by Lopez, Rob
“This is a sacred place,” said Doug. “It is said that the ones who scratched these drawings were here before the Cherokee, and they laid offerings here to the spirit of the mountain.” Doug shrugged a little. “I figured the spirit wouldn’t mind if we stored the things we got from the summer camp here, for our need is great.” Doug moved the lamp close to Rick’s face. “I think maybe the spirit called you here to help us.”
Rick sifted through the bows. A couple of them were low pressure items, more suitable for children, but the rest were good quality competition bows.
“Do you know how to shoot these?” he asked.
“Nah. My people were more partial to Springfield rifles and Winchesters, but you’re a warrior. I’m sure you can work it out.”
Rick had actually been trained to use a bow at the Special Warfare Center, but it had been a while. The carbon arrows didn’t have the bladed arrow heads he preferred for silent killing, but they would do.
“Let’s get this stuff outside. You don’t need to hide it anymore.”
*
Sally toured the mountainside settlements, carrying her medical bag. Something that Rick had mentioned troubled her. Trekking the precarious little paths, she passed the numerous graves, each cluster of markers bearing one family name or another. Death had come to one small group after another, and she wanted to know why.
The people she met greeted her warily. The children were listless and hollow-eyed. According to her inquiries, people were eating enough – just – but many looked unhealthy, and they were scratching themselves constantly. She entered one hut to examine someone sick, and the sight of the rashes was enough to confirm her worst fears. She’d seen this too often working in missions in Africa.
She intercepted Rick and Doug as they came back down the mountain.
“Sally, I want you to take a look at Doug, just to make sure he’s okay.”
“We’ve got bigger problems,” said Sally.
“What?”
“Typhus.”
Rick groaned. This was one more problem he didn’t need.
“Everyone’s infested with lice,” continued Sally.
“Lice?”
Doug absently scratched himself. “Yeah, the little critters like to make themselves at home.”
“It’s your homes that are the problem,” said Sally. “Dirt floors and poor hygiene. The lice carry the disease. We need to run an eradication program.”
“What do you have in mind?” said Rick.
“A laundry service. The lice live in clothing. We need to get some big pots and boil the laundry. And get everyone to wash themselves in soap.”
“What about the ones who are already sick?”
“We need to isolate them. The better weather’s bringing everyone out. The more they mingle, the quicker the disease spreads.”
“That would explain why people have been getting sicker since the winter,” said Doug.
“Exactly. I can’t do anything for the ones already sick, but if we don’t halt the spread, your whole community will be dead by the fall. Trust me, I’ve seen this before.”
Doug sighed. “Well, it’s bad news, but I guess the mountain spirit brought you here for a reason too.”
“Sorry?”
“Don’t worry about it,” interjected Rick. “Start the program immediately. And Doug, I want all the volunteer fighters housed in a different area. Can’t afford to lose any of them. The sooner we wipe out the raiders, the sooner we get off this mountain.”
Doug looked at him. “You really think you can do it, don’t you?”
“Not really. We’re low on ammunition and we’ve got bows and arrows. But given that it’s a choice between that or dying in some miserable hut, I know which I prefer.”
18
For several days, Bergen Mountain became a hive of activity. People came and went, trees were felled and strange things were constructed that Dee neither understood nor cared about. Detached from everything that was going on, she was increasingly ignored and isolated. Having diligently engineered her own solitude, she felt as alone as she had during her time with Boss’s gang.
And now there was the issue of typhus to deal with.
Jacob squirmed in her embrace as she sat on a log. She didn’t want to put him down because there was only the forest floor for him to crawl on and there were too many hazards for him to explore. He might even roll down the slope and hurt himself. As he squirmed, Jacob held on tight to her finger. He appeared to be caught in the same dilemma as Dee: wanting to break free but unable to let go.
“He’s very wriggly, isn’t he?”
Dee turned, seeing little Lizzy in the shadow of the trees. She hadn’t heard the girl approach.
“He is,” said Dee tersely, habitually defensive.
“Wouldn’t it be good if he could play? I like to see him play.”
Dee found it hard to stay sour with Lizzy. It was easier to raise her walls against the others. But against a child? It didn’t seem right. Lizzy was no threat to her.
“The ground’s dirty, and there’s a lot of stones and stuff. Jacob’s just going to pick it all up and put it in his mouth.”
Lizzy giggled. “Why would he do that?”
“To taste it. It’s how he … explores the world.”
“Ewww,” said Lizzy.
Dee wanted to smile, then reminded herself she shouldn’t. She couldn’t afford to weaken herself and let the feelings back. Being antagonistic was the only way she could keep from curling up and crying.
“Doesn’t matter,” she murmured. “I’m not going to give him the chance to do that. He’ll make himself sick.”
“Scott said we should always wash our hands before we put them anywhere near our mouths,” said Lizzy dutifully.
“Right.”
“Have you been to the cave?”
“What cave?”
“I heard Daddy talking. He says there’s a cave.”
“Okay.”
Lizzy leaned forward conspiratorially. “We have bees,” she whispered. She glanced around. “I don’t like bees.”
“Me neither.”
