Free World Apocalypse Series (Book 3): Captive

by T. K. Malone

  And then the bullets started to fly.

  They came from everywhere, but might just as well have been from nowhere. The truck slewed around, Loser clearly trying to outrun the ambush but being hampered by the litter of tree trunks, then it lurched and teetered on two wheels, the driver’s door flying open before Loser jumped out, rifle in hand. Zac skidded to a halt and hurled himself off his bike, rolling across the road, shotgun held close, before slamming into a trunk. He sprang up, too aware he’d not gained cover as shots raked the trunk above his head. Then the truck exploded in a huge ball of fire, throwing him and Billy off their feet and along the road. Out of the corner of his eye, Zac saw Noodle flying through the air ahead of a wall of flames which billowed out toward the redwoods and washed up into their canopy.

  There was a moment’s silence, when even the gunfire stopped, before a crescendo of reports sounded out as the truck’s cargo of ammunition detonated. Zac lay on the road, arms over his head, and tried to remember how to pray. But then he felt a gun nozzle in the nape of his neck.

  Slowly, he moved his hands apart, pushed himself to his knees and then locked his fingers behind his head. In front of him, Billy was in much the same predicament. From head to foot, the soldier now standing over his friend looked like something from one of Connor’s futuristic movies: all dressed in black yet somehow shimmering in the light of the burning truck, his face hidden within a full-face helmet. The exploding ammunition continued to zip past Zac’s ears, taking great chunks out of the trees and showering them in severed branches. The mysterious soldier, though, didn’t seem at all concerned.

  Slowly, the ammunition in the truck began to peter out, until, for a brief while at least, it fell silent, as though no one quite expected it to be the end. A couple more bangs sounded, but everything then became silent once more. When Zac tried to look around, to see who was at the other end of the gun in his neck, the nozzle pressed even harder against him.

  “Laura?” he shouted.

  “Fine, Zac,” came back from not too far away.

  “Noodle?” he then called.

  “Dandy.”

  “Loser?”

  “Boss.”

  Zac felt the nozzle withdraw, Billy’s captor doing the same, but then the man switched his gun around, lifted it high and brought its butt down hard on Billy’s head. Then Zac knew that was exactly what would happen to…

  Zac woke in a dimly lit timber room which smelled of sawed wood. What little light there was came from a small slit in the wall, one clearly too narrow to provide much in the way of a useful view. There was a single door but it had no handle. He decided he was in a cell, at which thought he pushed himself to his knees and slid across to one of the walls, where he leaned his back as he stretched his legs out before him.

  “Billy?” he ventured.

  “Noodle,” came muffled from a dark corner, clearly from the cell next door.

  “You okay?”

  “I recently flew into a fuckin’ tree; what do you think?”

  Zac grunted a reluctant laugh.

  “Zac?” Billy’s voice came through the wall on the other side of the cell.

  “Billy?”

  “Loser’s here by my side.”

  “Is that Billy?” Noodle asked.

  “Yep,” Zac said. “Loser’s with him.”

  “Poor bastard.”

  “Why? What happened to him?”

  “No, Billy; imagine having Loser next to you.”

  Zac could see Noodle grinning in his mind’s eye. “Either of you any idea where we are?” As soon as the words had left his mouth, he realized what a dumb question it was. He guessed they’d been captured by mercs. The State Defense Force just wasn’t as well-equipped as he’d seen their captors to be. The Free World army must surely be tied up in bigger things, he reckoned, given the small matter of the apocalypse. So, mercs it had to be, he decided, along with realizing he knew very little about Irving Meyers’ lot. Mentally kicking himself, he rued not having asked Laura more, but then, every time he’d brought it up she’d deflected his questions and clammed up. All he knew for certain was quite rudimentary: they lived in the forest, had a kick-ass army, and were involved in some way with Charm, but how, he didn’t know.

  “Laura! Hey, Billy, Noodle, either of you know what’s happened to Laura?”

