After the Fall: Catherine's Tale Part 2: The warrior's fight for survival begins

by David Nees

  Later in the night, after they were spent, Lori Sue was talking about Donna and her plans to get Donna free when Leo was away.

  “I don’t want you to go back there. It’s too dangerous,” Billy said.

  “But I gotta help her. She’s got no one. I’ll go when Leo leaves to raid the valley. I’ll be all right.”

  Billy just shook his head, but he was beginning to fall asleep. “I still don’t like it,” he murmured.

  “You just help me find a hacksaw or a chisel. I’ll be okay.”

  In the morning light, the column of Army Humvees, troop trucks, and tankers moved slowly through the main gate in the rough city wall. Frank had gotten there a little beforehand; he had parked his car a block away from the barrier. Frank hadn’t wanted to create any disturbance with his presence, and there was nothing further he wanted to say to Captain Roper. Roper was leaving and that was all that mattered. They were free of the Army. Finally.

  No more Lieutenant Cameron. Cameron probably hadn’t been in favor of the move, but he had to follow orders. Now Frank and Joe could finish getting the city under control. Once they took out the valley and got the proper seed to start their own farming, Frank figured that the internal dissent would wither. If it didn’t, a few more executions would do the job. It was distasteful, somehow much more so than it had been in the early days after the attack, but he could see how effective it had been. His visits to the water mill and the wire plant had given evidence of that fact. The technicians were more focused and were working harder. No one seemed to talk about the executions, but their effect had been a renewed burst of productivity.

  Soon they would get the power back on. The unpleasant actions would then be forgotten. And as he and Joe solidified their dominance over the other towns, as they rewarded their own citizens with increased security and more food, as they reestablished normal patterns, the people would fall in line. All anyone had to do was obey the authorities. Frank would make sure life got better for everyone.

  He smiled as the last Humvee drove through the barrier and disappeared down the road.

  The Army was gone.

  His smile grew. He felt energized by how all the obstacles were fading away.

  Then his thoughts shifted to Charlie, and he felt his smile waning. He had worked closely with the man for so many years. No, Charlie was not as politically sophisticated as Frank, but Charlie had managed to navigate the world of policing crime without using a scorched-earth approach. And Charlie Cook had always been willing to follow a path that didn’t upset the power structure. As a result, the criminal elements in town, while not defeated, had been contained and didn’t impact the lives of the ordinary law-abiding citizens. Out of sight, out of mind. Charlie’s easy hand had kept life calm in Hillsboro. Through the long emergency since the EMP attack, Charlie and his department had been a calming influence just by being seen still doing their jobs; Chief Cook had become a reassuring symbol for the town that normalcy wasn’t dead. But now Charlie had dug in his heels. The man seemed to have taken sides…the wrong side, Frank thought. What to do about him?

  Frank knew that Joe would eliminate Charlie without hesitation. It was an uncomfortable thought.

  Still, they had a future to create, one in which Frank would play the prime minister to Joe’s king. Frank knew that, when the feds showed up and it came time to navigate those tricky waters, he would be a man of great importance. Joe would need him more and more, he would come to recognize Frank’s value, and Frank would ultimately gain a large share of power.

  As much as he liked Charlie, he couldn’t let the old man get in the way of that goal. Charlie had had his chance and had turned his back on it.

  A gray pall came over Frank’s vision.

  It was Charlie’s decision, he thought regretfully. He couldn’t do anything about what would come next.

  Frank sighed.

  The army convoy made its way slowly through the abandoned outskirts of Hillsboro, heading east away from town. Captain Roper sat with the men who remained loyal to him in the back of their transport truck. Roper’s mouth was set in a thin line. He was angry at being stuffed into the back like a non-com, and the awareness that the truck was being driven by Lieutenant Cameron’s men grated on him.

  He thought they might have gone about thirty miles when the engine changed its sound and the truck turned and came to a stop. After a couple of minutes the back of the truck opened. Lieutenant Cameron and Sergeant Gibbs were there, with soldiers behind them.

  “Captain Roper, step out, please.” Cameron said. “There is a formality.”

  Roper rose with an effort and made his way to the back of the truck. He stepped down and looked around. They were in the parking lot of a gas station and restaurant, now long abandoned. The convoy filled the lot, with the tankers strung out along the highway outside the entrance.

  “This way,” Cameron said. Gritting his teeth, Roper was escorted to the door of the restaurant by two soldiers. The lock had been broken long ago and the door opened stiffly. Cameron, Gibbs and Roper stepped into the restaurant. Behind them a soldier took up a position guarding the entrance with an M16. Cameron led the trio to a square table at the rear of the dining area. He motioned for Roper to take a seat and then took one across from him. Gibbs sat to Roper’s left and Cameron’s right.

  “We need to sign some documents to make our separation legal,” Cameron said.

  “I don’t think I’ll be signing anything,” Roper said evenly. “You can do this, but when I report to Colonel Stillman you’ll be labeled rebels, you know that.”