“Do you know we have big cook pots from a restaurant? I’ve never seen them so big.”
“I’ve seen them.”
“We’re cooking clothes in them! I hope we’re not going to eat them. The water smells bad.”
Jacob was by now totally focused on Lizzy’s random talk, and he wasn’t struggling anymore.
“I don’t think we’re going to eat them,” said Dee.
“Oh I know that really. Mummy says we have to wash everything because of the insects, but she’s busy, so April is having to do everything.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes. And Daniel has to help his mother, so he can’t play. Do you know how to wash clothes?”
“In a pot? Can’t say I’ve tried.”
“April says you just have to stir it with a stick, but it’s very boring.”
“I guess it is.”
“She could do with someone to talk to.”
Dee got the sense she was being hinted at, but Lizzy innocently veered off onto another subject.
“If Jacob wants to play, I can get a blanket for him to crawl on. I’ll make sure he stays on it, then he can’t eat anything bad.”
“The ground’s uneven here.”
“It’s flat in front of the huts. I guess people have been walking on it a lot.”
“I’m fine here.”
Jacob leaned over to try and touch Lizzy.
“Aww, look, he wants to play. Please can I get a blanket? I promise I won’t let him crawl off it.”
Dee was getting a little tired of holding onto the baby. He was growing bigger by the day, it seemed, and she wasn’t getting any stronger.
“Okay,” she conceded. “But not here.”
“I’ll get the blanket now,” said Lizzy enthusiastically, running off.
Dee picked herself up and wandered in Lizzy’s wake ba
ck to the huts. She slowed when she saw the cook pot on the fire. April was adding clothes to the steaming pot and Chuck hung dripping wet clothes onto one of multiple lines strung between the trees. His torso was heavily bandaged and he moved slowly and stiffly. April nodded to Dee to acknowledge her presence, but didn’t say anything. If she had, Dee would have about-turned and left.
Lizzy came running out of a hut with a blanket and laid it out. “He can play here,” she called, patting the blanket.
Daniel emerged carrying twigs for the fire, which seemed largely a wasted effort, as the little he could carry would only last seconds in the blaze needed to keep so much water boiling. Rubbing his hands on his pants, he came over to see Jacob being laid down on the blanket. He sat down next to Lizzy.
“Wash your hands, Daniel,” said Lizzy seriously. “We have a baby here.”
“There’s water and soap over there,” called April to her son.
“Do I have to?” moaned Daniel.
“Yes,” said his mother.
“We don’t want the baby to get ill,” explained Lizzy.
Daniel went off in a huff, and for a moment Dee thought there was going to be a scene.
She also got the sense the charade was being played out for her benefit and she turned around, expecting everyone to be looking at her. April and Chuck, however, remained immersed in their tasks.
Jacob took to the blanket with gusto and immediately crawled to the edge. Lizzy intercepted him and, somewhat conveniently, produced a squeaky duck that she used to get his attention.
A little too convenient, thought Dee. But Jacob liked the distraction and, upon grabbing it, put it to his mouth.
“He’s exploring it,” said Lizzy with a triumphant smile.
“Sure,” said Dee.
Lizzy pulled faces in front of Jacob, and he laughed. For the first time in a long time, Dee relaxed, in spite of her nagging paranoia, and when Daniel returned with clean hands, the three children played quite naturally. Dee felt a weight lifting off her shoulders.
Chuck winced every time he stooped to lift an item of clothing. At one point, he stopped, breathing hard as he experienced a twinge of pain. Before she could stop herself, Dee said, “You shouldn’t be doing that.”
“I’m okay,” said Chuck, exhaling through pursed lips.
Dee stood up. “You go take a rest,” she said.
“I think I will,” said Chuck gratefully.
Dee started to hang the still-hot clothing on the line, checking to see that Jacob was okay. He was fine, but Dee still got a sense that the scene was artificial, like events had been staged to tempt her back into the fold.
She shook the feeling off. What with the nightmares and her neurosis, she realized she probably couldn’t tell what was real and what was a delusion. Either way, it was better to be busy doing something instead of sitting around to let her emotions screw her up. Stooping, she plucked a shirt from the pile.
She didn’t notice Lizzy wink at April behind her, nor April winking back.
*
“What do you think?” said Scott.
Rick looked at the volunteers lining up to take a turn with the air rifles on the improvised range, and the archers attempting to shoot arrows into stuffed bundles that hung from tree branches. He’d spent his day digging holes and whittling wood, and he leaned on his shovel to straighten out the kinks in his back. The volunteers were all dressed in new clothes, having either washed or burned their lice-ridden attire. Packy had scoured every clothing store in the area, to the effect that the Bergen Mountain Militia, as they styled themselves, now wore the same uniform of plaid shirts and jeans. As a result, they looked like a band of undernourished lumberjacks. Whether it was Packy’s idea of a joke, or simply all he could find, was hard to tell.
Most claimed to have shot a rifle before, but they didn’t all look comfortable with the air rifles, and the groupings on target weren’t impressive to Rick’s demanding eye. The archery, especially, was painful to watch, with most of the shafts disappearing into the woods. Periodically, they had to line everyone up and send them in to find the precious ammunition, and that took time away from training.
