Chain Breakers (Nuclear Winter Book 3)

by Nathan Jones

  Sure, he saw similar hatred in the eyes of the freed slaves, and in plenty of his own fellow soldiers in the 103rd and 51st as well, but that felt more justified to him. They actually had a grievance against the CCZ.

  But either way the civilians weren't his problem: the three kids he needed to lug to the safety of the trucks were.

  Pete sought out the clearest and quickest route to where the 51st had parked all the spare vehicles they'd brought along to accommodate the freed slaves. On the way he caught sight of the first plumes of smoke from the surrounding fields as they were set alight, the green plants slow to catch and sending up dense, black clouds when they did.

  That would draw every eye for miles, and bring every blockhead who saw it running to investigate. Which meant it was about time to leave. Unfortunately they still had to finish clearing the camp, stripping it of anything useful, gathering up and loading the freed slaves, and executing the slavers. With over two hundred soldiers working fast that could take anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours, depending on how thorough they wanted to be.

  Pete had to wonder if whoever was lighting those fires had jumped the gun.

  The sight put an itch between his shoulder blades, that reminder that he should be helping with the work. He quickened his steps and reached the trucks, catching the eye of a lieutenant and getting his signal to take the kids to one of the trucks currently being loaded up.

  Zach and Kelly willingly climbed up into the back of the vehicle, accepting a helping hand from the freed slaves within. But when Pete tried to put Lily down in the back of the truck she clung to him with a death grip and started to keen again.

  He didn't have the heart to insist, and anyway the truck was pretty much full and her panic wasn't holding things up. So he sat down on the back bumper still holding her; even light as the kid was, carrying her weight along with all his gear had been getting tiring. It was nice to rest for a moment.

  Since he was sticking around the other two kids hovered near him, obviously grateful for his presence. “How old are you all?” he asked to break the uncomfortable silence.

  He was shocked by the answer. Kelly and Zach were both twelve, while Lily had recently turned thirteen. In their emaciated state he would've pegged them as three or four years younger, and could only hope their malnourishment didn't have any lasting effects. Aside from obviously having stunted their growth a bit.

  No time like the present to address that. He pulled some jerky and candy bars out of his belt pouch and handed them out to the kids as he kept talking. “So what were you doing in the administration building?”

  It was Kelly who answered around ravenous mouthfuls of chocolate; all three kids had gone straight for the candy. “They had us doing errands for them, bringing them food and coffee and sweeping up and stuff.”

  Zach piped up. “And they made us do their paperwork when they needed something in English, copying down notes and stuff like that.”

  Well that didn't sound too bad, all things considered. “Did they hurt you?”

  Pete had meant in general, and young as she was Lily's answer surprised him. “Do you mean did they take us away to the building we aren't supposed to go near, like they did with the older teenagers and grownups whenever the soldiers came?”

  His stomach clenched in revulsion at the very idea, but to his relief the girl immediately shook her head. “They never did that to us. They hit us if we were too slow or made mistakes, or if they were just in a bad mood, and they'd say stuff in Chinese that sounded awful and then they'd laugh at us. But mostly it wasn't too bad.”

  Pete was relieved to hear that. The very idea of these children suffering some of the horrors he'd heard about and that Lily herself had hinted at simultaneously sickened him and made his blood boil. He glanced towards the center of camp, although his view of it was blocked by tents and buildings, and couldn't dredge up any pity for the slavers facing their fate there.

  Eventually he was able to talk Zach and Kelly farther back into the truck with a few nice women they knew from the camp. But Lily steadfastly refused to loosen the death grip her scrawny arms had around his neck, and started to panic every time he tried to get her to let go.

  Short of prying the kid free and tossing her in the truck he didn't see how he was going to ditch her, and in her fragile state that would've been heartlessly cruel. Eventually he gave up and carried her back through camp to his transport.

