She hugged Hayden, pausing only at the unmistakable sound of a firing bolt being snapped back on a weapon. Her eyes ratcheted from Hayden to the three heavily armed men in their early-twenties, two white, one black, who were clad in ratty attire and emerging from the other side of the wreckage. The black man, tall and broad-shouldered, sporting a pork pie hat, with a cigar fired up at the corner of his mouth, raised a rifle and aimed directly at Quinn.
“Ya’all are in deep shit,” the black man said.
15
THE INSIGNIA
The black man in the pork pie hat moved forward, fear-gripping his rifle. “Hands up, green badger!” he shouted. “Didn’t you hear me? You guys are in a world of hurt.”
“What for?” Hayden asked.
“Destruction of fucking property for one,” Pork Pie—as it seemed appropriate to think of him—replied, wagging his gun, eying the obliterated time ship.
Quinn slowly raised her hands, dropping the piece of sharpened metal she’d used to cut her way out of the time ship. The other two men clutched pistols as they moved toward Milo, Giovanni, and the others. They quickly patted everyone down. One of them grunted back to Pork Pie, motioning to Cody, relating that there was an injured man on the ground.
“Should we take them down?” Quinn whispered to Hayden.
“They’ve got guns,” he replied.
“Yep.”
“And we don’t.”
“True,” Quinn muttered. “But when did that ever stop us?”
Hayden slowly shook his head. Quinn knew that he was right. Now was not the time to take a risk.
One of the white men mumbled to Pork Pie after examining Giovanni’s hand.
Pork Pie reacted to this, darting forward to study Giovanni’s hand. Quinn could see that he had a rucksack over his back which was filled with a number of small objects and a collapsible shovel. Pork Pie turned Giovanni’s hand over, then glanced at the others before turning his gaze on Quinn.
“Where are they?” Pork Pie asked. “Where are your codes?” He held up his hand. “The green code printed on your palm. You were in that ship weren’t you? So where are they?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Quinn answered.
Pork Pie marched forward until he was a few feet from Quinn. He was younger than she’d first thought. Twenty, maybe twenty-one. He smelled like smoke and freshly turned earth and looked like he hadn’t shaved or slept in a week. He reached out a hand and grabbed Quinn’s wrist. She tensed, fighting off the urge to kick the kid’s ass.
“Anyone who’s anybody knows if you’re wearing that armor, you’re either them or in league with ‘em,” Pork Pie added.
“We’re not in league with anyone,” Hayden snapped.
“I call bullshit on that, pops,” Pork Pie said.
“You best watch your tongue, young’un,” Hayden hissed.
“And you better realize whose lane you’re in,” Pork Pie shot back. “We all been around. You’re sporting their stripes and you’re in violation of the gentleman’s agreement not to tread on resistance territory. Don’t mean much to you guys, but this is hallowed ground.”
“We’re part of the resistance,” Giovanni said.
Pork Pie barked a nasty laugh at this. “That’s impossible.”
“How come?” Quinn asked.
“Cause you’re standing on all that’s left of it,” Pork Pie replied, his face devoid of emotion. He gestured to the side of the trench, an area of soil turned over by the crash of the time ship. Quinn blinked. What she’d originally thought were white sticks were actually bones. Skeletons. The remains of what looked like hundreds, thousands, possibly tens of thousands of people. The others could see it now too and were murmuring, pointing. Her stomach lurched. The whole place, all of the mounds of earth. It was a burial site. A mass grave.
Pork Pie studied Quinn’s baffled expression. He massaged his face and lowered his gun. “You telling me, you don’t know where you are?”
Quinn shook her head. “W-where a-are we?” she stammered.
“An area southeast of the Anacostia River.”
Quinn knew the name. “Anacostia? You mean … Washington, D.C.?”
“What’s left of it anyway,” Pork Pie replied.
