Why was it so hard to think right now?
He was prey. And he was running.
“And if I refuse to kill him?” Sam asked, his gaze going to Frenchie and finding him with his eyes shuttered hard, tears streaming out of them. Unable to face the situation.
“My God, kid,” the operative growled. “You gotta know what that looks like. A known traitor, and you refuse to take him out? No, you gotta do this. Or…well…you know what I’m gonna have to do.”
It was all a trick. It had to be. There wasn’t really a round in the chamber. Yes, that was it. They were just trying to see if Sam would actually pull the trigger. When it clicked on an empty chamber, the operative would laugh, and this whole fucked up situation would be thrown into the light.
It was obvious. This was all a ruse.
Maybe because it was the only thing that made any sense to him in that moment, or maybe because he knew, deep down inside, that he had no other option, Sam raised the pistol and pointed it at Frenchie.
“Sam,” Marie warned.
“Shut the fuck up!” one of the men snapped, grabbing Marie by the shoulder and putting the muzzle of his rifle close to her head.
Sam stayed focused on Frenchie. He needed Frenchie to look at him. He needed him to understand. Because when that striker clicked home on an empty chamber, Frenchie needed to know that Sam had known it was empty—Frenchie needed to know that Sam wouldn’t murder him.
A hiss of breath near his face: “You gotta take him out, Sameer!”
“Frenchie,” Sam called.
Frenchie’s eyes popped open. Saw the pistol aimed at him. His flushed face blanched a terrible white and he nearly fell over.
“Hey! Hey! Frenchie, look at me, you motherfucker!” Sam took a step towards him, the pistol steady in his grip. “Look at me.”
Frenchie looked at him. Really looked. Saw what was in his eyes.
“You know why I have to do this,” Sam said, each word running over with unsaid meanings. “It’s all going to be okay, Frenchie. Now, nod if you understand me.”
Frenchie nodded, a violent, shaky gesture.
“Quit wasting time,” the operative urged. “Take the traitor out. Prove yourself.”
The gun’s not loaded. It’s not loaded. It can’t be.
But it could. That was the ugly reality. And Sam knew it, even as his finger tightened on the trigger. But it wasn’t something he could dwell on. What good did that do him? It was much better to convince himself that this was all a cruel trick. It was much better that way, because Sam didn’t see a way out of this, he didn’t see how he could walk away from this, how the mission could still be viable, if he didn’t pull that trigger.
God, I hope I can convince Frenchie that I knew it wasn’t loaded.
God, I hope he’s not so mad at me that he runs off or some shit.
God, I hope this thing really isn’t loaded.
The trigger broke.
And the gun bucked.
The flash, the boom, the flinch that went all the way through Sam.
And Frenchie fell.
TWENTY
─▬▬▬─
NO PUNCHES PULLED
Lee stood front and center before what appeared to be the vast majority of the people in Vici. He scowled out at them with his one good eye, the other covered by the patch. He didn’t bother hiding his attitude. He was over playing politics. All that had ever gotten him was grief.
This was war. Lee Harden was its harbinger. He didn’t need to smile and convince. He only needed to speak the truth. Some would listen. Others wouldn’t. Those that wouldn’t would die. That was their problem, not his.
The meeting space was in a church in the center of the settlement. It didn’t look like a church anymore. Lee could see the places where the pews used to be, but they’d long since been removed, perhaps to be hacked up for firewood. Now it was just one giant open space, with a dais a few steps up from the floor.
It was close, and crowded, and it stank.
It reminded Lee of the Camp Ryder Building, and brought back a flood of unpleasant memories that deepened his frown, and his resolution not to play games with these people.
He stood upon the dais, like some sort of guest speaker. With him was the stocky woman who was apparently in charge of Vici. She’d introduced herself as Cassandra—“Call me Cass.” Along with her stood the men that had identified themselves as Worley and Guidry.
Down off the dais and to the side, stood Angela, her arms draped protectively over Abby, and Brinly, accompanied by a few of his Marines. They’d chosen—at Lee’s insistence—not to show their force just yet. The rest of their convoy of soldiers and guerillas waited in relative safety, a few miles away.