  “Assumed she was in there with you, Zac,” Noodle chimed in. “Sure ain’t in here with me.”

  “Loser says, ‘No’,” Billy then called.

  Zac undid his jacket, slipped out of it and raised his vest. From what little he could see, he appeared to be bruised but not too shabby. He reached into his pocket and found his smokes. Surprised he’d not been stripped of them, he sat back and lit one.

  “Are you smoking?” Noodle’s muffled words called out.

  “Yep.”

  “Bastard.”

  13

  Zac’s Story

  Strike time: plus 7 days

  Location: The Meyers' Retreat

  The cell door opened and Laura walked in. She looked at Zac, where he sat, cross-legged, a smoke in his hand.

  “Now, how did I know this wouldn’t phase you?” she asked.

  Zac angled a look up at her, now convinced she’d been playing him. Clearly, she’d planted herself in the bar, engineered her participation in the rest, and been complicit in Switch’s death.

  “Never worry about what you can’t change,” he told her.

  She shut the door behind her and sat down beside him.

  “You got a spare one of those?”

  Zac grunted. “Yeah. You visiting, or here to stay?”

  “Here to ask a favor.”

  He looked around. “Me? You serious? You need to ask me a favor?”

  She took a draw on her smoke. “Sure. My father and grandfather want to meet you.”

  “The favor?”

  “Keep your temper?”

  “I’m hardly in any position…” Zac’s voice had become tight. He wanted to lash out. “How did you do it?”

  Confusion swept across Laura’s face. “Do what?”

  “That ambush. How did you make sure you were safe? You was right next to Noodle.”

  In an instant, rage replaced her confusion. “You think… You think I set this up? Would you be happier if I was in a cell?” She lifted her hair away from her neck, turning it so Zac could see. A black bruise ran from its nape all the way down to between her shoulder blades. “There you go, asshole. Same treatment you got, except, when they looked me over, they happened to spot the resemblance—that they were dragging in their own daughter and granddaughter.”

  “So… So you didn’t—”

  “Set you all up? Really? I’m as much in the dark as you, except that I’ve been interviewed by my father, and trust me, though he might seem a quiet, old man, he’s brutal with it. They’d no idea we were coming.”

  “But the video…”

  “All Charm. As far as they were concerned, we were trespassing. They were just trying to warn us away—until that damned truck exploded.”

  “Laura, I…”

  She placed her finger on his lips. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve only known each other a few days. Hell, I’m still suspicious of you.”

  Laura got to her feet and opened the door. “You coming?”

  “What’s happening?” Noodle hissed through the wall.

  “Shit just got surreal, Noodle. Mighty surreal.” Zac jumped to his feet.

  “What do you need to know,” Laura asked him.

  Zac looked out of the window and onto the wooden stoop of the cabin. They’d walked the few hundred yards from what he’d taken to be a cellblock, but which had turned out to be a converted log cabin, like all the others in this apparent village of them. It was, though, most definitely a military village, one with perimeters, planked walkways and lookout towers. The room was scantily furnished, just a small sofa and a couple of chairs nestled around a low table.

  “Old hiker’s
cabins?” Zac asked.

  “Once,” Laura answered.

  “Now?”

  “Now? Now they’re what they are. Quarters, labs, stores, whatever’s needed.”

  “And what’s this one?”

  “Well, depending on how the meeting with my folks goes, either our temporary home or an empty one,” to which Zac just laughed as she wandered behind him.

  “No shit. So, we’re back in solitary if it don’t go well?”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  “In that case, you better bring me up to speed.”

  “On what? My family?”

  “Everything.”

  Zac felt her hands on his shoulders, then she pulled him around, her lips turned up to his. “I’m no spy,” she whispered, close to him.

  He nodded, and she pulled away, leading him to the sofa.

  “My grandfather’s called Irving and my father Walter. They both herald from England, the one in Europe, the one that’s no more. They escaped from there when my father was just a young boy, a few days before it was destroyed. Both are chemists-slash-physicists, and both are a little…eccentric.”