Quinn was silent, so Pork Pie reached into his rucksack and pulled out a set of binoculars. He handed them to Quinn who pivoted and glassed the buildings she’d seen before. She’d been right. There was indeed a colossal wall in the distance and dozens of Greek-inspired federal buildings beyond it, including the United States Capitol Building which was unmistakable even though a portion of its massive dome appeared to be missing.
Quinn angled the binoculars to the left and spied a monument that appeared to be made of polished stone, rising over the city like an idol. It was an obelisk, and her first thought was that it was the Washington Monument. She looked closer and gazed upon the carved figure at its apex. Her mouth went dry and the hairs on the back of her head stood at attention when she saw what it was. At the top of the monument was a snake that appeared to be devouring itself, tail-first. The insignia of the Syndicate.
Quinn wordlessly passed the binoculars in quivering hands to Hayden. Hayden peered through and cursed under his breath, then passed the binoculars on to Milo, Giovanni, Eli, Riot, and so on, until all of the others had silently taken turns. They were back alright. Back in Washington, D.C., but the Syndicate hadn’t gone anywhere. Indeed, every indication was that they had not only won the battle, but the war.
Quinn handed the binoculars back to Pork Pie. “I’m Barrows by the way,” Pork Pie said, before pointing at his two comrades, “and that’s Guidry and Nettles.”
“I’m Quinn.”
Barrows froze. Quinn watched Barrows exchange a quick look with his men, then glance back at her.
“You think I’m some kinda asshole, lady?” Barrows asked.
Quinn’s eyes expanded. “The jury’s still out.”
“What I meant is, you take me for a fool? You say your name’s Quinn and next thing is you’re gonna say you was a straight-up, hive-kickin’ Marine once upon a time.”
“That’s not true.”
“I figured.”
“Because you used the past tense. I’m still a Marine. Always will be.”
Barrows reached out a finger and jabbed it into Quinn’s shoulder. “You got stones stealing another woman’s identity.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Everybody knows that old story about the Marines who went up to hijack some scud ship. They left outta that base out west and never came back.”
“Shiloh,” Eli whispered as everyone looked to him. “The base was called Shiloh.”
Barrows waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever it was called, it’s gone. Destroyed. Wiped out by the bad guys.”
Quinn’s lungs tightened and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She felt dizzy and utterly powerless all at once, the enormity of the situation washing over her. She had a single question on the tip of her tongue, but dared not ask it, and then she blurted out: “What year is it?”
“You tellin’ me you don’t know? It’s twenty seventy-six,” Barrows replied.
Cries rose up from Milo, Giovanni, and the others as they quickly did the math. Six years! They’d somehow managed to go forward in time six goddamn years!
Before Quinn could reply, Barrows threw up an arm and shouted. “They’re coming!”
Quinn wheeled around and saw the objects in the air. What looked like drones and other smaller Syndicate craft, advancing rapidly.
“They’re not supposed to be here,” Barrows said.
“They probably know about us,” Quinn replied.
“In which case I never met none of you,” Barrows hissed, whistling to his men. The trio dashed off, melting into the brush.
“We need to move our asses now!” Hayden shouted. He gestured to Milo and Giovanni. “Grab Cody and let’s fucking roll!”
Gio
vanni and Milo grabbed Cody by the arms and legs, hoisting him up. Quinn dropped down the edge of the mound and sprinted in the direction of Barrows and his men. In seconds, the group was running full-bore through the trees, hugging every shadow, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
They crashed though the forest, listening to the familiar sounds overhead, the whir and hiss and popping notes made by the Syndicate drones when they were hovering or dropping low to the ground and then … an unnatural silence washed over the woods.
Hayden shot a look at Quinn. “Will somebody tell me what the hell just—”
WONK! WONK! WONK!
Objects ripped through the foliage, silencing Hayden before ricocheting off the trees and slamming into the ground. Quinn spotted one of the objects, a silver canister. Renner made a move for it and Quinn grabbed his arm. “Don’t even think about it.”
She pointed and now they could see the other canisters, two-dozen of them, barely visible in the ground cover. The tops of the canisters whirred and began twisting counter-clockwise and then a cloud of gas filled the air and the woods.