The murmur of the crowd had grown to a dull roar when Cass cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered, “Yo! Quiet down and listen up!”
The people responded immediately. Which Lee thought was a good sign. They were used to listening to someone and not arguing. That was better than most.
Lee scanned the faces in the crowd, gauging the expressions. The people that were focused in. The people that looked geared up and ready. The people that looked doubtful and reserved. Others that looked downright hostile.
Tellingly, the hostile ones seemed to stick to the back of the crowd.
Lee snorted quietly to himself when he saw them back there. You just couldn’t escape human nature. If you gathered five people together, you’d have two that were determined to be assholes. In this crowd of about a hundred and some change, Lee speculated that the handful that he could spot as the hard cases were just the tip of the iceberg.
“I’m sure there’s been a lot of talk going on,” Cass continued, projecting a surprisingly powerful voice out of her small frame. “Let’s put aside all the bullshit you might have heard and get it straight from the horse’s mouth.” She turned and looked at Lee. “This here is the horse. He’s been positively identified as the Lee Harden, one of the founders of the United Eastern States, which has, unfortunately…” She trailed off, then gave a grim smirk. “Well, I’ll just let him tell it.”
She gestured with one hand, giving Lee the floor.
Old habits, ingrained into him despite his natural inclinations: Lee had the urge to ease fears, to explain away defeats, and try to bolster support. But sometimes old habits withered and dried up. Sometimes your true nature reasserts itself when the situation demands it.
Lee wouldn’t pull his punches anymore. “The United Eastern States is dead.” Lee endured the disconsolate murmurs with a blank expression. When they died down to silence again, he continued. “Hence, why I’m here, and not there. Due to infighting and a massive horde of what we call primals, and you call teepios, we initially lost Fort Bragg. We regrouped in another Safe Zone in Georgia, called Butler. Before we could re-secure Fort Bragg, the teepios moved out and Greeley moved in. They used it as a staging point to assault Butler. And they won. Or, at least, they took Butler. But they didn’t beat us.”
Someone near the front of the crowd raised their hand like a kid in class and started to speak, but Cass immediately cut the man off. “Let’s hold our questions until the end,” she commanded. “Let the man finish, and then we’ll open the floor.”
Lee gave Cass a minor nod of appreciation. Back to the crowd. “They didn’t beat us. Many of us got out. We’re still alive, still armed, and we’re mighty pissed off. In addition to that, it’s come to our attention that the so-called President Briggs over-extended himself by invading the United Eastern States. His fuel reserves are essentially nil, and Greeley itself is currently guarded by a skeleton crew, because all of his trained fighters are in North Carolina and Georgia. Or, at least, they were as of ten days ago. Which brings me to another point.
“That invasion force will be on the move, if they’re not already. They want me dead, and they want to crush any resistance, once and for all. It won’t be long before Briggs realizes that I’m coming for him, and he’ll seek to
send that force after me, as well as hardening his defenses in Greeley. I aim to be on his doorstep before he can really get his feet under him. I aim to take advantage of his shitty strategy and make him pay. And to do that, I need fighters.”
Lee stopped there. Frowned deeper. Considered saying something else. He cast a glance at Angela and Brinly, who looked like they expected him to continue, but…he didn’t have much else to say. He shrugged. “And that’s why I’m here.”
Like Angela and Brinly, the crowd of people seemed to wait expectantly for something else. Something inspiring. Something that would get them all hot and bothered and ready to take up arms.
Lee had nothing to give them. Nothing that they wanted to hear anyways.
Cass arched her eyebrows. “Okay. Is that it?”
Lee nodded. “Yeah. That’s it.”
She blinked a few times, as though perplexed. Then shook it off and looked at the crowd. “Alright then. I guess…we’ll open the floor to questions.”
The same person who had jumped the gun on questions earlier stepped forward again. “What’s your strategy? You say you want to take Greeley. I want to know how you think that’s possible.”