  Cameron continued as if he had not heard. “I have here a document I typed out last night. It says that you are granting me, Sergeant Gibbs, and all the men with us, listed here by name, an honorable discharge from the army so that we may remain in Hillsboro and participate in its reconstruction. We will have reservist status, but will now be able to enter into civilian life.”

  Roper stared at Cameron. “You’re nuts. I’m not signing anything like that. You’re screwed, but you brought this on yourself.”

  “I think you will sign the paper,” Cameron responded. He held up an old camera. “You know what this is? It’s a film camera. And I have some good 35mm film. The other day I photographed all the loot we found that you got from your collusion with Stansky. The army will be able to develop the film to see it. I feel certain that you’ll find the pictures extremely difficult to explain. I also have the signed testimony of the chief of police, witnessed by Sergeant Gibbs here. In it Chief Cook testifies about personal knowledge of payoffs to you, about your active involvement in covering up Stansky’s looting and even about your demands for a larger share in exchange for your contribution, namely hiding Stansky’s activity from your commanding officer, Colonel Stillman.”

  Roper felt his anger rising. All his work was for nothing. All his fortune that would have gotten him to South America with enough wealth to live like a king was now gone. And, on top of that, he had to give this impertinent lieutenant a free pass after the man had destroyed his plans.

  “Do we have a deal?” Cameron asked.

  “It’s my word against yours in the end,” Roper growled.

  “Your word against my evidence, the sworn testimony of the town’s chief of police, and the testimony of Sergeant Gibbs.”

  “And if I don’t sign? What are you going to do?”

  Cameron turned to Gibbs, “What do you think, Sergeant? What should we do with Roper and his men?”

  Gibbs looked at Roper. The sergeant’s dark face was hard and unyielding. “I fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. I got shot. I saw men get maimed and killed. I served under some good officers and some not so good officers. But I never served under someone who would lie and deceive to line his own pockets. I heard about that crap, but I only got to experience it here, in the States, under your command. If I had my way, I’d stand you up against a wall and shoot you for consorting with the enemy—”

  Roper laughed sharply, trying t
o sound contemptuous. “That’s a fancy word, Sergeant. You know what it means?”

  “What I mean is that you should be tried for dealing with the enemy, dereliction of duty, lying to your superior officer, undermining the mission, and a host of other charges if I had time to think of them. For all of that, you should be shot.” Gibbs’ voice was full of loathing. “You disgust me. You’ve violated all I hold dear about my time in the army.”

  Roper stared at Gibbs.

  Cameron nodded. “Sergeant, if we don’t shoot Captain Roper, do you have any other suggestions?”

  “Sir, if the captain does not sign your documents, in my opinion we can’t afford to let him go. Even with as much as we’ve got on him, he’s not worth a lick of extra risk.”

  Roper clasped his hands together to keep them still. He began to shift uncomfortably in his chair, while he tried to keep his voice level. “You kill me, you’ll have to kill all the men who chose to come with me.”

  Gibbs said to Cameron, “I suggest we find a remote building and lock them all up. We’ll separate Roper from the rest of the men. We can leave them there for some time. Maybe after a week, we ask the men if they want out…without their captain. Or would they like to remain locked up with him until Colonel Stillman comes back?” Gibbs paused and almost smiled at Roper. “I’m betting they’ll want to go free and leave the captain to his own fate. Especially when they know he could have spared them the whole ordeal and it wouldn’t have cost him a thing,”

  “Not a bad idea,” Cameron said.

  “You’re just digging yourself a bigger hole,” Roper said. The shaking in his voice betrayed him.

  “I’ll take that chance. We’ve got enough evidence against you to give us cover either way. Of course, you can sign these documents to make our separation official and legal and then head off with a truck and some supplies, just like we told you in Hillsboro. It’s your choice.”

  Roper just sat there. It was a bitter pill, but he was out of options.

  Cameron pushed back his chair and stood up. “We don’t have all day. It’s time to make up your mind. Sign and leave with some resources, or don’t sign and get locked up. Your call, Captain.”

  Roper sighed. He would take the easier route. Revenge wasn’t worth making his personal situation more difficult. “Give me the papers.”

  Chapter 12

  When word got to Leo that the Army was gone, he sent people to gather his men. He had prepared a list of twenty-five names, some of them old associates of Joe’s, the rest picked from the militia. Some had fought in the military while some had long criminal histories; all of them had distinguished themselves in action since the EMP attack. They all knew how to handle weapons, they were all experienced fighters, and none of them would be shy about killing civilians. He had taken care with the list so that he would have no doubts about the tools he would be using.

  He wanted to strike quick and hard. No complications to trail behind him. He’d take a few of the valley residents alive so that they could tell him where to find the seed. He’d tell them that this was just business, that he had no reason to hurt them if they gave him what he was after. After they told, they would be eliminated. Joe hadn’t mentioned survivors, and Leo saw no sense in leaving any. There would be no one to tell any stories about what had happened there.

  All of the men brought their personal weapons with them down to the street; most had military-issue M16s. The four pickup trucks waiting for them had already been loaded with packs heavy with ammunition. In addition, Leo was bringing along three M60 machine guns, one M2 heavy machine gun, and three mortars.

