The Last Mission of the Living (The Last Bastion Book 2) (19 page)

“We’re evaluating every bit of intel gleaned from satellite feeds before they expired a few years ago to identify any potential danger points,” Lindsey explained while indicating several spots on the satellite images projected on the table.

“It’s all danger points,” Solomon said with the shake of her head. “Let’s be honest with each other. This is a political mission. The food we return will only delay the inevitable elevation to Ration Level Four. I realize our orders are to bring back the maximum amount of food, but we won’t sacrifice lives for it. MacDonald, how good are the stealth suits?”

“Honestly, I’m not sold on them. I do think they might help if we’ve got a little distance from the Scrags, but up close, we’re fucked.”

“More flash for the civvies,” Solomon groused.

Lindsey was in absolute agreement with the chief defender and liked her quite a bit already.  “Yes, sir. I do believe so, sir.”

“Okay, so we take what the higher ups are tossing us and make it work,” Solomon said.

“Agreed.” Torran gave Lindsey a quick, questioning look.

She got the impression he wanted to see if she approved of Solomon or not. “My major concern for Beta City is how close the food depot is to the evac site.”

“That fence line is a worry. We could request an aerial drone to scan the area now that they’re flying again.” Solomon folded her arms over her chest and tilted her head as she observed the hologram of the depot.  “Rooney, what are the chances of the Scrags following an aerial drone?”

“Honestly, I have to look up that data.”

“Do it. Now that we have access to fuel again, let’s take advantage of it.”

Torran lifted his pad and did a quick search. “There are several aerial drones patrolling the valley. The rest are mothballed. We might be able to requisition one for the mission. But it won’t be able to make it over the mountains by itself. We’ll need a tiltrotor to ferry them over.”

“I might be able to swing it. We’ll want more than one,” Chief Defender Solomon decided. “I also want a new test run on those suits. This data stamp is two years old. This isn’t acceptable.”

“Yes, sir.” Lindsey slid onto a chair at a console and activated a screen.

“Until we have a dependable report on just how good those suits are, all training room scenarios will be without them. The last thing we want is for our squad to be dependent on faulty tech.”

While the chief defender continued to issue orders and toss out questions, Lindsey stole a look at Torran. He was obviously pleased and so was she.

Finally, the mission didn’t feel like it was doomed to failure.

Chapter 18

The bar was bustling with activity, and no one glanced at Torran and Lindsey when they entered in their civilian clothing, ordered drinks, and sat at a table in a corner. Exhausted from the long day, Torran had considered going home to bed, but hadn’t wanted to turn in just yet. He needed time to decompress from all the preparation they’d done during the day. Much to his relief, Lindsey had agreed to meet up with him after dropping by her place for a shower and a change of clothing.

Working with Lindsey was interesting and rather intriguing. Her brain sometimes seemed to process faster than the computers they worked on. Also, she had an uncanny ability to read his expressions, or maybe they were just that similar. She always seemed to know what he was thinking or about to suggest. He’d rather enjoyed the lengthy planning session, but he wanted to spend time with her without the veneer of rank.

Though Lindsey was visually striking in her uniform, he preferred how she looked in her olive cargo pants, black sweater, and battered boots. Her blond hair was twisted into two small messy buns on either side of her head and her bangs fell into her face as she slumped in her chair with a tired but happy look on her face.

“You know, the unkempt look suits you,” Torran remarked.

Lindsey laughed. “Why, thank you. And you look like you’re in uniform even when you’re not.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s true.”

Torran pointed at his shoes, a pair of lace up canvas sneakers. They were dingy, ratty, and would probably soon expire, but they were incredibly comfortable. “Not regulation.”

“And neither is that hair.”

“You like my hair. You like me. I charm you.” Tilting his head, he gave her his best cheesy smile.

“Maybe I’m just using you for sex.”

“Nah. You like me.”

Lindsey poked her fingers in her drink, then flicked droplets at him. “You’re far too confident, cheeky boy.”

“So, work today…”

“Ugh. My brain still hurts.” Lindsey pressed her damp fingertips to one temple.

“So what did you think of Solomon?”

“She’s going to kick our asses, and that’s a good thing. She’s clever. I like clever. Clever is very, very good.”

“Which is why you’re seeing me, right?”

