Storm Tide Rising: Blackout Volume 2 (23 page)

Hamilton had packed his things personally.

Most personnel reports from people who knew them said that Hamilton and Jacobs were good friends. As with any closed community, there were few secrets, and the smarter Jacobs was known to stick up for Hamilton when others came down hard on him.

Marcus ground his teeth and reminded himself that he was there to do what needed to be done, whether he liked it or not.

He reached over the doorway and pressed a small camera into place just above the frame. The tiny fiber optic lens would offer a view of the entire room, and the miniaturized transmitter would send that video feed back to the central computer system. Another camera in the far left corner captured a clear view of both foot lockers and dressers. When he was done, Marcus flipped off the lights and left as quickly and quietly as he'd entered, locking both locks behind him.

Even if Hamilton wasn’t a target for elimination by a lone assassin, one of his accomplices would definitely try and get in his quarters to find out what he did or didn't know, and Marcus wanted to make sure that he got a good look at whomever opened that door.

Ch.35

Dry Feet

Mike stirred instant coffee into tepid bottled water. He drank it as quickly as he could and made another. He had slept the night before, but not well. There wasn't any way for him to lie down without waking Alyssa once she was asleep in his lap, and he didn't want to risk her pulling away. So he'd slept sitting up, and his back and neck were stiff and sore from it. To make matters worse, it hadn't even been a very restful sleep. Every time Alyssa shifted or groaned, Mike awoke with a start. Between her and the unfamiliar sounds outside the open window, Mike spent most of the night awake, sweating, and alert to any possible threats.

It was going to be a long day, but at least he had on dry, comfortable clothes, including a pair of fresh boots waiting by the door. The one thing he didn't have was a clean, dry pair of socks. Mike sipped his second cup of cold instant coffee as he tried to come up with a solution to the problem.

Alyssa came out of the bathroom with a sour expression on her face and the toilet bucket held at arms' length. She made her way down the hall and out the back door to a small hole Mike had dug in the back right corner of the fenced in yard. When she came back inside, she held the bucket even further away, her face pinched in a painful grimace. Still, she managed to get the bucket into the back bathroom and close the door. Mike chuckled as she subconsciously wiped her hands on her shirt.

"You ready?" Alyssa asked anxiously.

Mike wiggled his toes. "Almost, I just have to figure out what to do about getting dry socks. Last thing I need right now is a case of trench foot hobbling me up so I can't walk."

Alyssa turned and opened her pack where it leaned against the wall. In the bottom, wrapped in a thick, black trash bag was an opened pack of athletic socks. She handed it over to Mike. "Here, put a pair on, and let's go. I want to see my sister."

Mike frowned at the socks which, besides being men's socks, were clearly several sizes too big for Alyssa's feet. He started to ask here where she'd gotten them but decided to save the question for later. Mike opened the pack and took out a pair, feeling the thick warm cotton between his fingers. The socks were well-made and bone dry. He hesitated for a moment, then handed the pack back to Alyssa. She shook her head and wouldn't take them.

"You keep them," she said firmly. "I don't need them anymore."

Again, Mike wondered why she had a fresh pack of men's socks, but rather than pursue it, he decided getting out of the house and well away from it before people started waking up was best. He had to leave his rifle and all of his supplies behind, and he wasn't a fan of that at all. He certainly didn't want some lucky passerby to see them leave and take the opportunity to loot what he and Alyssa been so careful to protect. The M-4, the medical bag, and most of the food was tucked away in a corner of the attic, buried beneath blown insulation with their clean water and the extra ammunition.

Mike had already convinced Alyssa that they needed to leave some things downstairs and easily accessible in case someone actually did break in. If they saw the place sanitized, they'd know that Mike and Alyssa had hidden the bulk of their supplies, but if they saw the half-eaten cracker packs and a few bottles of clean water, they might take the easy pickings and move on.

