Executive Orders: Part 2 of the Homeland Series (7 page)

He switched cameras again.

“Lastly, President Tophet and his administration wish to encourage all of us to have faith that America’s best days lie ahead and to remind us that we will emerge from this trying time a better, stronger country, but only if we work and sacrifice together to make it happen.”

His flashed his signature smile.

“This concludes today’s broadcast. For the People’s National News, I’m Eduardo Garcia.”

“We’re clear!” the director yelled as techs and staff hurried to close out the broadcast. “Mr. Garcia, I need you back here first thing in the morning to do some radio spots.”

“Sure thing.” Eduardo took off his microphone, walked over to Valerie and said, “What did you think?”

“You improvised. That part with you showing your chip. It wasn’t in the script.”

“But you liked it.”

“It was a nice touch. Don’t ever do it again.”

“C’mon, you know I’m better thinking on my feet. I’m spontaneous. It’s what I do.”

“Not anymore.”

“We’ll see.” He gave Valerie a mischievous smile.

“There’s something else, Eddie.”

“What now? Did I leave the toilet seat up?”

Valerie didn’t laugh, though her face was no longer stern. Her brow softened, betraying something that truly frightened him. Sympathy.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m not sure how to say this…”

“Angie,” Eduardo said, nearly whispering, hoping he was wrong.

Valerie nodded.

“What is it? Is she okay?”

Valerie shook her head. “No, Eddie. She’s not.”

Eduardo’s legs went numb. “What wrong?”

“She’s dead.”

“How?”

“Pneumonia. She needed a special medicine. It was supposed to arrive with a medical supply shipment a few days ago, but the convoy was hit by radicals en route. The extremists killed everyone in the unit and stole everything, including the vehicles. There was nothing the doctors could do without the medication. She passed away last night.”

Eduardo sank to the floor.

“Eddie. Are you okay?”

Eduardo put his hands over his face.

Valerie called out to some passing workers, “A little help here!”

“No.” Eduardo got slowly to his feet. “I’m okay. I just need a minute.”

Valerie took his arm. “Let me walk you home.”

“No. I need to be alone right now.”

Eduardo stumbled back to his apartment, drunk with grief. Once inside, he curled up on his bed, weeping until his eyes ached and his stomach heaved. He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but was thankful for the knocking at his door that awoke him from a dreamless abyss.

“Coming!” he said as he said up, rubbing his puffy eyes. He cracked the door open to see Valerie standing outside.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Sorry, this isn’t a good time.”

He started to shut the door but she blocked it with her hand. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. You need a friend.”

Eduardo wasn’t in the mood to resist. “Suit yourself.” He left the door open and retreated into his quarters, sitting on the corner of his bed.

Valerie followed him, stopping at the living room bar to make them drinks. “Here.” She offered him one.

“No thanks.” He waved her off.

Valerie persisted. “You need it.”

Eduardo took the cocktail. “You always get your way, don’t you?”

She flashed a seductive smile. “Yes.”

“The people who killed her.” He took a swig. “We have to make them pay.”

“We will.”

“I want them to hurt.”

“They will.”

“I mean it.”

“We’ll take care of them tomorrow.” She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. “Tonight, we’re going to take care of you.”

He began to protest, but acquiesced when she pressed her mouth to his, pushing him back onto the bed with the force of her kiss.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered as she took off his shirt, then hers.

He kissed her back, glad to feel something other than the aching sorrow that gnawed at his soul ever since Angie got sick.

She unfastened his pants. The rest came naturally.

6

COLE

Location Unknown

Cole opened his eyes, seeing nothing but more darkness. He wondered for a panicked moment if he’d gone blind. Then he felt his own ragged breath wash over his face, pushed back onto him by the hood over his head. He knew by the rhythmic rocking and hum of tires on asphalt that he lay in the back of a cargo truck, probably a five-ton. Icy air cut into him through the fluttering canvas that covered the cargo hold. He was shivering. The truck’s cold metal floor had leeched the warmth from his bones. He tried to get up, but his arms were still bound. He felt another body next to him. He nudged it.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, Sarge.” It was Private Hicks. “You?”

