Nicolas’s eyes narrowed. The Order Policemen were fleeing, taking their vehicles and leaving the checkpoints behind. He hadn't seen so much panic since a Saudi infantry company had run into a band of terrorists near Yemen and fled for their lives, after discovering that the terrorists were prepared to fight. And yet ... what were they running from?
A streak of light shone down from one of the alien craft, blasting a small house to flaming debris. As if that had been their cue, the other craft opened fire, laying waste to the entire town. Nicolas saw a church burst into flame as an alien plasma bolt slammed into the building, blasting chunks of debris in all directions. Piece by piece, the aliens reduced Mannington to burning rubble. By the time they were finished, there wasn't a single house left standing.
Nicolas could only stare as flames destroyed whatever remained of the town. The house Greg had shared with Nancy was gone, along with the memories – good and bad – that the two men had shared. All that Nancy’s mother had left for her was gone as well, he realised numbly; they’d agreed that her jewels and other possessions would be held in trust until Nancy had turned sixteen. They were now nothing more than ashes.
When he looked up, the three alien craft were gone.
“My God,” Bain said, softly. “What did they do that for?”
“It was a message, I suspect,” Nicolas said. “They knew that the resistance had some ties in Mannington” – Greg had betrayed him there, after all – “and they must have failed to find them. So they laid waste to the town instead.”
He looked back down the road, towards where the Order Police were disappearing into the distance. None of them seemed inclined to go back and sift through the ruins, thankfully; they seemed content to leave the burning town as an object lesson. Nicolas settled back and waited for the flames to die down. Without the Fire Department showing up to battle the flames, it might be hours before he could go down to the city.
But he had to try. He had to know.
***
“Hey!”
Judith swore as she heard the person behind her, just a moment too late to avoid revealing her presence. The Order Police had had a patrol moving silently through the woods and they’d seen her. McVeigh pushed her back and turned to face them, weapon in hand. He shot one of the Order Policemen before the others gunned him down and came after Judith. She crawled as hard as she could, but there was no way she could escape before one of them landed on top of her and wrenched her hands behind her back. A moment later, she was their prisoner.
“Let’s have some fun,” one of the policemen suggested, darkly. He reached down to caress Judith’s ass, causing her to squirm away. She’d heard all the tales, but somehow she’d never believed that she could be caught. “Little bitch should have died with the town.”
“She was carrying a weapon,” someone else said. “That makes her an insurgent. You know the rules for insurgents.”
“No one will ever know,” the first voice wheedled. “We have our fun with her, then dig a ditch and bury her body. They won’t know ...”
“They always know,” the second voice said. “We’ll take her to the base.”
Judith gasped in pain as they hauled her to her feet, then searched her roughly, taking every opportunity they could to grope her body. The leader, who seemed to be wearing a somewhat more ornate uniform than the other five, examined her, then looked down at the pistol she’d carried. She would have given her soul just to have her hands free and a weapon in her hand ...
“This way,” he ordered, bluntly. He leaned forward until his eyes were pressed up against hers. “And I suggest that you mind your manners. One mistake and my men can have you.”
Shaking, Judith followed instructions, allowing them to take their prisoner back to their base.
***
It was hours before the skies darkened and rain began to fall, dampening the blaze that had torn through the remains of Mannington. Whatever the aliens used for weapons, it was hot enough to set fire to almost everything; Nicolas was mildly surprised that the blaze hadn't spread outside the town and set fire to the surrounding countryside. The ruins were still hissing as he came down and entered the town, taking care to walk on what remained of the roads. God alone knew if anywhere else was safe.
Hardly a building was anything more than a pile of rubble and ashes. Here and there, half-melted metal bars testified to the intensity of the heat that had raged through the town. The wooden fences that had marked out gardens were gone, gone so completely that there was no trace of them left for him to see. A child’s climbing frame he recalled Nancy playing on once, despite Greg’s admonishments that she was not to ruin her new dress, was nothing more than a puddle of molten metal. The school where Nancy had spent most of her day, to her bitter regret, was a pile of rubble.
She would have liked that, Nicolas thought, numbly. Nancy had always had a somewhat skewed idea of what her biological father did for a living, a legacy of her mother, who had been trying to poison Nancy’s mind against him. She’d made him sound like an arsonist – and, no matter how much he tried to explain, Nancy had kept that first impression. And she had asked him to destroy her school.
Nicolas knew Mannington like the back of his hand. God knew he’d spent plenty of time there, exploring the city with his daughter or even just strolling around to get the lie of the land. Even so, finding Greg’s home was difficult. All of the landmarks he recalled from his previous visits were gone, leaving very little for him to go on. By the time he found the actual house, he was honestly uncertain if it was the right house. It took moments of careful thought before he decided that he was almost certainly right.
He found himself walking up the garden path, as ludicrous as it seemed with the garden and house beyond little more than ash. Memories rose up in front of him; Nancy running to greet him when he came back from the wars, Greg – a little more reserved – shaking his hand as he walked in through the door and into the parlour. Ghosts seemed to flicker at the corner of his eye as he looked down at where the door had been. The wooden door was nowhere to be seen.