  Leo supervised the loading of supplies and ammunition, and filling the gas tanks. It was early afternoon by the time they left Hillsboro, and it would be night before they arrived at the valley entrance.

  They drove through the countryside, with Leo in the lead truck. He had a map, which he consulted as they worked their way along the county roads towards the valley. It was near dusk when he stopped the caravan at a crossroad. They had not yet arrived at the little village of Clifton Furnace.

  He got out and his captains piled out to gather around him. “We’ll split up here,” Leo told them. He spread out his map on the hood of the pickup. “I’ll take three trucks and head west. I don’t want to drive by the valley entrance, so we’ll split up now. I found an old road that goes into the valley from the west here.” He pointed his finger on the map. “One of you’ll take the fourth truck to Clifton Furnace.” Leo pointed to one of his captains, a man who had distinguished himself in the early battles with desperate refugees. “You wait there until about two hours before dawn, then you head to the bridge. You’ll take five men with you.”

  “We’ll be headed to an ambush for sure. Big Jacks’ gang was killed there, and he had a lot more than six men,” the man replied.

  “You think I don’t know that? You stop a mile before the bridge, cross the river, and climb the ridge. You don’t go over the bridge, idiot, you go around it and attack the guards from behind. If you run into too much resistance, you retreat. Your job is to keep them focused in that area while we go over the west ridge. We’ll come down and join up with you. We’ll sweep through the valley and take out the bridge defenders. They won’t expect us to come from behind.”

  “We get any mortars?” the captain asked.

  “No, you got to be able to move fast. You take one M60 with you. The rest is rifle work.”

  Leo pulled out a list of names from his pocket, laid it on the map and read off the names, telling them who was in each assault team. He heard no protests. Few would have dared to say anything, and the men were all eager for action.

  As it grew dark, Leo led the three trucks to the west. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the headlights of the fourth truck moving along the road to Clifton Furnace.

  Clayton and his men moved through the gathering evening on the ridgelines, setting up their defensive positions over the road where it led in from the bridge to the south. They were positioning themselves as Jason had done during the battle with Big Jacks’ gang. Only now Jason had more shooters available to him. Jason and Clayton moved along the left-hand ridge checking positions, while Tom checked the other side. After carefully making sure everyone was in position and properly spaced, Jason and Clayton hiked back north along the ridge. The narrow canyon diminished with the ridges sloping down to the valley floor as they got further away from the bridge. They saw Tom emerging from the trees on the other side, coming across the road to join them.

  Tom didn’t look happy. “You realize they know the bridge is a natural ambush point,” he said.

  Jason sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I know. That guy Leo saw it for himself.”

  “They won’t come over the bridge…I wouldn’t do that,” Clayton said. “They going to come up the ridge. In the woods.”

  Tom scowled. “That could mean on either side. We can’t be sure they’ll come from the direction of Clifton Furnace.”

  “We put out some scouts on either side,” Clayton said. “In the woods, east and west of the bridge.”

  “We don’t have enough men to spread out all over the woods,” Jason remarked.

  “Don’t need many,” Clayton said. “Just a few to fire some shots, let us know where the attack comes from.”

  “That’ll be dangerous for the scouts,” Tom said. “There’d only be a few against who knows how many.”

  “Not if they know how to move through the woods. My men can do that. They can shoot and melt away.”

  “I get it,” Jason said. “If they can keep retreating, we’ll meet up with them. Then we have a shootout in the woods. I’m betting we’re better at that than any city militia. How many guys do you need?”

  “Just two on each side,” Clayton answered.

  Tom looked doubtful, but he said, “I guess it’s the best plan we can come up with. It certainly isn’t any worse than the last time we were here.”

  As night fell in Hillsboro, Tommy an
d Hank Ames walked along the dark sidewalks toward the militia warehouse. As they got closer, they passed the police van parked on a side street. They could barely see the figure inside wave at them through the window.

  At the corner of the side street, before turning on to the broader road where the warehouse entrance was located, they passed Specialist Jackson. He was crouched down behind some steps of a building on the corner, his rifle in hand. There was a flash of a smile and a thumbs-up from him as they walked past. Jackson’s position would give him a clear shot at the guards if things went wrong, but Tommy and Hank would have to make sure they were not in the line of fire.

  They emerged onto the street, crossed it, and walked towards the warehouse entrance half a block away. There were two guards out front.

  “Who’s there?” one of the guards called out as they approached.

  “It’s me, Hank. From the police department.”

  “What the hell are you doing here? This ain’t your area.”

  “Yeah, but I got a business proposition for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “This guy.” Hank laughed and shoved Tommy forward. “He quit the army, didn’t want to go with them. He wants to buy a weapon. Says he’ll pay me if I can hook him up.”

  The guard sounded amused. “So whaddaya want me to do?”

  “Sell him a rifle, or something. Hell, you make money, I make money. No one will know.”

  “What’s your name?” the other guard asked Tommy.

  “My name ain’t important. What’s important is, I can pay with gold,” Tommy said.