A ripple of assent went through the crowd. Good question, they all thought.
Lee arched his eyebrow at the questioner. “My strategy at the moment would be to not share my strategy with people who haven’t agreed to fight alongside me.”
The man looked taken aback. “You can’t honestly expect us to agree to fight without knowing what we’re getting into.”
Lee nodded. “Fair enough. You want to know what you’re getting into? I can tell you that. You’re getting into a war. Whether you like it or not. Whether you agree to fight with me, or you turn your back on me, it’s coming for you all the same. There aren’t any neutral parties anymore. If you knew me, you’d know I don’t like ultimatums, but I’m not here to blow sunshine up your ass. I’m here to speak the truth. It’s war. Briggs’s version of America, versus the people’s. And anyone that thinks they’re going to sit pretty on the fence is gonna get swept up and forced to pick a side.”
A woman in the middle of the crowd raised her voice. “We heard a rumor about some small settlements that used to have Cornerstone outposts in them getting wiped out. Is that because of you?”
Lee pulled his head back. “Is it because of me? I guess you could choose to see it that way if you want. Maybe that wouldn’t have happened if I’d been sitting on my ass doing nothing. But I’m choosing to fight. Our enemies will probably do worse things before all this is over.”
“So you don’t care about those people that got murdered?”
“I don’t accept responsibility for the actions of a tyrant,” Lee growled. “One way or another, he’s getting taken down. And he’ll probably scorch the earth to try to stop it from happening. I can’t control what he does. I can only work to make sure he’s never able to do something like that again.”
A new face, towards the back: “So Briggs knows that you’re coming. You don’t even have the advantage of surprise.”
Lee clenched his jaw. “I don’t know what Briggs knows or doesn’t know.”
“You seem awful fucking laissez-faire about this.”
“Do I?” Lee grunted. His eyes strayed to the far back, just a few people behind the current speaker. A small group moved for the exit, their movements surreptitious, their glances veiled. Lee’s eyes narrowed at them. The way that they looked…Lee had seen it so many times.
He cleared his throat. Refocused, though his peripheral attention was on those half-dozen people now slipping out the back door. “You want me to be something I’m not. You want me to come in here and give you a back massage and tell you everything’s going to be alright. Well, it’s not. I won’t apologize for leveling the uncomfortable truth at you. Consider me a messenger. My message has been delivered. You know what needs to happen, and you know the consequences of doing nothing. There’s really nothing else that I need to say about it.”
His eyes went to Angela and Brinly again. And Abby.
Angela looked mortified. Brinly was stone-faced.
Strangely, Abby was smiling. Like she knew exactly what Lee was saying. Like she got it.
Lee’s next words caught in his throat as he stared at the girl. He let out a low cough to clear the blockage. Waved an unsteady hand at the crowd. “I have nothing else to say. I’ll be camped out three miles south of you. I’ll give you until dawn tomorrow to decide what you want to do.”
In the shell-shocked silence, Lee hitched his way down off the dais, striding past Angela and Brinly without looking at them. “Let’s go,” he murmured. “Trust me on this.”
***
Sam staggered back into the flat. There was no other word for it. He couldn’t feel his feet.
Honestly, he couldn’t feel much. He was stuck in a nightmare.
The Cornerstone operatives that had escorted he and Marie back up the stairs to the flat simply turned and left without another word.
What the hell had he been thinking?
His eyes ranged over the flat, saw the shapes of his team moving towards him, heard their voices distantly, as though his head was stuck underwater. He couldn’t see their faces. For a moment a splinter of panic nipped at him—was he crying? Was that what made their faces so blurry?
But no. He blinked and his eyes were dry. It just took a moment to get his eyes to focus.
What would Lee do?
Gradually, the tumult of voices honed into to actual words. They were asking about Frenchie. Where’s Frenchie? What happened to him? Did they take him? Where did he go?
Marie’s voice, cold as frosted metal: “Cornerstone took him.”