The house had collapsed completely. He hadn't seen anything like it, outside of basic training; he suspected that a nuke would have done less damage to the town. There was nothing left of Greg and Nancy’s possessions; the adult-sized wardrobe she’d been so proud of was gone, taking her small collection of dresses with them. And the uniform he’d given her as a keepsake ... grief welled up within him and he sank to his knees, heedless of the smouldering ashes. His daughter was gone.
She might not be dead, he told himself, desperately. Greg was hardly the type for a desperate last stand, witness how quickly he’d betrayed Nicolas just to keep Nancy and himself safe. She might have gone with them ...
But where had they gone?
The collaborators weren't acting typically and that bothered him. What did they have in mind?
There was nothing left, not even one of Nancy’s dolls.
Gritting his teeth, Nicolas stood up. He would work with the alien rebels, and whoever else was prepared to join his side, just to beat the bastards once and for all.
And then he could mourn properly, both for his daughter ...
... And for the man he'd once called his brother.
***
Judith’s wrists were cramping terribly by the time they finally reached the Order Police base, but complaints earned her nothing apart from a slap and a warning to keep her voice down. The sight of the base sent chills down her spine, reminding her that there was nothing she could do to escape. She’d tested the cuffs and discovered that the more she struggled, the tighter they held her. All she could do was wait.
The base itself surrounded a medium-sized alien craft. It was the closest Judith had ever seen one and she found herself staring at it with a sick fascination, admiring the craftsmanship that had gone into its creation even as she dreaded what it had brought to her world. The craft was almost the typical flying saucer; it would have been charming if the
hull wasn't studded with blisters that were clearly weapons. And the handful of alien warriors standing outside the craft, weapons held at the ready.
She was ordered to sit on the muddy ground and wait as her captors reported to their superiors. From their careless chatter, she had gathered the impression that resistance captives were particularly important to the aliens – and she could guess why. They’d want to take her, to use her against the resistance ... and then dump her when she’d served her purpose. But there was no longer any point in struggling. Even if she had been able to break the cuffs, she was surrounded by alien warriors and human collaborators.
An alien warrior marched over to her and reached down with one clawed hand, pulling her to her feet. It was a nightmare right out of science-fiction, a strange composite of every barbaric warrior race she’d ever seen on television ... and it stank. A strange, almost vinegary smell surrounded it as it pushed her into the craft. Looking at the muscles rippling under what little of its flesh she could see, she doubted that any human would have a chance in single combat. The alien warrior was specifically bred for war.
Inside, the alien craft was strangely humid, causing sweat to trickle down her back. The passageways seemed almost misty, as if the aliens thought fog was the ideal working condition. There was a faint smell of ... something as she was pushed into a small room, where a table was slowly growing out of the floor. Two alien workers turned to face her; she gasped out loud as she realised that one of them had had his hand replaced by a medical tool. The aliens thought nothing of mutilating themselves to prepare for their work ...
And then she realised what they had in mind.
One of the alien workers pushed her towards the table until she was bent over, her hair spilling over her head and dangling towards the floor. The other pushed a tool against the side of her head. There was a brief moment of pain and then ...
***
Nicolas was still planning the operation in his head when they reached the RV point, dodging a handful of roving enemy patrols as they moved. The Order Police seemed to be pulling out, although it was dangerous to judge their activities by any normal military standard. They were, as a general rule, amateurs, taking their tactics out of a book. But then, running extra patrols before pulling out was taken from a book.
“We will get them,” Bain promised him, for the umpteenth time. He hadn't seen the desolation at close range. “They won’t get away with this.”
Nicolas stopped. Someone was at the RV point, waiting for them. He held up a hand to stop Bain, then inched forward. The person standing there was a young girl with short dark hair, carrying a rifle in one hand. She looked nervous, her eyes scanning around as if she expected to be surprised at any moment. It was a common attitude among the insurgents who had no prior military experience.
Bracing himself, Nicolas stepped forward.
“We’re here,” he said, as she heard the noise and spun around. He raised his hands to show that they were empty, although he was ready to jump her if she looked likely to take a shot at him. “And you are?”
“Judith,” the girl gasped, once she’d lowered the rifle. He’d given her a nasty shock. “My companion got shot and I had to run. I don’t think they tracked me.”
“Let’s hope not,” Nicolas agreed. He didn't know Judith, which suggested that she wasn't cleared to know about the hidden bunker. There were plenty of other resistance bases in the area. “But we’d better move on before it’s too late.”
Judith didn't bother complaining, she just followed them as they headed towards the second RV point. Once there, she could go to join up with the rest of her unit – or be pushed into a new one, if the old unit was completely gone. Nicolas wondered absently if he shouldn't ask for her to join his unit. Every insurgent he’d commanded directly before was either dead or an alien prisoner, according to Oldham.
Get the alien doctor, break the conditioning ... and then wage war, he thought, grimly. And then take them down with us if we can’t win.