“Still digging for a compliment, I see,” Lindsey teased, then sipped her liquor.

Torran winked and downed his own drink before signaling for another. “Shit, I’m so damn tired, but I have no desire to go home yet.”

“It’s no walk in the park for me either. Being in the SWD facility all day is... tiring. Everyone is so prim and proper.”

“It’s because you’re Constabulary. They’re trying to impress you.”

Lindsey rolled her eyes at his comment. “I’m no one to impress.”

“Well, it’s clear that the Constabulary has the upper hand in all this. Hell, I used to be Constabulary. So that means all three leaders of the mission were trained by the Constabulary. And there are lots of rumors floating around about the SWD possibly being absorbed into the Constabulary.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard that gossip.” Lindsey played with the lip of her glass with one finger. “I don’t’ really see that happening, though.”

Slouching in his chair, Torran bobbed his head. “True. The government will want to keep the tension between the SWD and Constabulary to inspire productivity.”

“Exactly.”

Nearby voices were rising in distressed tones. Lindsey’s eyes flicked toward the possible conflict, then lifted to regard the screens overhead on the wall. “Torran, this isn’t good.”

Torran followed her gaze. “Shit.”

“Level Four already? That can’t be true!”

“Can someone turn that up?” Torran shouted over the increasing racket.

Already other customers were clustering beneath the vid screens. The music came to an abrupt stop and the feed from the vid screens shifted to the speakers.

“...a warehouse in the Isles Sector apparently had a malfunction in the refrigeration units and the protein stored within was spoiled. An investigation has been launched...”

“Someone leaked the news,” he said to Lindsey.

“What?”

“Someone leaked the bloody news!” Torran gestured toward the screen in disbelief.

The voice of the newscaster was instantly drowned out by angry voices. A second later, everyone’s wristlets started to chime.

Torran quickly checked his to see a city-wide announcement on the ration change.

Lindsey looked up from her wristlet, her expression troubled. “But why leak it to the news?”

“Hell if I know.”

Again, Torran’s wristlet chimed. This time was it was an order from the SWD to return to the facility immediately.

Lindsey’s chimed a second later. “I’ve been ordered to the SWD facility,” she said, confused.

Torran slid out of his chair and held out his hand to her. She reached for him, and just as their fingers touched, chaos erupted near the front doors. Several men and women engaged in a loud confrontation just inside the entrance.

“We’re closed!” the bartender yelled from where she stood on top of the bar. “Everyone out!”

A scuffle broke out. Not near the front door, but toward the rear of the bar. Torran caught sight of several people grabbing bottles of liquor from the shelves as the bartenders attempted to stop them. Blows were exchanged and, instantly, there was a massive surge toward the exits.

“We need to get out,” Lindsey exclaimed.

Tables and chairs clattered to the floor as the rush to either loot the bar or escape into the street commenced. Torran dragged Lindsey into an alcove as several large men shoved their way past them toward the bar. A female patron hurled a chair at one of the bartenders. Another man struck out with a full bottle in his hand, blood bursting from his victim’s ruined face.

Using his height and slim build, Torran skirted along the edges of the throng, pulling Lindsey behind him. The squeeze through the doorway was a bit laborious, the elbows and knees of strangers pushing into his body. He managed to break through the tangle and out of the bar with Lindsey’s hand still clasped in his. Caught in the entrance between the doorjamb and a large man, Lindsey cried out in pain. Her fingers slipped from Torran’s. The man was trying to carry several bottles out under one arm and cuffed Lindsey in an attempt to push past her.

“Don’t touch her!” Torran shouted, shoving the man.

The brawny guy with a shaved head and tattoos stumbled back into the people behind him. Lindsey darted out into the street, and Torran followed. Behind them, the thief engaged in yet another brawl with someone trying to grab the liquor from him.

Clutching Torran’s arm, Lindsey pressed her body into his side to avoid the heavy flow of people around them. “This is really bad, Torran.”

The streets were crammed with distraught citizens. Tempers flared and fear filled the eyes of those standing near Torran and Lindsey. Some were crying openly, while others heatedly argued. The situation was clearly becoming dire.