Mike pulled his boots on and laced them up quickly. He pushed a small pair of wire cutters far enough down in his right boot that anything short of a strip search wouldn't find them. He had a thin box cutter in the other boot, along with a pack of paper matches wrapped in plastic cling wrap. Other than that, Alyssa and Mike each carried two bottles of water with them, and nothing else. They were trying to move fast and seem desperate, so travelling light was a plus.

It felt good to Mike to be out from under a pack for the first time in days. He rubbed his raw shoulders and stretched his arms as they walked down the dark street. The sky overhead was a steely gray blue that seemed to glow faintly with the kind of light that was just on the edge of darkness. Outlines were visible, but details on anything more than a few dozen yards were still obscure. Water dripped off of everything, and the air was cool enough to feel clammy. Late August was beginning to show early signs of the coming fall and cooler weather.   

When they reached Highway 160 again, Mike turned north and walked at a brisk but sustainable pace. They hadn't gone far when he spotted a deadfall cedar with sun-bleached wood that stood out like a beacon in the dark shadows along the highway. He hopped the narrow ditch and checked up the trunk until he found a branch that suited him. It was about six feet long and a little thinner than his wrist. It was straight for the most part but a little knobby in a few places. Mike tested the wood and it was aged but not rotted. He kicked the base a few hard times until it snapped away from the trunk.

"Why are you getting a walking stick?"  Alyssa asked, half confused and half sarcastic. "Are you getting so old you need help walking?"

Mike grunted. "If someone comes up on us and doesn't shoot us outright, I'd like to have something to swing. Also, there are coyotes around here, and I dang sure don't want to go hand to hand with one of those nasty little critters. I can't get the blade out of my boot fast enough, and I'd really rather he didn't get that close anyway."

"Do I need to get one too?"  Alyssa asked, the sarcastic edge now gone from her voice suddenly.

Mike just smile and shook his head. "No," he answered, "the plan is to let you run while I'm busy being a diversion by getting either shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, or eaten. You're safe."

"Oh, good," Alyssa said, actually sounding relieved.

They walked on in silence for a while. Somewhere far to the southwest, an owl called and another answered. Mike missed hearing those calls regularly in the park at Crowder's Mountain. One of the first things Claire had taught him was how to tell the different animal sounds at night. Ninety nine out of a hundred calls they received from some scared camper could be easily explained away as a deer grunt or an owl's screech. The terror wasn't in the sound itself, but usually in its unfamiliarity. That knowledge had helped Mike soothe the worries of hundreds of campers over the years, and it was a comfort now. Right now, though, Mike was just glad to know that an owl calling like that meant daylight wasn't far off.

The sky had lightened to a soft gray beneath the low ceiling of clouds that stretched from horizon to horizon, and by the time they reached the intersection where 160 crossed Highway 49, Mike paused. He looked at Alyssa for a moment before he spoke. "Odds are they're going to ask for your name when we get to the refugee camp. Don't give them your real one, no matter what. You need to have a name in your head by the time we get there. Say it over and over again out loud so you get used to it. If they ask for your ID tell them you lost it. Odds are there will be a lot of people trying to get in, so if we're processed through, they won't have the time to really ask questions and dig deep for the answers; they'll just move us a long. Just remember to be vague and look terrified, not angry."

"When do I look angry?"  Alyssa asked, rounding on him and planting her feet slightly apart, her fists on her hips.

Mike barely managed to keep a straight face. "I didn't say you did, just warning you not to, okay?"'

Alyssa glared at him for a moment, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she stomped back to the highway and looked first one way, and then the other. Not sure which direction, she turned to Mike, her eyes  narrow and suspicious. "Which way?"

Mike nodded his head left as he faced her. "That way about a mile and a half," he replied. "Stay close to me if we see anyone else on the road. Hopefully it will just be us."

Mike didn't wait for Alyssa to reply. Instead, he started walking, and after a few strides Alyssa caught up to him and bumped him with her shoulder. He smiled, but neither of them spoke. Mike watched her walk for a while until she looked over and caught him. He looked down at his feet and tried to find something to take his mind off the fact that he was blushing ridiculously. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"So why did you have a random pack of socks?"