Chapter Sixteen
Near Washington DC, USA
Day 212
The lurch from the truck brought Greg back to full awareness, reminding him that he was nothing more than a prisoner, his hands stiff and numb from the tie binding them behind his back. Nancy had drifted off into a fitful sleep, her small body shaking as a nightmare wracked her mind, leaving him to worry endlessly. Eventually, he must have drifted off too.
He shuddered as the truck driver turned off the engine. Outside, he could hear shouts, some of them in a language he didn't recognise. Where were they? They couldn't have slept for more than a few hours, could they? He looked around and saw the same question in the eyes of his fellow prisoners, each one just as unsure as himself. There was no way to know where they were.
The rear doors burst open, revealing that darkness had fallen over the country. Greg peered out as Order Policemen climbed into the vehicle and started helping people to climb outside, spotting a handful of buildings in the distance. The area was completely unfamiliar, which bothered him more than he realised it should. After all, America wasn't exactly a small country and he hadn’t explored more than a tiny fraction of it. Strong hands picked him up and shoved him through the doors, forcing him to jump down to the concrete below. Other policemen glanced at him, then pushed him into a line with the other prisoners and their children. Nancy, shocked awake by the noise, clung on to his arm as they waited, not knowing what was in store. Greg would almost have preferred to know that they were going to face a firing squad.
He glanced around, sighting dozens of other trucks, all unloading their prisoners. It looked as if the entire population of Mannington had been transported to their new destination, wherever it was. He recognised dozens of people as they stood in line, all looking as shell-shocked as Greg felt. But people were clearly missing ... it took him several minutes to realised just who was missing. Teenage girls and unmarried women had gone to a different camp, he told himself. It beat thinking about the more likely alternative.
There was a roar behind him and he jumped, spinning round to see the truck driving away.
“Silence,” a voice bellowed. Greg had barely been aware of any chatter. The crowd had been too worried to talk to one another. “You will wait until you are called.”
It felt like hours before the line started to move, marching over the concrete ground towards one of the buildings in the distance. Up close, it looked like an army barracks, although as Greg had no military experience, he had no way of knowing if it actually was. The small line of guards surrounding it clipped away the plastic cuffs as the detainees entered the building, clearly confident that no one would try to fight. They were so tired and hungry, Greg knew, that they couldn't fight, even if they wanted to risk their lives and those of their children.
Inside, there were hundreds of bunk beds, each one barely large enough for a single half-sized man. There were a handful of complaints, which were simply ignored by the Order Policemen; they didn't seem to care about the accommodations. Greg shuddered as he realised that he – and Nancy – would be sharing with hundreds of other people, all crammed into the same room. Nicolas could probably have tolerated it, but Nicolas was a soldier, used to sharing close quarters with other people. Greg ... had no such tolerance.
“Maybe we can go home soon,” Nancy said, as she claimed one of the higher bunk beds for herself. It was a piece of shoddy construction, flimsy enough to give Greg nightmares. There wasn't even a railing capable of preventing her from rolling over and out of bed, if she turned over in the night. He would never have expected to see anything like it outside a homemade structure. The threats of lawsuits alone would have ensured that it was as safe as possible.
“Yeah, maybe,” Greg muttered. He looked towards the rear of the building, where there were a handful of showers and toilets. They were going to be living in each other’s pockets, he realised dully. Privacy would be a thing of the past. “Or maybe we won’t be able to go home at all.”
He took the bunk underneath Nancy, realising that he could no longer protect her at all. If someone wanted to hurt her, for whatever reason, he was powerless to stop them. They could no longer run off to the hills either and hide in the countryside, not now they were in the barracks with – he was sure – heavy fences and armed guards surrounding them. It was a concentration camp, to all intents and purposes; there was no way out, unless they were allowed to go free.
A whistle blew, calling his attention towards an overweight woman standing at the door. “You will be fed in one hour,” she said, flatly. “Until then, try to get some sleep. There is nothing else to do.”
She was right, Greg realised. There were no toys or games, no books or DVD players – there was nothing to distract them from their imprisonment. Even a real prison would have had more to distract the inmates than the camp. He looked up at Nancy, then around at the other prisoners. God alone knew how long they would remain reasonably civilised.
Nicolas had once told him that society was only two or three missed meals away from collapse. Right now, Greg suspected that Nancy’s father was right.
***
Karen had had plenty of experience, in the months she’d worked at the heart of the collaborator government, in keeping her face under firm control. It wasn't easy, but the thought of being executed – or implanted – provided all the incentive she could possibly require. Besides, the resistance needed their source in Washington and if that meant pretending to be a good little collaborator, it was what she was going to do.
Right now, she was being tested as never before. The aliens had ordered the entire town of Mannington to be transported from West Virginia to a purpose-built camp near Washington DC. The camp had originally been intended to serve as a transit barracks for the Arabs the aliens had recruited as soldiers, before most of them had been killed in Chicago and a dozen other hellholes over what remained of the United States. Now, it was a concentration camp, in all but name. The sight disgusted and terrified her.
Outside Context Problem: Book 03 - The Slightest Hope of Victory Page 15
