by J. J. Holden
Frank said, “Well of course it’s about how you’ve been leading us lately. You’re a good leader, or I wouldn’t have stepped down, but let’s be direct: People think you’re under too much pressure, and it’s affecting your leadership. So, if I were the leader, I’d—”
“But you’re not the leader, Frank. If you want the job, though, it’s yours. I don’t want it, never wanted it, and you can have it.” Cassy’s grin morphed into an unreadable mask.
Damn, this was not how the conversation was supposed to go. Why’d she think he wanted the job? He was her advisor, dammit. Or was she just saying to lead, follow, or get out of the way?
“Not a chance,” Frank said. “I’m still on Team Cassy. You’re our best bet for survival, and you visualize and bring together all these little sub-plans better than anyone I’ve ever met. You get the best out of people in a way that I can’t, and you make it look easy.”
“Then please don’t bring up what you’d do if you led us, Frank. Just tell me what you think without stepping all over me. My confidence is pretty low right now, so support me—even if that means telling me what I don’t want to hear—but don’t let me ever think you might step up to the plate, or I’ll hand it over and run whether or not you want the job.”
Frank forced a smile. “Alright, Cassy, fair enough. So, people are talking about this Choony thing and the scene with Dean Jepson. They understand the thing with Dean because they agree with you that no preps is worse than some. But Dean is just a bit too much of a perfectionist. That’s a craftsman thing, and I think he’s a genius, but it can get to the point where he doesn’t quite think like everyone else. So ignore that, and look at the big picture.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Cassy said. “I delegated that situation to Michael, and now Dean’s on board. Sort of. At least the work is getting done, finally. Michael took the choice away from Dean, which I couldn’t do because Dean has a hard time listening to women, and because he and I have a history. I didn’t hear a squawk out of Dean when Michael stepped in. I suppose it’s a guy thing. He’s getting used to the notion, but it might take him some time to get used to being led by a woman. Kinda ticks me off, but he is who he is.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Frank said, nodding. “So, Choony… No one agrees with you there.”
Frank watched as Cassy frowned, looked down, and let out a long sigh. Finally, she said, “I know that. I lost my head. He sort of cornered me by challenging me in public, during a crisis, instead of coming to me in private. But when I cooled off some, I remembered this isn’t a dictatorship. I was treating it like one because I’m afraid for my kids, and I’ll do anything to keep them safe. It’s the mama bear in me, I guess. But I forgot that everyone else with kids feels the same. People without kids probably don’t want to die, either,” she chuckled, shaking her head at herself. “So I asked you to help.”
A light went off in Frank’s head. “So that’s why you had me go talk to him. A bit of pride, a bit of practicality. Well, that’s the real strength of your leadership—your ability to let go of you to focus on the Clan. Turned out to be a good call. He’s actually quite reasonable. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that man get angry. I think he just processes his emotions faster than the rest of us can and moves on. He never seems to dwell on the past. Anyway, he wants to stay if you’re willing to keep him. He likes it here and likes the people, including you. And his medical and chemical knowledge is something we couldn’t replace anytime soon.”
“I hoped he’d be willing to stay, if we let him,” Cassy said. “The problem is how to bring him back in without totally losing whatever perceived authority I have. Authority from the people, not Peter-like rulership. I’m not Peter, and we’re the Clan, not White Stag Farms.”
Frank nodded. There it was—this was the woman they’d put in charge. Frank spared a moment just to feel glad to have Cassy back. The real Cassy. Frank wondered if he’d have been as good at leading them as she had been, but in his heart, he didn’t believe he’d come close. Stepping down in her favor when they got here had been the right choice after all.
Snapping back into the moment, he looked Cassy in the eyes and said, “I only see one way. You have to ask him to come back specifically to perform a dangerous mission. Something we have to get done if we’re to win that doesn’t require a gun. By asking, you show the Clan humility and pragmatism. They need to see that after what happened. And you leave it on his shoulders whether to return afterwards, so you aren’t being a dictator with his future. He has the choice. That way, you restore the authority people have given you. You restore it just by not abusing it.”
Cassy pursed her lips. “How very ‘King Solomon and the Baby’ of you. I like Choony, and while I think I know the mission you have in mind, I’d planned on asking for a volunteer. I don’t think I can just order someone to take a mission I wouldn’t want to try to do myself. Not if I want to sleep at night.”
“Yeah, but this is your way out,” Frank said. “You aren’t forcing him to take the mission, you know. He has a choice. But if he does it, that frees up someone who will shoot a gun, kill people, defend the Clan. We need every shooter we can get, and we need them shooting. This is just the best, most practical solution with Choony. You don’t have to do it that way, of course, but if you don’t then you squander two people—Choony and the volunteer—and I’ll damn sure be disappointed in you, Cassy. Either way I’ll support you because we need unity right now. We’d still need you to lead, but I’m hoping you’ll do the smart thing. It’s the right thing, too.”
Frank studied Cassy’s face with an inward grin and saw that his blunt speech had the desired effect. She was going to make the right choice and invite Choony back, even if her feelings about Frank were the deciding factor. He doubted she even realized the feelings he thought he saw, and he wasn’t going to point it out. Ever. Like Mandy told him often enough, Frank was a better leader when he wasn’t the one openly leading. It suited him.