A drone rumbled around the corner and trundled down the center of the street flashing warnings on it screens. “Citizens of The Bastion, please return to your homes. Do not loiter in the streets. This is for your own good. Citizens of The Bastion...” the drone instructed.

On the balconies, the street residents were hastily pulling their hanging gardens up over railings. The cries of children in the flats above drifted into the night. Torran caught sight of people standing guard over their rooftop vegetable and fruit plots with makeshift weapons in their hands.

“Shit, this is awful,” Lindsey muttered at his side.

“We need to keep moving,” Torran replied recognizing the growing chance of mob violence.

Pushing their way through the mass of people, the two found themselves at a disadvantage. They were moving against the flow. At some point, the mass of people had decided on a purpose.

“They’re heading toward the food warehouse south of here,” Lindsey called out above the noise of the commotion.

Torran’s wristlet kept chiming with incoming messages. He dragged Lindsey up a stairwell into a narrow doorway. Accessing the wristlet, he saw a city-wide announcement of martial law.

A few seconds later, SWD troops marching in formation appeared further down the street. They were garbed in riot gear and held electroshock weapons.

“Torran,” Lindsey gasped.

“I see them.”

To make matters even more worrisome, aerial drones whirred over the tops of the buildings, their long metal wings and spidery legs glinting in the gleam of the streetlights. They could compress themselves into very small spaces, but also lift a grown man off the ground. The drones sported four tiltrotor wings that always reminded Torran of dragonflies. With their long limbs extended, they were over six feet tall, but often flew with their legs and wings retracted making them appear much smaller. The aerial drones were in full battle mode, so the end of each long spindly leg carried electroshock weaponry.

“Get out your armband,” Torran ordered.

Each Constabulary and SWD soldier carried an armband with them at all times for situations such as this one. Torran pulled his out of his battered wallet, unfolded it, and slipped it over his coat sleeve. It adjusted to his bicep, and when he tapped the emblem, it glowed. Lindsey followed suit, and they both activated their distress beacons on their wristlets.

“Citizens of the Bastion,” the overhead drones called out in unison, “you must immediately evacuate the streets.”

Dread gnawing at his calm, Torran rapidly read through his communiques. Some were city-wide announcements, one was from his worried mother, but the rest were from the SWD ordering all off duty personnel back to the facility.

“We need to go,” Lindsey said, leaping down into the street and pushing her way toward the city center.

Torran followed in her wake. The approaching SWD allowed them to pass due to their armbands, but people in the flats above were angrily screaming at the troops. The sound of the electroshock rifles firing sent chills down Torran’s spine. Looking back, Torran saw the aerial drones firing on the rowdier crowds further up the road.

Another message chimed into their wristlets.

“They’re closing the sectors,” Lindsey called out to him.

She was just ahead of him, skirting around a family rushing down the street. Torran hoped they were heading home. A second later, there was a loud whoosh and a flash of heat.

Spinning around, Torran saw fire licking up the side of the building and several SWD soldiers engulfed in fire. Their armor took the brunt of the assault, and they dropped to the ground to smother the flames. It took only a second for him to realize that some of the customers in the bar had turned the stolen liquor bottles into makeshift bombs. Torran started back toward the fray to help extinguish the flames writhing on the liquor-soaked ground and crawling up the buildings when Lindsey grabbed him and jerked him away.

“They’ll deal with it. We need to make it back before Central Sector closes!”

Torran understood the wisdom of her words, but it was difficult to abandon soldiers in need. Several people threw more bottles of liquor at the already spreading fire. In the distance, the sirens of emergency crews cried out.

“Torran! We have to go!”

At last, Torran turned away and raced after Lindsey as she sprinted up the road. As people retreated into their homes and drones flew overhead, it became easier to run along the narrow roads toward the inner wall that encircled the Central Sector that housed the government buildings, Constabulary Central Command and SWD Facility. Darting up alleys and rushing along emptying streets, the two soldiers aimed for the nearest entrance.

The soft fluttering sound of an aerial drone drew Torran’s gaze upward. It darted toward them.

“Citizens, you are in violation of martial law,” it called out, the electroshock barrels lowering and aiming at them.

Torran held up his arm, the armband in view. Lindsey did the same, breathing heavily with fright at his side. Either the armbands worked, or the signal from their wristlets registered for the aerial drone retracted its weapons and flew off.