TRENT
Trent walked with Barker up and down the row of men and women standing in the field, adjusting their empty rifles and stances as needed.
“We’ve got more guns,” his neighbor Rob said, showing him the stash he was working on. Cleaning, repairing, that sort of thing. Having been in a wheelchair his whole life, Rob wasn’t about to let that keep him from helping out any way he could.
“Good,” Trent said. “Hopefully we’ll need them.”
Their numbers were growing. A few people had even found them from his radio transmission—travelers who were looking for a home.
So far, the only government interference had been the pamphlets dropped by the UN. But they weren’t going to let that paper go to waste . . . or the idea.
Since the backs of the papers were blank, the plan was to recycle the paper and use it to spread their own message. Their own psyop—on the people at Grand Central.
If they could get the word spread that there was another way, then hopefully when they showed up, the citizens wouldn’t be afraid. They’d go with them, and maybe the soldiers would stand down.
Maybe.
Or maybe they’d get into a bloody battle. There was no telling which way the wind would blow.
“Remember,” Barker yelled, shouting so that everyone in the field could hear him. “Don’t shoot unless you know who you’re shooting at. We don’t want anyone to accidentally shoot one of our own.”
Trent smiled. Barker, Jenna, and Clarissa had quickly become part of Letliv. The people were as fired up about liberating the people at the FEMA camp as they were. Jenna kept talking about how she wanted to be the one to kill Colonel Lanche, which worried Trent a bit.
They weren’t on a revenge mission. They were on a mission to free people. Like Annie, and their friend Evan.
But apparently Jenna was on a revenge mission. Trent couldn’t blame her, after some of the stories Clarissa had told him. Still, vengeance made for a sloppy fight. It made for anger, and mistakes.
They couldn’t afford any mistakes.
Hell, they couldn’t even afford to waste ammo in target practice.
“Ready,” Trent yelled, and everyone raised their rifles, pointing them at the targets—shirts stuffed with old hay.
“Aim. Fire!” Instead of a burst of gunfire, however, all they heard was the quiet clicking of dozens of triggers and firing pins, without bullets.
No wasting bullets.
“I need to shoot this thing for real,” one of the women said. “Before we actually go there. I can’t have my first time shooting this thing be in battle.”
“Agreed,” Barker said. “Before the time comes, we’ll fire live ammo. You’ll want to experience the recoil so it doesn’t surprise you.”
Clarissa came up behind Trent and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Hey,” she said.
“How’s it going?” Trent wasn’t sure how to behave around her in town, around other people. Putting his arm around her or kissing her felt like giving away a secret or something.
People were already talking, since she was staying at his house. It wasn’t bad talk. Everyone knew how hard he’d taken it when his wife died. And they seemed to like Clarissa.
But small towns were full of gossip, after all.
Fortunately everyone held the firm belief that what went on between consenting adults was their own business. The few people in town who were openly gay were accepted without hesitation. So giving away the truth about . . . whatever he had going with Clarissa . . . wasn’t really the reason he was unsure if he should be kissing her in public.
Things were weird between them. He was so attracted to her. Liked everything about her. But as wonderful as it was to come home to her, she wasn’t Karen. She wasn’t his wife. No one would ever take Karen’s place.
Not that Clarissa was acting like she wanted to. No—Clarissa was alternately hot and cold. Sometimes she’d sit with him for hours, talking. And sometimes they wouldn’t get much talking done at all . . .
But other times—like last night—she’d seem to shut down. To reject his advances, to let her fish sit uneaten on her plate while she stared at the fire, as if she were remembering things she didn’t want to remember.
And he knew she was worried about Annie, and Evan, especially. She’d told Trent that she felt like it was her fault that he’d been kidnapped by Colonel Lanche, since she’d been the one to insist Evan join them.
So Trent didn’t know what to do. How to act, how to behave around her. He was scared to death of making her feel uncomfortable in his home. Although God knew she made him wild with desire.
In the field, Clarissa smiled at him and handed him one of the UN psyop pamphlets. Her fingers were stained with ink she’d made herself using blueberries, a bit of vinegar, and a pinch of salt. On the back of the paper she’d carefully written out a message to the people at Grand Central.
You are being starved and abused under Colonel Lanche’s leadership.
There is another way. Fight for freedom and liberty.
You will be safe and will be able to feed and shelter yourselves.
Live and Letliv.
“What do you think?” she asked. “It’s short, but I figured we should get to the point. Did I cover the main things the right way, you think?”
“It’s really good,” Trent said, looking at it. “You should show it to Barker and Jenna. See if they would have believed it, if they’d gotten it while they were still at Grand Central.”
“I like doing this,” she said. “If we could find a way to make our own paper, our own printing press—”
“There’s no time for that,” he interrupted.
“Oh,” she said, shaking her head. “I know. I meant . . . after. We could make a newspaper for Letliv, you know, something more than just a bulletin board on Main Street.”
Trent smiled, glad to see her excited about something. “It’s definitely something to think about for the future. But right now . . .”
We need to save Annie.
Clarissa nodded and walked off to find Jenna, since Barker was still training the . . . army. If one could call a few dozen fishermen an army.