Sam jerked at the statement. He felt Marie’s hand on his shoulder. It was as hot as her voice was cold. He pulled away from it. “No.”
Marie gave him a warning look, but Sam was not to be deterred. He shook his head violently. “No they didn’t.”
Jones, Pickell, and Johnson—their heads swiveled back and forth in unison.
It would have been comical if Sam had any inkling of humor left in him.
“Sam…” Marie murmured, her voice matching her expression.
Sam held up a hand. “I killed him. Alright? I’m not gonna fucking lie about it.”
“You killed him?” Johnson breathed. Johnson, who was Frenchie’s friend. The two new guys on the squad. Bonded together by their rookie status.
Jones raised both hands, patting the air. “Sam, I know you like to take responsibility for everything, but if Cornerstone killed him, that’s not your fault. That’s—”
“Would you shut the fuck up?” Sam said, but the words had no heat behind them. Only tired desperation. He locked eyes with Jones. “You weren’t there. I was. And Marie is just trying to cover for me. I shot him. In the head. I executed him.” Sam looked away from Jones. From everyone. Found a spot on the wall. He waved dismissively at Marie. “Go ahead and tell them the truth.”
“Alright fine,” Marie spat. “It was a loyalty test. They put a gun in Sam’s hand, and they forced him to do it. They claimed they knew Frenchie was allied with Lee Harden. Said that Sam had to take him out or they’d kill us all. Sam didn’t have another option.”
The words I didn’t think the gun was loaded came to Sam’s mouth, but he stopped them there, right behind his clenched teeth.
What an infantile thing to say.
The silence of the others became a hollow ringing in Sam’s ears. It began to hum, and it took on the tones of revilement, of accusation, of hatred.
A loud blubbering noise snapped the humming quiet. Sam dragged his eyes to the one he knew had made the sound: Johnson. His shoulders stooped. His eyes spilling over. His lips quivering. God, but he looked like a fucking child.
He looks like you, hiding under a stump, crying for your dead family.
Never again.
Sam had promised himself that he’d never be afraid again, that his fear
would never again cause the death of the people that he cared about. But what happens when your fear kills one to save the others?
“You killed him?” Johnson retched out. “You fucking shot Frenchie?”
Pickell stepped forward quickly, hands raised as though to stop a fight from happening. “Let’s all take a minute before we get overly emotional about this.”
“Overly emotional?” Johnson nearly shrieked. “He was my friend! I know you don’t give a fuck about him but—”
Jones turned and popped him in the mouth. One quick jab that rocked Johnson’s head and caused him to stumble backwards a step. “Quiet down before you say something dumb, you half-boot fuck. You think we’re at home in footie pajamas watching cartoons and eating animal crackers? We’re in fucking…” Jones stopped, lowered his own voice to a harsh whisper. “We’re in fucking enemy territory. We are fucking surrounded by people that don’t trust us and will kill us the second they have an excuse. You wanna cry for your dead buddy, you go right ahead. None of us are going to judge you. But put shit into perspective, Johnson. One dead is better than all dead.”
Johnson held his mouth, glaring over the top of his hand at Jones, and then over Jones’s shoulder at Sam.
Pickell shuffled between Jones and Johnson, hooking Jones under the arm and pushing him back. “Alright. That’s good. We’re all good.”
Johnson didn’t reply. He removed his hand from his mouth. There wasn’t even any blood. His lip looked a little swollen, but that was all. Jones hadn’t hit him that hard. His teeth were bared in a savage grimace, though. Hatred. Rage.
He spun towards the door and managed to take two steps toward it before Marie blocked his way, a single finger pointed at Johnson. “Where the fuck you think you’re going?”
“Marie,” Johnson growled. His fists balled at his sides.
The motion—the implication of those fists—was like a single red spark landing on a bed of gunpowder. Sam lurched forward, snatched up Johnson’s wrist, intending to pull him away from the door. But the second Johnson felt the contact, he spun, eyes flashing.
Lee Harden Series | Book 5 | Unbowed Page 20