“They’ll do,” grunted Rick.
“Glad you think so,” said Scott. “Right now, I wouldn’t take these guys on an Easter egg hunt. I don’t know how many would make it back alive.”
“We’re not exactly up against the Spetsnaz. All we’ve got to do is make sure we only put them into situations where their weaknesses aren’t apparent.”
“Yeah? Well, make sure you mail the script to the bad guys so that they only do what we want them to do.”
“I’ve been watching them. They’re not that smart.”
“If they use their superior numbers against us, they won’t need to be.”
“That’s what I’m hoping they’ll do. You’ll see. Show me these explosives you’ve made.”
Scott led him to a small hollow. Around the edge of the hollow were buckets of yellow sulfur they’d taken from a stranded freight train. Sitting on a tree stump in the center was a molded dough-ball of sulfur and other ingredients. Two wires led from the ball to a box with a crank handle. Scott picked up the box.
“Got this from the museum,” he said. “It’s what they used in olden times to demonstrate the wonders of electricity. Can you imagine how freaked out folks would have been by a light bulb in those days?”
Scott positioned himself behind a tree and furiously cranked the handle. There was a short delay, then the dough ball exploded with a sharp crack, leaving scorch marks on the stump.
“Certainly would have been if they’d done that,” observed Rick. “Good work. How soon can you produce a bigger version?”
“Give me a couple of days and I can provide you with enough to demolish a building.”
“How about a concrete culvert?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
19
The Asheville coal-fired power plant stood on the shore of Lake Julian. According to Parson’s intelligence report, this was where a band of particularly troublesome marauders had taken refuge. In the pre-dawn light, the plant towers were silhouetted against the lightening sky. Connors had already surveyed the structure the day before on a recon mission. The plant was on a promontory that jutted into the lake, linked by an exposed railroad bridge to the east. The only avenues for attack were from the woods bordering the French Broad to the west, and the slag heaps to the south, all overlooked by tall gantries. It was a good defensive position against the kind of retaliation that a small local community might be able to muster.
But not against a hundred men backed by a heavy weapons squad.
“Try not to damage the infrastructure,” said Connors, lowering his binoculars. “It might be useful in the future.”
The militia, drilled hard at Biltmore, nervously filtered into position. Each one of them had been given a green scarf to tie to one arm as a way of identifying each other in the thick of the action. Not that Connors expected there to be much action. The marauders, whoever they were, did not even have a sentry on the gantries.
“Begin your attack, Corporal.”
Parson turned to Connors. “You don’t think we should give them a chance to surrender first?” he said.
“Nope. Just begin.”
Parson blew a whistle. Nothing much happened, so he blew it again. Tentatively, the militia started their advance, leaving the cover of the trees. Feeling exposed before the hulking silhouette of the power plant, they began bunching up, exactly as they’d been told not to do. A single shot rang out from the plant, and near on a hundred men threw themselves down to the dirt in unison.
“Do you see him, Leon?” said Connors.
“Yep,” said Leon, peering through his big light-gathering scope. The sniper rifle barked, and a shadow in a doorway flinched.
“Go, go, go!” shouted Parson.
Nobody felt inclined to move until they could see who’d shot at them. A figure app
eared on a gantry, and Taft nailed him with the fifty caliber rifle, daylight appearing through the man’s chest.
“Come on!” called Parson, running to where his men lay. A few of them got up, following his lead.
Another figure ran between two buildings in the plant. Fick had the machine gun ready. He squeezed the trigger and released a fast clack-clack-clack-clack that caught the runner and jerked him with heavy caliber rounds, dropping him to the ground.
Seeing comrades running ahead, militiamen picked themselves up and moved in staggered lines over the slag heaps in a scene that resembled the storming of Stalingrad. Parson reached the first building and kicked the door open, spraying bullets inside.
As the militiamen swarmed through the plant, Connors caught sight of four people running away over the railroad bridge. Focusing his binoculars he saw it was three men and a woman, fleeing for their lives.
“Fick. The bridge.”
“On it.”
The machine gun clattered, joined by the sniper rifles. The four figures fell, tumbling in a slack and uncontrolled fashion until they lay still.
“Well, gentlemen,” said Connors. “That appears to be it.”
“Someone ought to tell our heroes,” said Fick dryly, observing crouching militiamen dashing from cover to cover, yelling out loud and pointing their rifles at anything that moved, including each other.
“Nah,” said Connors. “Let them find out the hard way.”
He knew from his previous reconnaissance that there were only seven of the so-called marauders, whatever Parson’s intel might have indicated. In fact, Connors and his cadre could have taken them out the day before, but he decided it would be a good objective to test the militia with.
When Parson finally returned, Connors and his cadre lay with their feet up, enjoying the first rays of sun.
“I thought there’d be more,” said Parson, his face pale and his cheek twitching from the adrenaline.
“It appears not,” said Connors casually.
“One of them was a woman.”
“Anyone with a gun is a legitimate target. You should know that, Corporal.”
Parson scanned across the four men, who looked like they were relaxing at the park. “Is this just a game to you people?”
