“The good news is that they aren’t hunting people down anymore; leastways, not out in the country. Oh, they do flyovers now and again, but unless they see something particular, they aren’t going in.
“And they’ve got things under control here. Most of the citizens are so indoctrinated by now, or afraid, that they turn themselves in when they hit 60. There are a few of us old coots still running around,” he admitted, “But they don’t really pay us much attention. Long as we’re not using up resources, or so they think.”
It was a lot to take in at once. Abby was relieved at the news about forays by the military and hoped that was the case. She still intended to scout around a bit tonight and try to confirm this. And to see what became of Henry, if she could.
“Well, enough of my blather,” said Frank. “Let’s get you two ready to go.” He got the jackets and the assault rifles, pronounced them as ready as ever, and he and Clarice hugged both girls before they left.
“See you in a bit,” he told them. “And don’t be late!” He laughed as he closed the window.
Abby and Emmy climbed down the fire escape to the dumpster and moved east, farther into the city. Abby avoided going past St. Mary’s; she couldn’t deal with seeing that again.
She found the restaurant where she’d met Henry a year ago and they walked inside. A different young man was at the desk and a heavily armed security guard was monitoring a metal detector; a second was frisking those who walked through it. The young man made note of their dress and waved them around the security checkpoint, seating them nearby.
“We don’t get many soldiers in here.” He was friendly enough, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Abby wondered if he was as enamored of this new regime as he seemed to be. Of course, he was actually working as opposed to the majority of the citizens, based on what Frank had told them.
“I’ve been here before, thought I’d bring my friend,” Abby said casually. “I used to talk to Henry.”
The young man stiffened. “Here are your menus.” He left abruptly.
The two girls didn’t talk much; mostly, they were listening to the conversations around them. The waiter returned, took their orders, and left again without saying much at all. He looked around nervously while he was at the table.
It was a party atmosphere. Everyone was chattering about new stuff they’d purchased with government vouchers; mock debates about religion bounced back and forth. Wine flowed freely. No conversational topic was off-limits it seemed. Women discussed their latest abortions as though they’d simply made appointments for a manicure; men good-naturedly argued about video games. Cursing was constant. Abby felt as though she was in a roomful of young teenagers but no, these people were rapidly closing in on middle age—and eventually the death line.
Emmy finally flagged down the waiter, who’d been deliberately ignoring them, and asked directions to the restroom. He pointed. She walked through the room to the back, and the conversations diminished to whispers. Abby tensed, waiting.
As Emmy disappeared through a doorway, the buzz grew louder again but Abby was the target of many surreptitious looks. No one made a move, in fact, people seemed glued to both their chairs and the eyes of their dinner companions whenever she glanced their way.
Her hand crept toward her knife. She knew if she drew her gun or made any move at all toward the rifle she could well cause a panic. And that would draw even more attention to them.
She breathed a sigh of relief as Emmy returned, but her return brought even more looks and a few outright glares.
“Finish up,” Abby said under her breath, “we need to get out of here.”
They ate their dinner, casually sat back and finished their drinks then, just as nonchalantly, stood up to leave. The waiter came by as they were leaving the table and brushed up against Emmy, then hurried on his way to the back of the restaurant.
Once outside, the girls continued a leisurely stroll down the street until they came to an abandoned office building. Abby jimmied the door and they went inside, sitting on the cool granite floor, out of sight.
“What was that all about?” asked Abby.
Emmy pulled out the note the boy had given her. “I assume he wants us to come to the back of that restaurant at 11:00. Pretty simple. No cloak and dagger stuff here.” She tossed the note to Abby. “What do you think?”
Abby looked at the piece of paper. “What do you mean, what do I think? I think that’s what it says, yes, but I’m not so sure we should follow directions.”
“But we should. I mean, I should. You can stay back and be a lookout, in case something goes wrong. When I went back to the restroom, Abby, everyone in the kitchen stopped talking. I mean, just stopped, mid-sentence, whatever.”
“Yeah,” said Abby, “But they did that in the dining room too.”
“But,” said Emmy, “When I came back out, they were back to normal—a few of them even smiled at me.”
“Probably plotting your torture,” said Abby.
“Oh, come on! Where’s your sense of adventure? Besides,” she added, “We might find out something about that Henry kid.” Abby pondered. What Emmy had said was true, of course.
On the other hand, she’d been cooped up for a long time and maybe her excitement was getting the better of her judgment. After a few minutes, she decided to go with Emmy’s intuition.
“All right. But let me point out that it might well be your funeral. Or mine.”
“In that case,” said Emmy, her eyes sparkling, “We’ll have to make it count!”
The girls easily found the alley leading to the restaurant, and waited some distance off until the appointed hour. At that time, Emmy crept forward, keeping to the shadows, while Abby hung back a bit.
Three men came out the back door and surrounded Emmy. At least, Abby assumed they were men; it was hard to tell. They were dressed alike, dark clothing, and their faces were covered.
“So,” said the tallest one, rather built like a linebacker, “You and your friend wanted to know about Henry, huh? Where are you from? Who are you? We know you aren’t real soldiers.”