  To his surprise by the time he got there Epsilon was already packing up, assigned to scout the route back to the Mississippi to be sure it was still clear. Sergeant Branson was annoyed that Pete had been gone and hadn't helped the squad clear their section of camp, and he got even surlier when Pete explained the situation with Lily and asked permission for his young tagalong to ride with them.

  The grizzled noncom finally agreed, though he insisted she ride at the very front near the cab in case there was trouble and Epsilon had to deploy in a hurry. “And you do realize you're putting that little girl in danger taking her with us, right?” he demanded. “What if the enemy has a grenade or RPG, or gets lucky with a bullet? She'd be safer with the rest of the convoy.”

  It was Lily herself who answered, voice barely a peep yet somehow still defiant. “I don't care, I'm staying with him.”

  Branson sighed. “In you go, then,” he said, waving towards the truck. But as Pete passed he continued in a low voice, not seeming to care if the girl could still hear. “The 103rd may have picked you up as a stray, Private, but this is pushing it. She's rejoining the other freed slaves once we get back to camp.”

  “Got it, Sarge.” Pete had no intention of adopting a stray, and whether the kid liked it or not he was going to insist she go where she belonged the moment they arrived in camp.

  Maneuvering Lily to a more comfortable hold, with some effort he climbed up into the truck with her, scooting between benches down to the front near the cab. With some coaxing he was able to get the traumatized girl to sit next to him, huddled up in the corner where the side of the truck and the cab met and staring past him with fearful eyes as the rest of the squad piled onto the benches.

  Most of his squad mates either ignored Lily or gave her reassuring smiles. Although Morris, who slid into the seat across from them, pointedly sniffed the air. “Jeez, Childress. You piss yourself again?”

  Pete wasn't sure which of them was more embarrassed, him or Lily. Thankfully Saunders, wedged up against Morris, intervened by hitting the loudmouth on the shoulder. Hard. “Dude, what's wrong with you?”

  Morris bit back an angry reply and glanced at the girl, taking in her sodden dress. His belligerence faded and he had the grace to look embarrassed. “It happens,” he muttered.

  The uncomfortable silence was broken by the noise of the engine starting up. Moments later the truck lurched into motion and they were on their way again, leaving the burning fields of Lost Home behind them.

  Chapter Two

  The Kid

  The drive to the Mississippi was tense but uneventful, with no sign of blockhead patrols between them and the safety of the border.

  Epsilon had almost reached the river, with orders to join the squads holding the barges there and start preparing the boats to begin bringing all the convoy's vehicles across, when they got word from the convoy's rearguard that a blockhead patrol had just rolled into Lost Home.

  It wasn't likely the enemy would be able to catch the convoy in time, since the 103rd and 51st were already an hour gone from the camp and a half hour from the safety of the river. Even if the CCZ forces radioed ahead to their patrols along the Mississippi, it was doubtful a defense could be scrambled that was capable of taking on two full companies of veteran soldiers.

  Even so, Captain Tremblay ordered a couple squads from the 103rd to hang back and prepare an ambush. If the blockhead patrol at the slave camp did decide to come rushing after them howling for blood it was an opportunity to eliminate them, and maybe capture their vehicles and equipment in the bargain. />
  Epsilon reached the landing spot, and while their buddies across the river got the ferries back into the water and started across for the first pickup Sergeant Branson had the squad drive out and set up sentry positions a mile north, south, northwest, and southwest. The sergeant himself planted the transport on the road west of the landing spot, making sure the way stayed clear for the approaching convoy.

  Saddled with Lily, Pete tried to convince her to stay with the ferries where she'd be safest, and also first across when the convoy arrived. She seemed tempted by the idea of getting to the other side of the Mississippi as soon as possible, but still steadfastly refused to let him ditch her.

  So he found himself assigned to the vehicle as driver, with the girl huddled on the seat beside him. He tried not to be obvious about rolling down the window, wishing he had a change of clothes for her, or at least a bucket of water so she could wash up. He supposed if she could put up with the discomfort so could he, at least until they got back to camp.