Alyssa didn't look at him, but for a brief flash her face softened and she looked almost wistful. "I wanted to bring something that I could look at and touch and think of my husband, but I couldn't bring myself to bring anything too personal. I didn't want something that might hurt, just something small in case nostalgia struck."

Mike stared at his feet and tried to process her answer as he walked. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but a deeply personal confession definitely wasn't on the list. Finally, he looked over at her and found her watching him. "And now?"  he asked hesitantly.

Alyssa's eyes never left his. "The more I think about it," she said softly, "the less I want to think about him. He made his choice to leave a long time ago, really; he just didn't have the courage to tell me. And I didn't have the courage to make him."

Mike wanted to reach out to her, to pull her closer to him and wrap an arm around her shoulders. He wanted to whisper to her that everything was going to be okay, but he couldn't bring himself to make a promise that he most likely couldn't keep. So instead, they walked the rest of the way in silence.

By the time they reached the entrance to McDowell Park, the sky was light enough that they could tell for certain that the sun was up. In the strange soft sunlight that filters through a thick blanket of clouds, Mike and Alyssa were met by a patrol of four men in black and blue uniforms with FSS embroidered on the right shoulder. There were no names on the uniforms and no badges or indications of rank visible anywhere. Three of the men stood back in a rough semicircle, hands resting nonchalantly on their rifles.

One of the men stepped forward and nodded to them. "I'm tactical team leader Stevens. Can I help you folks?"

Mike nodded. "Our house burned out a couple of days ago and we lost everything but the clothes we were wearing. We heard there was a refugee camp here, and we came."

Stevens looked them both up and down with a thoughtful frown. "You don't have any soot on you. And you don't smell like smoke."

Mike shrugged slightly. "Rain was coming down hard last night and washed most of the soot off us while we were looking for cover. Found an abandoned house with the door open. Called out a few times so we didn't get shot walking into someone else's spot, but we didn't get an answer."

"These clothes were in the house," Alyssa said hesitantly. She stared down at her feet as she spoke. "We took them to get dried off. He didn't want to, but I said whoever owned them probably wouldn't ever know. I guess if they're in there too, they probably will, but it was so cold."

Stevens took a deep breath and thought for a moment, then nodded. "We're getting tight on space, but I think we can take you two. Go on past the park sign and around the bend. You'll see the guards standing by the camp gates. Stop and give them your names; they'll enter your information."

Stevens paused for a moment, looking a bit uncomfortable. "I'll have to pat you both down for weapons."

"Understood," Mike said, and he raised his hands. Alyssa did the same, and Stevens quickly ran his hands down their arms and legs, across their torso and back.

Satisfied, he nodded and stepped back. "You'll get a blanket each, three bottles of water, and two ration packs. Supplies are given out each morning and evening, but only to those who show up at the gate for them. Don't miss the deliveries or you'll go hungry for a night."

Before either Mike or Alyssa could say anything else, Stevens gave a signal to his men, and they deployed with two to either side of the road. Crouched motionless in the shade of the trees, the men were difficult to spot, even knowing they were there. It gave Mike a chill to wonder how many more sets of eyes might be on him that he couldn't see. With a shudder, he put his arm around Alyssa and led her past the sign and into the outer perimeter of the refugee camp.

Ch.36

Name and Number

Marcus lay on his back and stared up at the dim ceiling of his quarters. He wore large stereophonic headphones to cancel the exterior noise. Vivaldi's
Four Seasons
played on a continuous loop, but he barely heard it as he wrestled with the puzzle before him. His brain inherently wanted to attack the problem like a piece of code logic that needed to be mapped out, but he kept running into knots that were too tightly wound to untie.

For instance, it didn't make sense to reveal the covert operative or operatives unless the situation was desperate—so desperate that they could not go on any further without an immediate action. Desperation like that implied that even though no direct action was being taken against them, their overall objectives remained uncertain and unachieved. Marcus could not fathom how someone could mobilize such an elaborate and ambitious plan without taking into consideration the fact that total and absolute success might not be achieved in seven days without immediate access to the data storage backups.