Emmy tossed her head, her brown braid snapping the air. “Who are you?” she demanded. “I know you aren’t just cooks.” One of them took a threatening step toward her, but Emmy stood her ground.
Abby was ready to jump in, but she waited a moment to see what Emmy was up to. Lord help her, the girl had guts.
“You need to come with us,” said another one.
“Nope,” said Emmy. “Not happening. Not until you answer some questions.”
“You are the one who needs to answer questions. And Henry’ll know which ones to ask. And he’ll know if you’re lying.” The tallest one had spoken again but Abby was jolted for a moment. Had he mentioned Henry? Henry was alive?
Before Emmy could continue the conversation, another man stepped out of the shadows.
“It’s all right, Abby. You can come out now,” said Henry.
Henry was not only alive, he was a key player in the rather newly formed resistance. In fact, he explained to Abby, he’d been undercover when he’d first met her, gathering intel and adding to his organization.
“Still wondering about that doctor training?” he asked with a smile. “It’s true, I still have this.” He held up his malformed hand. “That’s not a ruse. But I shoot best with the other one. And, as you saw, I’m a very good actor. Perhaps I missed my calling. Or perhaps not.”
“Now,” he said. “On to business. What brings you back to our fair city?”
Abby and Emmy exchanged glances. Well, Emmy’s intuition hadn’t failed yet, so Abby began to talk. Still, she was careful. It could still be a trap.
She told Henry that there was a group of them, living further south, and that they’d been there since all this happened. They’d only ventured to the city a couple times, and she was vague about what they’d done and who had actually come with her. She told him what they knew about Co-opCom and the things going on here; she figu
red, no matter which side Henry was really on, he’d know that already.
“Good!” said Henry. “I like that. A little information, but not too much. Nothing really incriminating anyway. I suppose we could torture you, but it’s really not our style. We usually leave that sort of thing to our so-called president and his henchmen.
“Relax,” he added, catching sight of Abby’s brief look of both stubbornness and alarm. “I’m kidding. Have to have some fun around here once in a while!” Just then, a small boy toddled into the room and jumped into his lap. Henry tousled his hair and called, “Jennifer! Your son has escaped again!”
A young woman with hair black as night and bronze skin strode into the room. “Ha! My son? More like yours, since he has to be in the middle of the action all the time . . . hello, I’m Jennifer.” She smiled at the girls. “My husband would have you believe he’s a big, tough rebellion leader, but he’s really a marshmallow.”
Abby was rapidly beginning to question her judgment, but Emmy just grinned.
“Come along, Samuel, Daddy’s working.” And Jennifer left the room, child in tow.
“So,” said Henry. “If no one is tired, we’ll get to work. I assume you travel at night? Good. We can get started. Come with me.”
Abby and Emmy followed Henry down a dark, damp corridor. The few overhead bulbs barely cast any light, until they came to a large room dominated by a conference table. The walls were nearly covered with maps and charts.
Henry walked directly to a map showing the city and county streets in detail and began with military installations. “Here, here, and here are barracks and minor command centers. North, south, and west. The east side, is of course, bordered by the Mississippi and it’s covered by two barges, plus a few lesser craft with better maneuverability.
“Here,” he said, smacking the center of the map directly on the Clayton courthouse, “Is the main command post. That’s where the top dog lives, works, and makes our lives miserable.”
“Colonel Barton.” And Henry told them all about this mysterious figure.
Colonel Barton, it seemed, had never been an actual colonel; indeed, he had never held any military rank nor been in the armed services. Ever. At all. But he was ambitious, and he had money and influence. A finger in every pie, so to speak, and once a powerful lobbyist. Back when lobbyists actually lobbied, that is. In the last few years, there was no real skill involved as long as one had plenty of dollars to throw around. And Colonel Barton did. He was rewarded, of course, by rising quickly through the ranks of Co-opCom.
He was also lazy, Henry continued, as well as a bully. He had well-paid men who surrounded him and catered to his every whim, and he had other well-paid men who did his dirty work. And the troops themselves were hired help, Henry added.
Abby nodded. This she knew. Colonel Barton, however, was uncharted territory. “And you have a plan?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Henry. “We take him out. When the head is removed, the body dies.
“Of course, he’s just one part of this mess. We have been in touch with others, other cities, mostly in the southern states, and they are with us. First, of course, they all have their own Colonel Bartons to deal with, but eventually . . .”
“Eventually what?” Emmy said. “And when is ‘eventually’?”
“We start in the cities. We begin by weakening their forces. Then we strike, here and elsewhere. A coordinated effort.
“But we need more time, time to recruit. We’ve already started taking steps to meet the goal, but it takes time.”
“I see,” said Abby. “And you want us?”
“Of course,” said Henry. “But not here. And not yet. As I said, we’ve started working. There’s a lot to be done. The rumors have begun, and now we wait. It won’t take long for the regular troops to begin deserting, once the message is passed around. The colonel won’t be safe from his own troops then; in fact, if we’re lucky, they’ll take him out themselves.”