  “A little?”

  “Well, a lot, actually, and this place has always been…well, to me at least, my home. I’ve no idea why or when they bought it, nor why they chose this valley. I think I was born in one of the cabins, but I can’t be sure of that. I do know that none of them can be seen by satellite, though, and the trees are too dense for drones or helicopters to fly through. I also know that seemingly important men came here. I’ve overheard some incredible things, but I know only fragments of their old plans. To me they’re just family, but then, you’ll have to make your own mind up on that.” Laura continued to look at him straight in the eye. “But the rest, the soldiers—the mercs—that’s new.”

  “Make up my own mind, eh? And how am I supposed to do that?” He reached out and touched her cheek, as though she was now unknown to him and he was trying to decide if she was real. “Tell me,” he uttered, “how am I supposed to process everything? With all that’s happened, all that’s gone on, how am I supposed to do that?”

  “You must forgive me,” a man’s voice rang out, and its owner was now standing in the cabin’s doorway, upright, stiff, but yet somewhat relaxed, an easy smile on his face. His bald pate was part surrounded by a crescent of gray hair, his tweed two-piece suit lending him the impression of being from another era. “Forgive me the intrusion, but I thought we might take care of business before we go any further. Laura, can you tell me why you’re here? But then, if it’s to sell us supplies—guns and gasoline—I can assure you we’re fine for both, and anyway, your cargo has, for want of a better word—expired. Love you as I must…er, as I do, you should never have come here. You chose your fate when you turned your back on me. Daughter or no, I still deem it an incursion into our private space.”

  “Must, Father?” Laura said.

  Zac shot her a look, but soon turned his gaze back to her father. “My name is Zac Clay.”

  The man tilted his head to one side, arched an eyebrow and appeared temporarily lost for words, before saying, “So?”

  Feeling his temper rise, Zac took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. “I’ve been told to tell you that I’ve delivered the Nevada Mead.”

  The briefest speck of hesitation crossed the man’s expression. “Splendid,” he eventually managed before swiveling on his feet and closing the door behind him as he left.

  Zac sat back.

  “Well, that didn’t go too well.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. At least he knew what the ‘Nevada Mead’ was. That surprised him.” She, too, sat back. “May as well have a smoke, I suppose. If he’s gone to get my grandfather, he might be a while.”

  “Why?”

  “Wheelchair-bound. Not ideal out here.”

  A few smokes later and the door opened again. This time her father wheeled in another man, presumably Laura’s grandfather, and pushed him right up to the table. He then took the seat beside him. “Zac, is it?” the older man barked. “Laura?”

  “Grandfather.”

  The old man looked anything but feeble, radiating an assured power. Zac coughed. “Zac, Zac Clay.”

  Smacking his lips together, the old man nodded a few times. “So I’m told.”

  “And you?” Zac asked.

  “Irving,” the old man barked. “My name is Irving Meyers and this is my son, Walter.” He looked at Laura. “You know Laura, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Zac replied, wondering if the man was senile.

  “So,” and Irving now perked up a tad, “you’ve delivered the Nevada Mead,” at which he laughed. “And I take it you haven’t the foggiest idea what that means.”

  “I know it cost a man his life,” Zac said, his voice low, laced with threat.

  Irving looked surprised. “Just the one? No, no, it’s cost many, many more than that. Possibly just one who’s of overarching importance to you, but many more, nonetheless. If it were my fault, I might even apologize.”

  “It was for a damn fuse,” Zac said.

  “It was,” agreed Irving, “but it’s not the fuse that’s important here, more what it connects. How much do you know about the construction project Josiah Charm’s been involved in? The one in the adjacent valley.”

  “Just that that’s where all the crates were going, until Loser told me otherwise.”

  “Loser?”

  “You know him as John,” Laura interjected.

  “John? What, the John?”

  Laura nodded.