“My head’s pounding like a drum, but I’ll live. What did I miss?”

“They roughed us up some more, covered our heads, and threw us all into trucks. We’ve been on the move for about an hour, best I can tell.”

The truck slowed, then conducted a series of turns.

Cole struggled against his restraints. “We must be close to wherever we’re going.”

The vehicle lurched to a halt. Unseen men climbed aboard, grabbing Cole and the other unwilling passengers and tossing them to the hard ground five feet below. The landing knocked the air from Cole’s lungs. By the sounds of the others, they were in the same shape.

They were then dragged over rough gravel and put in line, side by side.

Cole’s blood ran cold as he considered what his captors might have planned for them. Being lined up outdoors on the ground in a secret location was not a good sign. He was suddenly jerked onto his knees. The hood was then snatched from his head to reveal a blinding flood lights glaring at him from the night sky. They were mounted on what looked to be guard towers. Armed guards surrounded the kneeling prisoners. These were not the Homeland Security agents he expected. The guards were younger, college aged at most. They all wore thick black coats with bright green armbands around their left biceps. They kept one hand on their assault rifles. With the other, they grasped leashes. The business end of the tethers were attached to snarling German shepherds jerking against their masters’ grip, longing to rip the throats from Cole and his fellows.

There were more prisoners than Cole expected, more than thirty altogether. He recognized some guys from other battalions on their knees further down the line. It looked like the ‘traitors’ had been gathered from the whole brigade, maybe the entire division.

A man stepped from the center of the guards. He was also young. Cole guessed him to be around twenty-five. He wore a heavy overcoat with a scarf tucked tightly into the collar to block the chill air from his neck. A black fur cap adorned his head. A large metal pin in the shape of a green star glinted from the front of his hat. The pin’s color matched the green arm band he wore on the left sleeve of his coat. His amused eyes scanned the group through round-rimmed spectacles. He was a short man, but stretched his back to its full length so that he towered above his kneeling captives. His gloves were black leather, as were his knee boots. He carried a metal baton in his left hand. He slapped the rod into his right hand with a pop, then stroked it with a gleeful smile as he inspected the new arrivals.

He released a long breath. The warmth of it swirled about his face, lingering in the freezing night air.

“Welcome to your new home,” he finally said. “Make yourselves comfortable. You won’t be leaving anytime soon.” He laughed to himself, then strolled in front of Cole’s group as he continued. “I am Citizen Foucault, the warden of this facility. Don’t worry about how to address me. You will not speak to me or anyone else.” He stopped in front of a corporal from another company and leaned closer to him. “Do you understand?”

The soldier nodded.

“I’m sorry.” Foucault put the baton to his ear and leaned closer in an exaggerated pantomime, “I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes,” the soldier said.

The baton crashed into the soldier’s face, sending him to the ground.

“I just told you not to speak!” Foucault spat, then looked to the guards. “I think he’s the one who can’t hear.”

The guards laughed.

Foucault kicked the trooper. “Get up!”

The man struggled to get back to his knees, but his hands were still bound behind him.

Foucault shook his head. “I think
you’re
a troublemaker.” He drew his pistol and shot the soldier in the thigh. The trooper fell to the frozen dirt, writhing in pain. Shattered bone protruded from his wound. He cried out in agony through gritted teeth.

Crack!

Another shot from Foucault’s sidearm silenced the prisoner. He lay dead, his legs twitching in the dirt.

Foucault puled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped blood spatter from his face. He yelled to the remaining men, “Is anyone else here a troublemaker?”

Silence.

“We’ll see.” He holstered the firearm and resumed his lazy gait in front of the men. “You may be wondering why you are here. You may even be wondering where ‘here’ is. Here are your answers: You are here to work. You are here to bring glory to the State. And don’t worry about where you are. It doesn’t matter. Neither do you. The sooner you accept this, the better off you will be.” He pointed his baton at the dead soldier. “As you can see, the price of disobedience is… very high.”

Foucault nodded to a guard. “Get them out of here.”