Barker came up to Trent about a half hour later.
“Do you think we should ask them not to shoot us?” Barker asked. “On the pamphlet.”
Trent laughed, but then he realized Barker was serious. “Would that work?”
“I don’t know. I just really don’t want to get shot. Maybe if we tell the soldiers specifically that they could stand down and join us, they won’t fight.”
“Would that work? You knew those guys.”
Barker shrugged. “Some were awful. On power trips. But I have to believe that there were more like me, men who didn’t want to be soldiers. Who were there because they had no other options. If we give them one, maybe they’ll take it.”
“Well, get Clarissa to write it down.”
Barker nodded and went to the little table where Clarissa sat with the drinking water. Trent watched Clarissa as she nodded, her long red hair tied up in a braid, out of her face.
She came back up to him with the revision.
“Check this out,” she said.
Now, the pamphlet added the words:
Soldiers: you can join us. Take off your uniform shirt and Don’t Shoot. Help us save lives, including your own.
“Oh shit,” Trent said. “That’s good. Hardcore.”
Clarissa grinned. “Barker’s idea. And if they take off their uniforms we’ll know who we’re fighting, and who’s fighting with us. Hopefully it will give them something to think about when we show up. But how will we make all these pamphlets? And how will we get them distributed?”
“We can make a stamp. Carve one. Not as efficient as a printing press, but it’s something we can do quickly. It will take some effort, but with a stamp, we’ll just have to dip it in the ink and bang, done. Instead of writing out thousands of these with a quill.” Trent smiled a
t the delicate bird’s-feather quill she had tucked into her belt, dripping ink onto her pants. “Although that is very Shakespeare of you.”
“I try.” Clarissa laughed and surprised him by going up on her toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting a kiss.”
“You’re doing a good thing here,” she said. “Getting everyone on board. To help us. You’re a good man.”
Trent shook his head. He felt uncomfortable with her praise. His own sister was at the camp, which absolutely made the whole endeavor more selfish than her compliment allowed.
Would he still be helping them if Annie weren’t at Grand Central?
He liked to think so. But there was no way to know, for sure.
Looking at Clarissa, at her strength, her beauty . . . perhaps if she’d come to Letliv and told him what they’d experienced, even if Annie wasn’t a part of it, he’d have been moved to help out.
For her.
On the Taconic State Parkway South
EMILY, MASON, AND SAMUEL
EMILY’S feet hurt. Hell, her whole body hurt, and it had only been two days of walking. Reminded her of how she and Mason had escaped New York City, one step at a time.
They’d finally found their own little pocket of freedom in their cabin in upstate New York. Giving it up to go back on the road was foolish.
But even knowing what they were giving up, she had to try. Had to join the people in that coastal town who needed their help. Especially if helping meant fighting Colonel Lanche.
That man had terrorized her, and would have killed her if she hadn’t escaped first. So yeah. Emily had good reason to want to fight.
And now was as good a time as any.
“Let’s camp here for the night,” Mason said, pointing to an abandoned building off the side of the freeway.
They’d tried traveling at night, thinking it would be safer, but it was so pitch-black outside without any lights except for the moon that moving fast was nearly impossible. So they were back to walking during the day, keeping their eyes open for potential threats.
None so far, except for the area of highway littered with pamphlets. Pamphlets that had their friend Samuel all fired up, freaking out about the New World Order.
“What will we do, once we find the Live and Let Live man? Trent?” she asked.
“We’ll remind him that he radioed for help so he doesn’t shoot us,” Mason said dryly. He sighed. “If we get around forty miles down the Taconic, we should hit Eighty-Four east to take us into Connecticut. We’ll hit the coast and then start following it up until we find him . . . them.”
“What if is just a him?” Samuel asked. “One man and a radio.”
“No way,” Emily argued. “Not according to his broadcasts. I have to take him at his word.”
“We don’t know him,” Samuel said.
“We didn’t know you, either,” she reminded him. “But we trusted you, and now we’re helping each other. Not everyone is bad in this world. There are still good people.”
Samuel nodded, shouldering his pack. “I’m sorry. Just exhausted.”
“Let’s gather some kindling,” Mason said. He looked at her with concern. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” Emily smiled, not about to complain. The whole thing had been her idea, after all.
She just hoped that she wasn’t marching them out of their safe haven and into danger.
Grand Central Terminal
EVAN
Evan sat in the chair opposite Colonel Lanche. For the first time since he’d been taken to Grand Central, he hadn’t been hit, punched, or shoved. Not for almost a day.
It was wonderful.
And all he’d had to do was tell him everything.
“Tell me, son, why you went with them,” Lanche asked. “Because I’m still not sure why I should trust you when you say you’re not their friend. After all this time.”
Evan looked at his hands, still shackled in front of him. “I thought about what you said. That they were terrorists. I don’t want to be part of a terrorist group,” he said convincingly. It was the truth, except for the fact that he thought Lanche’s soldiers were the real terrorists.
“What made you travel with them?”