  “Is he—”

  “He’s in a holding cell,” Walter told him.

  “Ah.” Irving appeared quite pleased at that. “Good. So, you were saying, Zac, about Charm’s construction project.”

  Zac shrugged. “It’s in the next valley,” but he said no more.

  “And that’s it?” Irving rolled his eyes. “God help us. Maybe we should just elaborate a bit. Eh, Walter?”

  “Well…I suppose. It’s not like they’re getting out alive if they happen to disagree.”

  “Indeed.”

  Zac tensed, furtively looking around the room.

  “Please,” Irving then said. “The time to be jam-packed full of adrenaline is when you’ve a chance of winning. It’s wasted otherwise.” He stared at Zac, his eyes never flinching in Zac’s own returned stony stare.

  “May I, Father?” said Walter, and he cleared his throat. “As I’m sure Laura has told you, my father—her grandfather—left England just before its annihilation. Now, the total destruction of what was then a block of countries was extremely wasteful and led to the accords—the so-called Free World has today, namely—that only the cities be targeted in the event of a nuclear exchange, thus making it more efficient and clinical. Now, the initial purpose of Charm’s little project was to stow a vast number of people. Vast being a nominal amount when compared to the overall population—although vast for our purposes—away from the city, come the inevitable doomsday. This would then facilitate The Free World recovering the quickest, and ultimately winning the war.”

  Zac shook his head at the surreal idea now being so clinically justified before him. Did they really think there could be a winner?

  “I can see you don’t really feel this could be considered a win?” Walter added, a hint of concern in his expression.

  “No, no, not at all. In fact, I think you’re insane even to think it.”

  “Insane? Oh, quite the opposite. What my father has achieved is actually quite phenomenal. With Europe…well, what paraded as Europe, out of the way, the world was always going to come down to two or three alliances, and so any war would always escalate to…now, how can I put it…to an ultimate conclusion. And without my father’s input, that would have been the end of the world in its entirety, the full works, a nuclear winter, tidal waves, an ice age, and all that Hollywood palaver. What we got instead was a few thousand-odd clinical strikes causing maximum casualties and minimum
collateral damage.”

  “Do you mind?” and Zac pulled out his smokes.

  “Please, go ahead.”

  Zac lit one and slid the rest along to Laura.

  “So, you’re justifying the war by packing its victims into the tightest possible space so as to reduce the damage to the rest of the world?”

  Irving shifted in his wheelchair and banged on the table. “Is this one a bit dim?” he barked. “We justify no war. What we are saying—”

  “Please, Father.” Walter said. “What we’re saying, Zac, is that the war was inevitable, and the war which actually did happen was the best possible outcome. Every single population center of note in the world no longer exists, but the land, the ecosystem it contains, does. Every warhead delivered was part of a pre-negotiated accord, and now none of them exist at all.” Walter sat back, as though his argument was conclusive.

  “And that’s the best outcome, for what reason?”

  “Because the rest of us are still alive, Zac.” He quickly leaned in, swinging his arm around before clicking his fingers.

  “So, what’s the problem?” asked Zac.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Irving said.

  “People cheat, Zac,” Walter told him. “People cheat, and that’s the problem.”

  “People cheat?”

  Zac wasn’t quite sure his ears were working correctly. He understood the general principles behind all that had been said, even the cold justification of it, but spoken over a table, as though they were talking about snaring a rabbit or catching a salmon, was just too strange—there was no other word for it. He tried to process the revelation that every single city in the world had been destroyed, but struggled even with that. He took a drag of his smoke and looked from the old man in the wheelchair to his son. The two men who appeared to have facilitated the apocalypse by making the losses on both sides acceptable, and all from this quaint log village in its idyllic setting where they had nothing to lose.

  “You’re worse than Oster Prime,” Zac eventually said, his eyes challenging the two men. “If you hadn’t made it all so clinical, so predictable, it may never have happened; they may never have had to take the risk.”