  After a few minutes she spoke up in a quiet peep. “I thought we were at the river. Why haven't we crossed to safety yet?”

  Pete gave her a smile that was slightly more exasperated than reassuring. “You said you didn't want to stay with the ferries.”

  “I want to go across with you,” she insisted. “But why can't we go now? The ferries aren't even being used.”

  “Because I'm a soldier and my duty is to be here, watching the road.” Lily didn't seem to like that, although she finally nodded reluctantly. Pete rested a comforting hand atop her dirty blond hair, glad there wasn't any sign of lice, and made his voice as kind as possible as he continued. “We're safe here, Lily. We just need to wait until the rest of the convoy arrives and we'll all cross together.”

  She was thoughtful for a few moments. “If you're watching the road that means there's something to watch out for. So it isn't really safe, is it?”

  Well that was inconveniently astute logic. “Even military bases hundreds of miles away from the border have men keeping watch. They're perfectly safe, but they still take precautions.” The girl's only response was a doubtful look, and Pete shifted uncomfortably. “Okay yeah, we're still inside the CCZ and there might be some danger. But I promise I won't let anything happen to you.”

  Lily seemed to accept that. She nodded and settled back, peering cautiously over the dashboard through the windshield. “Do you have any more food?”

  Biting back a smile, Pete dug in his belt pouch. “The candy's all gone, but I've got jerky.”

  She didn't seem to have any complaints, and by the time they received word that the convoy's advance scouts were only minutes away she'd gnawed her way through several strips of the tough meat.

  Branson opened the passenger door and hopped in next to Lily. “Back to the river,” he snapped. “With the convoy arriving this road is free of threats, so that means while the rest of the squad keeps watch the two of us are helping out on ferry duty.”

  Pete bit back a groan as he started the engine and turned the truck around. Ferry duty meant making sure the boats were pulled in close enough to shore for vehicles to drive up inside once the ramps were dropped. Under ideal circumstances that could be done using ropes from the bank to tow them in, but on the earlier crossing he'd noticed that the soldiers given the task were often forced to wade into the shallows to manhandle the ferries.

  Oh well. Maybe he'd seen enough of their mistakes to avoid repeating them; anything to get them across the river and back to Camp Pearson faster. And honestly after hitting the slave camp with few casualties then getting away clean with hundreds of freed slaves, any complaints felt a bit petty.

  When they arrived back at the landing spot the squads in charge of the ferries had already pulled them up against the bank with their ramps down, ready for the first load of trucks.

  Branson ordered Pete to drive their truck up the nearest ramp to go across first, to save that little bit of time. Calm as he acted, the sergeant also had to be feeling the tickle between his shoulder blades of being on enemy soil, where blockheads could show up out of nowhere at any moment to try to prevent their escape. One of the convoy's advance scout vehicles would pick up the Epsilon sentries once everyone else was across so they could cross too, but for now they did whatever they could to speed things up.

  “You want to go with the truck?” Pete asked Lily as he shut off the engine. “You'd be safe on the other side like you wanted, on Canadian soil.”

  The little girl crinkled her nose. “Since when is Illinois in Canada?”

  He considered a snarky response, then just shrugged. “For a couple months now, give or take. Not sure when exactly it was made official, but now all the States east of the Mississippi belong to Canada. Well aside from in the South, where Mexico's taking territory.”

  “But you're an American soldier,” Lily protested. “If Canada took all those States then why are you helping them?”

  Pete glanced at the soldiers waiting to take the ferry across, who were looking at him impatiently. “No time to explain all that right now,” he said, opening the driver's door and slipping out. “So do you want to cross with the truck, or-”

  Before he could finish the question the girl hurled herself out the door and slammed into his chest, clinging like a spider monkey. “I want to stay with you.”