“Okay … that is not cool,” Renner said.
“It’s gas!” Milo shouted.
“What kind?” Renner asked.
“The explosive kind!”
“RUN!” Quinn shrieked.
With Cody in tow, everyone pivoted and ran for their lives as a keening whine echoed from somewhere high above. Quinn could hear the sound of something large crashing through the canopy and then—
BOOM!
There was an explosion followed by what sounded like dozens of smaller explosions in rapid succession. Quinn hazarded a look back and it appeared as if the forest had been set ablaze. A wall of fire was sweeping across the tops of the trees. She turned and Hayden grabbed and pulled her forward and then the pair were falling.
Straight down.
Tumbling over an embankment as the flames roared over their heads.
Quinn felt the fine hairs on her face singe as she pinwheeled sideways, fumbling down toward a muddy creek where the others were gathered. She rolled to a stop and looked up, the crowns of the trees ablaze, smoke shrouding the woods.
Pushing herself up, Quinn waded across the creek. She could see Barrows and his men camped out a few yards upstream, catching their breath.
“Did you do that?!” Barrows exclaimed, pointing to the burning trees.
“Does it look like we’d be able to do that?” Quinn replied.
“Yeah, well, who the hell said it was okay for you to follow us anyway?” Barrows asked.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Quinn answered. She led the others across the creek where they lowered Cody to the ground, everyone crouching, supremely on edge. She approached Barrows who brought his rifle around as—
WHACK!
Quinn snatched the barrel and wrenched the weapon from Barrows’ hands in one fluid motion. She twirled the gun and brought it back around, aiming at Barrow’s chest. Barrows’ men fear-gripped their guns, but Quinn glared at them and shook her head. They could read the malice in her eyes and dropped their weapons.
“I want some answers and I want them now,” Quinn said to Barrows.
“Try me, sis,” Barrows replied.
“The bodies … what happened back there?” she asked.
“Same thing that happened everywhere. People rose up and the scuds cut them down.”
“The resistance?” Milo asked.
Barrows lifted a thumb in Milo’s direction. “Who is this jackass?”
“His name’s Milo,” Quinn replied. “And he’s only occasionally a jackass.”
Barrows hesitated, cocking his head in the direction they’d all just come from. There was silence and so he leaned into Quinn. “How about some real talk time, okay? I’ll answer your questions, but first things first. Who are you people? I mean, I see you wearing Syndicate armor, so tell true. Who are you really?”
“I told you my name.”
“You want me to believe that you’re the one who left six years ago?”
Her gaze seemed to bore right through Barrows who swallowed hard. “Okay, okay, so let’s say that’s true. You went away for a spell, right? So where the hell you been?” he asked.
“Trying to get back here.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a little late. The game’s over. The good guys are back up there in the ground. Worm food. All of ‘em. Every sorry motherfucker who rebelled during the Solstice Offensive last December was put down.”
“Then how come you’re here, tough guy?” Hayden replied.
“Cause I know my place, old-timer,” Barrows said in response. “I’m not a fighter.”
“Looks like you’re a thief,” Hayden said, tossing open Barrows’ rucksack which was filled with bits of jewelry, watches, trinkets all covered in dirt. “You stole that shit off the bodies, didn’t you? You’re a looter.”
“Entrepreneur,” Barrows said, correcting him while taking his rucksack back. “And somebody had to gather that up. The dead ain’t got no use for such things.”
“What the hell you gonna use it for?” Hayden asked.
“They exchange it for goods and services,” Barrows answered with a smirk.
Quinn leveled her gun at Barrows.
Barrows kissed a finger and inserted it into the barrel of Quinn’s rifle. “Lady, you want to cross me over for taking a few items off the dearly departed, that’s your choice. But if you do that, I guarantee you one thing: you will never find your way out of here.”
16
WHAT HAPPENED
The rifle came down and Barrows nodded. “You wanna live to fight another day, you follow me, follow close, and don’t turn back for nothing.”
