Reese scratched at his jaw. “I don’t know. But I do know that keeping her in the hospital tent makes a prisoner out of you, too.” He turned to Tony. “And recruiting you would keep you here as well.”
“What about you?” asked Tony.
“They’ve got Jo interested in the hospital tent, too, but as long as they keep us separated and occupied during the day, the only time we have to talk is over meals. They’ve got me trapped, too. They know I won’t leave without her.”
“So, what do we do? Sit around and complain about it?” asked Byron.
“I’ve got an idea, but it’s…complicated.”
“Go on,” Byron said slowly.
“Well, when we were in Boston, before we met you guys,” Reese explained, “the group I was with—“
“The ones who attacked us at the docks, or the ones your group attacked?” asked Tony.
Reese frowned. “The ones we attacked—the survivors, I guess. Some rough hombres.” Reese spread his hands to silence further comment. “Doesn’t matter—my point is when we attacked, we used a diversion to get everyone’s attention, then busted through the guards.”
“What was the diversion?” asked Byron, his bushy gray caterpillar eyebrows drawn down.
“Me—the guards knew me and wanted revenge for…” Reese looked at Byron and Tony. “Doesn’t matter. Me standing there drew their attention long enough for the others to launch the attack...which drew off the rest of the guards. It was a hot mess for a few minutes, but it worked. I think we can do the same here.”
“And how are we going to do that?” Tony asked. He glanced around the mostly empty tent. “We don’t know anyone, so it’s just us.”
The tent flap opened at the far end, and pastel-hued light spilled inside. A man came in, coughed and searched along the orderly rows of cots until he found his meager belongings and lay down with a casual wave in their direction.
Reese grinned and waved back, then turned to Byron and Tony, his voice low. “We’ve got to do something to draw their attention long enough to get Libby and Jo to the boats.”
“And clear the harbor. That’ll take time—you’re looking at a honey of a distraction,” Byron mused. “But you may be right—if they’re really hard up to keep the boats, they’ll have to keep Libby on a short leash.” He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes.
“So…what do we do?” asked Tony again.
“What’s the most important thing in the base?” asked Byron.
Tony blinked. “What?”
Reese understood. “No, he’s right—we attack the most important thing. The food supplies. That’s what caused the fight at the gate this morning. People outside are starving and they know the base has a stockpile. That lieutenant was bragging about it the other day when we first got here. Remember? That big cache down 3rd street?”
Byron snapped his fingers. “That’s right, the docs said something about breaking out the good stuff to tempt Libby into waking up. Needed to raise her blood sugar level, fast. They’ve got all sorts of candy and stuff down there.”
Byron glanced over Reese’s shoulder. "Libby told me today she overheard the doctors talking about the number of people that were sick and injured on the mainland—at least the ones that they knew about."
Reese nodded solemnly. "There's gotta be an awful lot of people hurting right now."
"That's just the thing," Byron said urgently. "The doctors are upset—they want to get to the mainland and help treat people. But they can't do it as long as major what's-his-face keeps everybody trapped here on Long Island."
"Wait—Captain Marsters told me that when their colonel went back to the mainland, everybody who volunteered to go with him was allowed to go. How come the doctors didn't go?"
Byron shrugged. "I don't know, I didn't ask Libby about that—but I'm willing to bet it's because the guys in charge don't want to be without somebody with medical experience. It's probably why they’re giving Libby the royal treatment."
Reese's eyes grew wide, and he looked at the others. "I know how we’re going to do this—the diversion."
"Well don't hold out on us, I'm all ears," Byron replied.
"The most important thing these guys have on the island isn't guns, it's food, like you said. When the locals get mad, there’s going to be a big fight. The Guards don't have enough bullets to shoot everybody—at some point the locals are going to get so mad they won’t care who lives and who dies, and they're gonna bust down these fences and take everything they want. Probably destroy everything in the process."
Tony nodded slowly. "I think you're right. I bet Major Robertson knows that, too," he said as he jabbed a finger at Reese.
"So, we hit their food," Byron said with a smirk. "We need to light it on fire or blow it up or something—get their attention. While that's going on..."
Reese jumped in. "We’ll take care that," Reese said as he inclined his head toward Tony. "When all the excitement starts, you bust out. I bet the docs won’t put up too much of a fight. While you're at it, see you can grab some extra antibiotics and insulin."
Byron nodded, a wicked grin on his face. "Jo’s still at the hospital tent, I’ll fill her in when I get there."
Let's do this,” Tony said. "The only question is when? Gotta be soon, right?"
"First light," Reese said with a determined set to his jaw.
Chapter 16
Spalding Residence
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Darien shut the garage door behind Harriet and activated his flashlight. They dropped their bags, and she groaned with the release of weight from her shoulders. He shined the light around and made sure everything was still exactly the way they'd left it. "Looks like we got lucky again—nobody's messed with the place."
"And why would they?" asked Harriet in a tired voice. He knew it would be a while before she forgave him for waking her up to go raid the Westin house in the middle of the night.
"Look, with everybody getting sick and taking all the supplies they can, we had to get what we could—tonight—before we lost it."