“What’s the message? What can you possibly spread around that anyone would care about? From what I’ve seen, and from what Abby’s told us, anything goes here. Anything. It’s not like you can say he’s a cross-dresser or has a mistress.” Emmy did want to know, but she was also thinking that gossip was certainly a lame way to stage a revolution.
“Why, his money, naturally,” said Henry with a tight smile. “If he has no more money, he can’t pay anyone either below him or above him. If the troops believe their paychecks aren’t coming in, they’ll be leaving in droves. Or better yet, someone will be upset enough to assassinate him.”
Abby thought about this for a minute. It was possible that, at the very least, it could even out the numbers. And, too, perhaps allow the resistance to acquire or take control of more weaponry, even aircraft.
She mentioned this to Henry, and he snapped his fingers.
Two men entered the room. “Report, please,” he said.
“We currently have 50 operatives, sir. We have infiltrated C barracks. Reports indicate that there is some unrest in the lower ranks.”
The second man spoke, “We have been unsuccessful at acquiring any aircraft, sir, but we have secured and emptied two ammo lockers.”
“Thank you,” said Henry. “That will be all.”
“All right,” said Abby, after the pair had left the room. “What do you want from us?”
“At the moment, nothing,” said Henry. “I simply want you to be aware, and to be ready if your services should be needed. We want a contact outside the city, someone who won’t be compromised; someone, or several someones, who are on our side and are willing to lend assistance as it becomes needed.”
Abby and Emmy exchanged a look. Emmy nodded and Abby spoke again, “We’re in. What’s the next step?”
Henry smiled. “I was sure you’d say yes. Jennifer!”
Jennifer came into the room with a large clipboard. “I’ll be your contact. Now, let’s decide on a place to meet, and how to best communicate. Oh, and Henry? Your son is getting into trouble again. I can feel it. You’d better go check on him!”
Henry shrugged. “As you may know, in Native American families the squaw is always the boss . . . Jennifer has never moved past that concept.” His wife threw a crumpled piece of paper at his retreating back and he laughed and ducked.
“Well,” said Jennifer. “At least we are politically correct in one aspect of our lives.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Now,” she continued. “I have several young boys, teens, who will act as runners. They are trustworthy, but I want you to meet them and decide for yourself.” She gave a low whistle and the three boys appeared.
“Samuel, Thomas, Jeffrey—I wish for you to meet Abby and Emmy.” The boys offered their hands, then quickly stepped back and stood at attention. “When you see these young men, they will be your contacts. No one else.
“You may leave.” And the boys did.
“We allow nothing written on paper to leave this room, for security reasons. If this room is breached, our cause is likely beyond repair. I wanted you to meet these boys so you will recognize them when the need arises, and they, you.
“When you are needed, one of them will travel south to a location the three of us agree upon. You will be signaled.”
Emmy looked confused but, given Jennifer’s race, Abby understood immediately. “Three puffs.”
“Yes,” said Jennifer. “I thought you might know.” She smiled. “You have been trained, yes?”
“New Mexico,” answered Abby.
Finally, Emmy caught on, “Oh, got it! Smoke signals! Like the Old West.”
“Or the New West,” said Jennifer. “We must make do with what we have, after all.
“Now, when you see the signal, you will meet. Let’s move over here to the map. I do not wish you give away the location of your group—if we don’t know, we can’t tell anyone either deliberately or . . . accidentally.”
Abby studied the maps, both geological and a standard street
map. “There,” she pointed. The spot was more rural than urban, but Abby assumed she was faster in the woods than the boys were; if there was trouble, they would need to get there quickly to set the signal fire.
“Very good,” said Jennifer, marking the location. “Now that we have your cooperation and assistance, is there anyone here in the city that you may know, or know of, who may be willing to join us?”
Abby immediately thought of Frank. His participation could certainly be a bonus to Henry and Jennifer and their followers, but it was a serious risk for Frank. However, she also knew that he was always up for a chance to jump into the thick of things.
“Yes. I know someone. He has . . . connections. Especially at St. Mary’s.” Jennifer raised her brow questioningly. “I’ll speak to him when we leave here; how will I get word back to you?”
Jennifer thought for a moment. “I will send Thomas with you. When you are within four blocks of the person’s home, leave Thomas. When you have an answer, you can go back and tell him. He will return to us with the information.
“Such a sad story. They are brothers, you know. Very close. Their parents survived VADER only to be captured by the government six months ago. The boys came to us for help. Jeffrey just turned thirteen a few weeks ago.” She shook her head sadly. “Now they are our sons too.”
After saying their goodbyes, Abby and Emmy set off towards Clarice’s apartment to talk to Frank. Thomas trailed behind them a short distance. As arranged, when the girls stopped, so did Thomas; Emmy turned to speak to him and he had melted into the shadows. The girls continued down the street.
Into the alley, back up the fire escape, they crawled through the window. Clarice was nowhere in sight, still asleep, but Frank was waiting and watching.
Abby told him about Henry’s group and their plans to overthrow the current government or, at the very least, disrupt it enough to make things more bearable for those who still possessed common sense. She didn’t go into detail, yet, but made it clear that it involved an element of danger. At the same time, she emphasized how Frank’s connections could be of great help.
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