Evan remembered back to when he’d been alone, hiding out in his parents’ house after he’d fled the FEMA camp in Greenwich, Connecticut. He hadn’t wanted to be drafted when he turned eighteen, so he escaped. And he hadn’t seen his family since.
He’d been terrified when he heard the loud voices of a group of people breaking into his house, but there was no time to hide. So he’d picked up a baseball bat and gotten into the corner of the room upstairs he was in, trying to shield as much of his body as he could with walls . . . so they couldn’t sneak up on him.
“Clarissa found me,” he told Lanche softly. “She screamed for help, but when Jenna, Barker, and Roy came running with their rifles up, she told them to put them away, because . . . because I was just a boy.”
“But you think you’re a man now, don’t you,” Lanche laughed. “Ready to join my soldiers, is that right?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t belong on the Tracks with the women. I’m healthy now, with the vitamins. I can help you keep this place safe, if you’ll let me.”
“Don’t think my men would want a little fairy like you sleeping in their quarters,” Lanche said.
Evan bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming at him. “I’m straight, sir.”
Lanche laughed uproariously, as if the whole situation was hilarious. “All right. That must be why you wanted me to call off Scar, huh?”
Suddenly Evan was struck by fear. “You said if I told you everything, Scar would never touch me again. Ever. I thought you were a man of your word, Colonel.”
Lanche shrugged. “I am, I am. I gave you and Annie those vitamins, didn’t I? And haven’t I treated you well?”
Evan nodded, his face burning. It was as if Lanche could smell a lie on him. Since all the details Evan gave him now were true, Lanche had been surprisingly friendly.
“So why’d you go with them?” Lanche asked.
“I was alone,” Evan said. “I knew I couldn’t hide out in my parents’ house forever. They had guns, and there was safety in numbers. Barker wanted to bring me back to the camp, to my folks. Told me if I went with them I’d never see them again. But I wanted to leave anyway.”
“Were they nice to you?”
Evan nodded again. He’d been mesmerized by Clarissa’s beauty, and awed by Jenna’s sexiness. Barker seemed so cool, like a real man who knew how to get shit done. Roy had been a good guy, an older dude, but that first night they’d all slept in his house, he knew Clarissa had snuck off to sleep with him.
They were like a circle of friendship, and safety. And they were on his side—against the corrupt government forces that had taken over since the Pulse.
How could he not follow them?
“Did you sleep with one of the whores? Jenna, or Clarissa?” Lanche asked.
“No, of course not,” Evan said. “Barker and Jenna were together, anyway. And Clarissa was with Roy, I think.”
“Really. The man who got shot. Huh.” Lanche stroked his jaw, as if thinking about that. “I’ve fucked them both,” Lanche said nonchalantly. “They stand out, with that hair of theirs.”
Evan choked back a gasp at Lanche’s easy admission. What a fucking psycho.
“I want to be off the Tracks,” Evan said. “I want to wear a uniform so your men know not to . . . not to mess with me. Okay?”
“I don’t trust you just yet,” Lanche said. “But you can move off the Tracks. Find a place on the main terminal with the families. But if you get out of line, there will be consequences.”
“Okay.”
Lanche frowned. “What?”
“I mean . . . yes, sir.”
Evan swallowed hard and tried to remember that he hadn’t just made a deal with the devil.
It only felt like he had.
At least now, he’d have more freedom to move around. To get intel. And when the time came, he could be Barker and his crew’s man on the inside.
But where were they?
Were they even coming back for him, for Annie? For everyone?
Letliv, Connecticut
CLARISSA
Clarissa and Jenna sat side by side, with matching stamps that had taken a day of painstaking labor to make by hand. But now, at least, the work of printing the pamphlets was quicker.
Kids in the town had gathered up thousands of the pieces of paper dropped by the UN helicopter, and bushes of blueberries went toward making the valuable ink.
“How’s it going at Trent’s place?” Jenna asked her, pressing the stamp carefully onto the back of one paper and setting it aside to dry.
“Pretty good.” Clarissa focused her attention on stamping so Jenna couldn’t see the blush warming her cheeks, but her friend could tell by the tone in her voice.
“You guys had sex!” Jenna exclaimed triumphantly. “Wheee! Was it good? Did he rock your world?”
Clarissa laughed. “Yes, yes, and yes, thank you very much.”
“I thought he was hot from the moment he put me on the pavement and frisked me,” Jenna said. “Absolutely doable. Tell me everything.”
“I can’t!”
“Oh come on, I tell you everything about Barker.”
Clarissa set aside another paper to dry and shook her head. “I don’t ask you to, though. You just can’t keep details to yourself.”
“Were you able to jump on him and take control, like I suggested?” Jenna asked. “Or is he the dominant type?”
“Ummm . . .” Clarissa laughed and raised her eyebrows. “I’m not kissing and telling. Besides, he’s still not over his wife. And it’s not like I’m all there, either. I think about Roy a lot. And I worry about Evan, and Annie.”
Jenna nodded sympathetically. “Okay, that’s to be expected. But you enjoyed it, right? Or was it just a repeat of how you felt when you were with Roy?”
“Something about Trent just washes away my fears. I feel really . . . protected when I’m with him.”
The Thrust Page 6
