josh as a peculiar way to walk, but he couldn’t figure out why he felt that way.
The boots stopped five feet from his head. Josh went to glance up, but a deep voice ordering him to
keep it down
kept him from doing so. The boots then moved to the right, stopping in front of Kyra. One started tapping—not impatiently
though,
more in the way of someone contemplating one of life’s tougher lessens. Whoever it was began to breathe faster and faster, and then the voice instructed her to roll over.
Josh nodded to her, and she did as she was told.
“Fuck,” the voice said.
Kyra’s eyes were staring up, and on the ground before Josh the shadow of the man moved, indicating whoever it was wanted her to stand. She did, rising laboriously from her slouched position, moaning. Josh closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared to leap to his feet. If the guy tried to do anything to her,
anything
, he’d…
“Go ahead and get up. All of you.”
The gentle, beleaguered tone of the speaker took Josh by surprise. His eyes popped open and he rose, keeping his movements slow and steady.
When he finally got to his feet and looked at the man addressing them, his lips pursed in confusion. A tall, beefy sort stood before him, with slicked-back black hair tied in a ponytail, wide cheekbones, and a handlebar mustache straight out of the 1930s. To Josh he looked a lot like Nick Nolte in
Mother Night
, if not for his fashion sense. He wore jeans and a denim button-up shirt, with a pair of leather chaps and vest partially covering both. Considering how hot it was, he found it amazing that the guy wasn’t drenched with sweat.