  He should've expected it, but it was still a bit irritating. “I have to work,” Pete warned, looking down at the gaunt, frightened face and wide, pleading green eyes. He should insist, but that was a hard face to say no to. “I can't carry you around, so you'll need to find an out of the way spot to wait until it's time for us to cross. If you go with the truck now you'll be safe and comfortable on the other side, and no one will hurt you.”

  “I'll find a spot,” she promised solemnly. “As long as it's not too far away.”

  Pete bit back a sigh and carried her to a thick patch of grass up the bank a ways, setting her down. True to her word she didn't try to cling, settling down with her knees pulled up to her chest and her chin resting on them. Her eyes followed him as he made his way over to the ferry and helped launch it, and every time he glanced over at her he found her staring at him.

  It was impossible to understand the kid's reasoning. She would've been much safer and calmer with the other refugees and her two friends, surrounded by their comforting presence. The only thing Pete could figure was that since he'd been the one to find her and take her out of the camp, she'd somehow decided that in a world gone mad he represented the only safety she could count on.

  He hoped that didn't present problems when it was time to ditch her back at camp.

  Just as he'd feared, wrangling the ferry involved wading out into the shallow, muddy water, trying to wrestle the large craft's bulk without slipping and falling face first into the river. When he returned to the bank his pants were wet up to the knees, and his boots were caked in mud and squelched with every step.

  While he'd been working the convoy had arrived, and four trucks from the 51st were already pulling up onto the other ferries. Pete was about to wade back in to help launch the boats when he noticed that someone had joined Lily where she still sat watching. The girl was obviously frightened and trying to hide it, even though the officer with her had dropped into a crouch and was speaking in low, kind tones.

  Lily pointed at Pete, obviously answering a question, and the officer turned. Once Pete saw the man's face he bit back a groan and cursed inwardly.

  It was Captain Simard, commander of the 51st Company.

  The man didn't look angry, but as a rule Pete preferred to avoid the attention of senior officers. Especially in situations just like this, where he was probably about to land in a world of trouble for dragging around a freed prisoner instead of leaving her with the group where she belonged.

  Simard motioned curtly and Pete hurried over, cursing to himself again as Lily bolted to him and clutched at his right hand. He disentangled himself from her grip and moved her over to his lef
t side so he could salute the officer, painfully aware of how absurd he must look.

  The captain curtly gestured for him to relax. “This is one of the slaves we rescued?”

  “Yes, sir. From the administration building.”

  “Ah. The slavers are snatching up children, now.” The captain gave Lily a kind look, and Pete a sterner one. “Why isn't she with the others?”

  Pete cringed inwardly, ready for it to hit the fan. It would've been nice if the girl had chosen that moment to once again insist she wanted to stay with him, but Lily seemed cowed by the officer and stayed silent huddled at Pete's side. “I tried to drop her off, sir. She insisted on staying with me, and my squad leader agreed it would probably be okay. At least until we get back to camp.”

  Simard frowned and motioned for Pete to step aside with him. Pete firmly shooed Lily back to her patch of grass and joined the captain out of earshot. “She's suffering from emotional trauma?” the officer asked quietly.

  Pete hesitated. “Probably, sir. We had to shoot some blockhead guards in front of her and the other two kids in the administration building. She was freaking out when I got her out of there.”

  “I suppose it's natural for her to latch onto whatever stability she can find in that situation.” Simard sighed. “You'll have to be delicate about leaving her with the other freed slaves once we reach the camp. And be sure to let the aid workers know about her situation so they can offer whatever counseling they can manage.”

  “Yes, sir.” Pete felt a surge of relief that he wasn't in trouble.

  The thud of boots from behind turned Pete around, and he saw Branson approaching. The sergeant was glowering at him, an implied threat if Pete had done anything to get him in trouble.

  The captain turned as well, accepting Branson's salute. “This soldier's in your squad, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Simard finally smiled. “I was just commending him for going out of his way to help a freed slave through a frightening and traumatic situation.”