Barrows waved his arm and sprinted forward through a clutch of bushes as Quinn and the others followed. They moved briskly, the land shrouded in a heavy fog. As they advanced, Barrows detailed to Quinn and the others how they’d crashed the time ship on the edge of an old reservoir, a place that the Syndicate had used to dump bodies after a last-ditch offensive by the resistance was ruthlessly put down.
Upon surrendering, what was left of the resistance had brokered a deal to preclude the Syndicate from operating at or around the burial site. The Syndicate usually, but not always, abided by the agreement, Barrows said.
Quinn’s head hung. She was immediately seized with the thought that the resistance might have taken the offensive after they failed to return from the time ship. Maybe their ill-fated trip to the time ship was the spark that caused the wider war and led to the end of the resistance. She looked at the others who appeared deep in contemplation, as if each of them were considering the ramifications of all that they’d done.
The group soon cut through the edge of a park-like area Barrows said was called Fort Ricketts, following a deer trail that ended behind a suburban neighborhood that appeared deserted. Quinn and the others studied row upon row of ransacked, vinyl-encased houses with broken windows and blown-out doors. Small mounds of trash were everywhere, along with the moldering remains of what looked like humans and animals.
“Suburbs ain’t what they used to be,” Barrows said. “Shame too. This was a nice area once upon a time. Course that was before the tribs began.”
Quinn looked over. “The what?”
“The tribulations,” Barrows replied. “You know, the days when the scuds started the occupation.”
“How long?” Quinn asked.
Barrows stared at Guidry and Nettles. They grunted something to him and he nodded. “That was four years ago this September. A year before they started dividing up the cities and building the walls.”
Hayden bobbed his head at Barrows’s two men. “How come your boys don’t speak for themselves?”
“They can’t,” Barrows replied.
Guidry and Nettles opened their mouths. Quinn flinched. Their tongues were little more than blackened stubs.
“The Viceroy had their tongues taken out on account of them speakin’ ill
of him,” Barrows said.
“Who’s the Viceroy?” Quinn asked.
“He’s the false prophet to the Potentate’s Antichrist if you know what I’m sayin’. He’s the one who gets his hands dirty. He basically rules the planet for the big boss now.”
Quinn shot looks back at the others and that’s when the finality of the whole thing hit her. They had totally and completely fucked up. They’d tried to go back in time and somehow, they’d gone forward into a future that was already lost. And the worst thing was that there was no way back now.
The time ship was destroyed and with it, any chance of ever stopping the Syndicate invasion. Her legs gave out and she crumpled to the ground, refusing to cry even as she contemplated the enormity, the finality of the whole situation.
Whatever reasons she’d given the others for going on, for fighting the good fight, were no more. She’d let all of them down, including Samantha.
“Get up,” she heard Hayden growl.
Her eyes roamed up and met his. He dropped to his haunches before her. “You hear me?” he asked.
She just stared at him and his face hardened. “Up on your feet now, Sergeant. That’s a direct order.”
Picking herself up, she staggered forward, Hayden shadowing her, clutching her forearm. “Now is not the time for weepy scenes, Quinn.”
“It’s all over,” she whispered.
“The hell it is,” he barked back. “We’re still alive aren’t we? It’s like we always say. Long as you’re still grooving, you got a chance.”
“To do what?”
“What is it that we do best?” Hayden asked.
“Cause mischief, Gunny.”
“Goddamn right. And as long as I got a breath in this body, we are going to bring hell down upon the aliens. We owe it to the fallen, to the ones that can no longer speak for themselves.”
Quinn nodded in agreement. The Syndicate was responsible for everything that had happened to her. Even if she no longer had the ability to change the past, she could impact the future. While she wasn’t sure if they were the ultimate enemy anymore, they had damn sure caused enough destruction and sorrow to deserve the ass kicking of a lifetime. Ass kicking, followed by painful death.
Syndicate Wars: Empire Rising (Seppukarian Book 5) Page 9