Guards clipped the men’s leg restraints and pulled them to their feet. Cole could barely stand. His legs were numb from being bound for so long, but he didn’t dare stumble.

The men were herded through a metal gate topped with razor wire. A sign over the entrance read,
Work Will Make You Free
.

Private Hicks was in front of Cole. The young trooper panted, “My ribs popped when they dumped me outta the truck. I think they’re broken.” He wheezed, “I can’t breath.”

“Walk, Hicks. That’s an order,” Cole shot back, “You’re dead if you don’t.”

“Yes, Sarge.”

A knight stick cracked against Cole’s back.

“Quiet!” yelled a guard.

Cole shut up and kept his head down. The men were marched to a processing center where they were ‘bathed’ by laughing guards with a fire hose. The water was freezing. Cole trembled uncontrollably as they were led to the delousing station where every man was pummeled with white powder. Heads were shaved, belts and shoelaces were stripped. Wedding rings and other valuables were confiscated. Teeth were checked. Any gold dental work found was pried from prisoners’ bloody mouths with buck knives and pocketed on the spot.

The last stop was the chipping station. Each inmate was implanted with an RFID device in the back of his left hand.

The head chip tech told the group, “You’re probably considering an escape attempt. Don’t. Your chips will tell us the instant you leave the camp perimeter. The penalty for attempted escape is execution. You’re probably thinking you can just remove your chips. You can’t. Thermal sensors in your implants will detect the temperature change once it hits the cold air. The penalty for tampering with your RFID device is also execution.”

The prisoners, still soaked from their spray-bath, were finally taken into the main camp area. Cole couldn’t believe the scale. It was once a labyrinthine industrial complex, but it looked as if it had been abandoned decades ago. Decrepit warehouses stood in colossal rows, decaying in place.

Guards ushered Cole’s group to one of them and unlatched a huge sliding door. The smell that escaped made Cole want to gag. It was the rank stench of filth, sickness, and rot. Ragged, gaunt men rushed toward the opening.

“Water! Please!” One begged.

“I need a doctor! Look!” Said another as he held up a gangrenous hand.

The guards shoved Cole’s shivering party inside and slammed the door shut. Cole heard the lock slide back into place behind him, then surveyed his new accommodations. He couldn’t believe how many people were crammed into the place. The building was at least two hundred feet long and half as wide. Pitiful humanity covered every inch of cold ground inside it. Some of the other prisoners wore military uniforms. There were even some police and state troopers, but most of the detainees were civilians. All were unshaven and unwashed.

A soldier from another unit asked Cole, “What do we do now, Sarge?”

Cole looked over his group and found that he was the highest ranking man. He thought a moment then said, “Stay together. Buddy up into two-man teams. Every man will stick with his buddy at all times, even in the latrine. Watch out for each other. Leave no man behind.” He scanned the warehouse then pointed to a corner away from the door. Like the rest of the building, it was already occupied. “We’ll set up there,” Cole said, “Those guys will have to find someplace else to sleep tonight.”

Cole led his men to the corner. The crowd part like the Red Sea in front of the band of warriors as they marched across the cold ground.

“Move it,” Cole ordered the corner’s occupants. He wasn’t in a mood for niceties.

Some of the men rose as if to protest, but thought better of it as the soldiers moved in to claim their ground.

“This is our spot now,” Cole announced to his men. “Sick and wounded in the corner, healthy men take the perimeter. Sleep back-to-back. Huddle close for warmth. These wet uniforms will kill us if we don’t. Establish a rotating watch until dawn.” He spotted a junior sergeant. “You set it up. I’ll take last watch.”

“Yes, Sergeant.” The man replied.

“That’s all for now. Get some rest. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.” He turned to Hicks, who stood cradling his injured ribs. “You’re with me.”

Hicks nodded, in too much pain to speak.

Cole picked a spot in the center of his men and helped Hicks get settled. “How bad is it?” he asked the private.

“I’ll make it.”

“Good. Get some rest.” He and Hicks sat, huddling their backs together, and drifted into a dreamless sleep.