She waved away his concern and moved to the door that led inside the house. "I know, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going in to get what sleep I can for the rest of this night." She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. “I don't have the luxury of sleeping all day, unlike some people I know."
The door shut firmly behind her, and Darien sighed. He looked at the gear they’d brought back: two backpacks loaded with canned goods and dried prepackaged foods, two wheelie suitcases—the big one full of heavier canned goods, the smaller one packed with clothes and whatever else Harriet had managed to find in the laundry room. They’d left Spanner and Jon Boy behind to finish loading up their bags, and Jon Boy had volunteered to go back for a second trip.
Darien rubbed his hands through his hair. He supposed he'd have to go back as well—wouldn't be good to have the man in charge sitting around on his backside while everyone else sweated through the night. Especially if things were about to get as bad as he feared—Darien had to pull his own weight.
He was only halfway through sorting his backpack when he heard a crash, followed by a scream from inside the house. Darien jumped to his feet and sprinted for the door. He ripped it open and heard the sounds of a struggle from the kitchen.
"Shut up!" a low voice growled.
Harriet's shrill shriek pierced the still air inside the house again. Something crashed to the floor in the kitchen, and the struggle continued. Darien sprinted around the corner, then crashed into the couch with a loud curse. He knocked over the lamp at the edge of the couch and the noise provided a momentary distraction to the two combatants in the kitchen.
As he finally made it to the kitchen, he heard the clang of a piece of metal hitting soft tissue. A heavy grunt accompanied the sound of someone crashing to the floor a second later. Darien tripped over that someone and
flew headfirst into the kitchen table, and not only knocked over the table and two chairs, but created a complete mess of everything that had been neatly stacked on the table. He cursed as he got to his feet, but not as loudly as the person who'd been hit. The deep rumble of a man in pain met his ears as his eyes finally adjusted to the semidarkness in the kitchen.
"...kill you..." growled the man as he got up from the floor.
Harriet yelled, a high-pitched battle cry, and swung her weapon. Another loud clang and the man fell limp to the floor. His breath wheezed out of his chest and he lay still.
"Did I...d-did I kill him?" Harriet asked. A second later the black cast-iron pan she held in her hands fell to the floor with a sound eerily reminiscent of when it crashed into the back of the intruder’s head.
Darien scrambled forward and ignored the bits of glass on the floor that spiked his hands. He groped around the man's chest and face for a second, then found his neck and put two fingers there.
"Is he...?" Harriet began, breathless.
Darien hissed her quiet and concentrated. There. A second later, he sat back and relaxed. "He's still alive. Nice steady heartbeat. But you sure did a number on him—well done."
"He just...he came out of nowhere...and he scared me. I didn't know what else to do so I g-grabbed the first thing.”
"I guess we need to make sure you have a weapon on you at all times now, too—what's this world coming to?" Darien muttered as he got to his feet.
It took almost a half hour for Darien and Harriet to clean up the kitchen by the light of one dim candle. The intruder had busted through the kitchen sliding door and made a horrible mess of the curtains so Harriet fashioned a new set of blackout curtains from some blankets she pulled from one of the bedrooms upstairs.
Before long they were able to at least get the place put back in order and get the glass swept off the floor. Darien held the intruder—a large man with thick, nasty dreadlocks into a chair and tied him down securely. To wake him, Darien scooped a small cup of water from the water tank attached to the toilet down the hall. He came back and splashed the intruder in the face and waited as the man blubbered and sputtered to full consciousness.
He looked down, noticed his arms and legs were bound securely to the chair and flexed his not insignificant muscles to test the bindings. After a few grunts, the man relaxed and looked up at Darien with sullen, remorseless eyes.
Darien glanced at Harriet, then back at the intruder. He raised an eyebrow and waited. The man merely stared at him. If Darien had never been around men with that same thousand-yard stare, he might've been intimidated. He leaned forward and glared at the man. "Well? Want to explain yourself or do we have to do this the hard way?"
"Explain myself?" the man scoffed. "I saw you two fools walking down the street loaded up like gypsies. Busted in here and figured I'd get me some of what you got." He tried to shrug, but with his arms tied to the chair the movement looked more like a twitch.
"That's it?" asked Darien.
"You wanted more?" the guy growled.
Darien shrugged. “Well, yeah.” He walked over to the kitchen counter, withdrew a long knife from the block of cutlery next to the sink and walked back. He twisted the knife in the air and let the light from the candle flash off the blade.
The man's eyes grew wide as Darien put the blade to his throat. "If there's nothing else, there's no point in keeping you around, is there? Harriet be a dear and go get some towels, we’re gonna have some blood to clean up in a second." Darien began to apply pressure—just the slightest amount, and the man in the chair lurched back to avoid the blade at his throat.
"Okay, okay! You made your point! Freakin’ psycho!"
Darien kept the blade pressed against the man's neck. "Start talkin’."
The man lifted his chin to keep the blade as far away as possible and closed his eyes. "Look, I was sent down here to track the people that escaped us the other day. My group split up, and they left me here to keep an eye on things while they went back and reported to the boss. That's all I know—I was hungry and looking to score some food. That's it, I swear!"
Darien looked at Harriet. She crossed her arms and shrugged. "And I know this is the truth...how?" Darien asked.
"Please! You got a knife to my throat, man—of course it's the truth! What, you think I’d lie? You already said you’re gonna cut my head off..."
"I still might," Darien mused. He sat back abruptly and pulled the knife with him. "Haven't made my mind up yet."
The man in the chair slumped forward and exhaled. "Look, I didn't mean anybody no harm. If you just let me go, I'll be on my way and we can forget all about this, okay? No harm, no foul—and it’s not like I even took anything."
“You broke my patio door!” Harriet groused.
“I’m the only one that’s been hurt here,” replied the intruder. “That’s gotta count for something.”
Darien ignored his pleas. "So, who you working for? What outfit you run with?"
The man looked up at Darien, as if wary of a trap. "I'm with the Hedge Knights.”
“Never heard of ‘em. Where’d you come from?”
The intruder rolled his neck. “We hit Rolling Hills yesterday. ”
Darien arched his eyebrow again. He glanced at Harriet.
"That's where I heard the sheriff was concentrating all his men at, isn’t it?" she asked with a frown at the intruder.
“I don’t know anything about that, but we put a hurtin’ on the pigs.”
Darien pursed his lips and thought. "Okay, so you're working with this crew up north. Why are you down here?"
"Like I said, we was following the woman—she's the only one in that neighborhood who got away. The boss don't like loose ends." The prisoner turned and looked away. "We got enough problems with those army guys—don't need anybody coming back looking for revenge."
“The army?" asked Harriet.
"Yeah, that sheriff musta called in reinforcements or something. We had a good thing goin’—hit three different neighborhoods before we found this one. They sent me out just before the fighting started, but the army showed up on my way out. That's why I gotta make sure and find a new place before we send word back. I'm just happy the broad led us here. Y’all got some cheddar up in here."
“What in the world is he talking about? We don’t have any cheese,” Harriet murmured.
"So,” Darien said over her, “you guys followed somebody here from Rolling Hills, and now you think you’re gonna take over this neighborhood?"
The intruder grinned, his teeth white in the dim light. "Yeah, that's the idea, bro."
Darien gripped the knife with white knuckles and leaned close. He could smell the fear and sweat on the man's face. "I got a problem with that. This here is my turf. I found it first."
The man sneered but kept a wary eye on the knife. "Yeah? Don't look much like yours. What with you hiding in this house and all." His eyes shifted to Harriet. "This place is easy on the eyes, though—"
The knife was back at the prisoner’s throat again. "Choose your next words carefully," Darien growled in a low voice.
The prisoner locked eyes with Darien and nodded, a short, abrupt movement. "Look. I ain’t the one who makes the call. They just sent me down to scope out the place, that's all. The others went back—"
Darien frowned. "When?"
"I don't know—yesterday? Yesterday morning?"
"How long have you been here?" asked Harriet as she pulled her shirt tighter across her chest.
The intruder scrunched up his face in thought. "Like...three days? Long enough to make sure the place wasn't set up like a fortress—we found a few of those. People are crazy, man."
"How long did it take you to get here?" asked Darien.
We had a car stashed down the road. We followed the people who got out—they had a car, too."
“You don’t think...did you see that car that pulled into Cami’s place yesterday?” Harriet gasped.
“Yeah,
” Darien said over his shoulder. He pressed the knife a little harder. "How long?" he demanded again.
"I don't know, man! Maybe a couple hours?"
Darien relaxed and removed the knife from the man's throat. He stood for a moment, then looked down. "So, what happens next?"
The prisoner blinked at him. "You tell me—you're the one with the knife..."
Darien put the knife down and crossed his arms. "No, I mean what happens next with your boss. They send down a bunch of guys to shoot the place up and take over? How’s this going to work? Because I got news for you, there's a lot of people here—more by the day it seems—that ain’t gonna roll over and let you just walk in here and take over. We already tried."
"That so?" asked the prisoner, his eyes glinting with interest. “What happened?"
"Turns out the house that we picked on had somebody inside shootin’ a fifty.”
“A fifty what?”
“A .50 caliber sniper rifle.”
“You kiddin’ me?” asked the prisoner, as his eyes bulged wide open. "Man, that had to be something."
"Yeah, you haven't lived unless you watched someone's head turn into a pink mist," Darien said sarcastically. "And then just as we were about to finish ‘em off, the sheriff showed up."
The prisoner sucked air through his teeth. "See? That's what I mean. Freakin’ sheriff screwed everything up for us, too—did it to us more than once."
Darien thought about the situation for a moment, then carefully reached down and untied the man's arms and legs. "I think we’re on the same side here," Darien said as he stepped back.
The prisoner stood, a head taller than Darien, but not nearly as thickly built. He rubbed his wrists for a second and narrowed his eyes at Darien. Then he grinned broadly. "Yeah, you're probably right. No hard feelings?" he asked as he stuck out his hand.
Darien shook hands and grinned. "No hard feelings. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?"
"You got that right. Boss’ll do anything to take down that sheriff."
Broken Tide | Book 3 | Maelstrom Page 15