* * *
1400 HOURS - ZERO DAY +24
Taggart grinned. The 20s had found their operative. Whoever he was, he was now using a more secure broadcast system—something called a HAMnet—and one of Taggart’s Militiamen knew how to interpret the signals. Taggart now had access to the broadcasts the 20s coordinated, so he didn’t have to rely on that damned Mr. Black.
Taggart briefed Eagan, knowing he could be trusted with such vital information. Eagan might be a shitbird, Taggart thought with a wry smile, but he was hard as stone when he needed to be. “So their agent, Dark Ryder, is something like an intel coordination officer or C3 tech,” Taggart said, continuing his briefing. “He’s working with some shady character called Watcher One, who I think must be higher up in the 20s, and between the two of them they handle all the Resistance intel for the Eastern Seaboard operations area. That Dark Ryder operative is really good—nobody has a clue who he is and his broadcast locations are different every time. Nobody knows how he does it.”
Eagan shrugged. “So, two people deep in occupied territory have to work together to give us the intel we need to throw up token resistance. Tell me again why you’re excited about this, Captain?”
Leave it to Eagan to see through the hype. “Affirmative, shitbird. The system’s fragile. But now we have it straight from them, instead of getting it filtered through Mr. Black. Remember the Operation Backdraft that Black mentioned nonchalantly? It seems the reality is that this is our best hope for pushing the ’vaders back into the ocean, where hopefully they get eaten by sharks, or maybe a Kraken. All the New York Resistance cells are to launch a coordinated attack at the opening of Operation Backdraft. Details are still sparse, but Backdraft is supposedly going to put us on a level playing field with them. Something about making their C3 infrastructure FUBAR just before we hit them hard wherever it’ll hurt them the most.”
Eagan broke into a vicious grin as Taggart got to the part about hurting the ’vaders, but then his face fell. “Yeah, Cap, but what happens i
f either of these 20s guys becomes a casualty before the Backdraft balloon goes up? It sounds like a lotta hope to pack into one little five-pound bag.”
“Just follow orders, Eagan. I’ll let you know what you need to know in plenty of time for you to get it all wrong, don’t worry.” Such questions were the reason he valued Eagan for more than his rifle, but it could be damn annoying.
Eagan put on a mock Dutiful Soldier face, saluted, turned and left after looking back just in time to see Taggart hiding a grin. But Taggart’s thoughts were troubled by the very questions Eagan had brought up. The future of America seemed like a lot of eggs to put in one fragile basket, especially when that basket consisted of two separate agents working far, far behind the front lines. “God help you both,” Taggart muttered. “God help us all.” He folded up his map then and reached for his rifle. It was almost time to go on another raid for supplies. Business as usual, for now. But he couldn’t help feeling hope rise that soon the balance would change in their favor for once. Playing guerrilla had its place, but damn! He wanted to take them all down, every one of the foul, murderous bastards. He shook himself free of that useless train of thought and left to find his Militiamen.
* * *
1000 HOURS - ZERO DAY +25
Peter looked at the bodies. Four of his own were dead or clearly dying, but thankfully they were no one important. Eight of the second band of Red Locusts were dead too, so it’d be no trouble to tout this as his latest win to his sheeple. He didn’t care about them personally, of course, but he did need them motivated and loyal. This victory would help with the motivation part, and some selective praise would do the rest.
“Jim,” Peter called. Jim had returned the night before with news of both the spy farm and the location of this second band of Red Locusts. “Have the Locust bodies piled up, and arrange a burial detail for our fallen. They were heroes, all of them, and in death they deserve our honor and our respect.”
Total bullshit, of course, but Jim would eat it up—giving out orders while he convinced himself he cared about those people. He was the King of Torture, but he’d fall apart without his delusions. Peter congratulated himself on his excellent leadership skills and turned to deal with the loyalty he required from his people. Or fear. Whatever. And he might as well boost his numbers a bit while he was at it, just as he had when he defeated the first band of Red Locusts.
“Citizens of White Stag,” he bellowed, and all heads turned toward him, including the seven bound-up Red Locust prisoners. Peter fought down his irritation at their presumption and reminded himself that they were probably eager to find out if they were about to die. From what Peter had seen, most people seemed to worry about that a lot. As though their lives mattered. He shrugged and continued: “In recent days, we defeated the first Red Locust group, and today we completed that victory by demolishing the second. Now, when we take the land that is rightfully ours, we can rest easier knowing that we’ll have no foul bands of cannibals waiting for us to slip up. We had three challenges, and now there is only one left.”
There was a half-hearted cheer from his followers, despite their battle weariness. And despite losing loved ones, Peter reminded himself. People were always mourning the dead when they should be cheering for their own survival. Certainly, Peter himself could barely contain the fierce joy he felt after battle. What would he do when all the enemies were dead or routed? He’d have to find another threat to face, to fight, to draw his followers together in fear and hate. Such useful tools, those.
“You see now the wisdom of bringing the surviving Red Locusts into our fold—they fought as bravely as those who were with me in the beginning and lost one of their own fighting this band of cannibals. Or I should say, lost one more of our own.”
Peter spat on one of the enemy dead. Circuses for the masses. Now for the bread… “We will bury our honorable dead, who gave their lives so that we could live. They honored you all with their sacrifice, and so we will honor them with a proper burial and three days of mourning and rest, to prepare for the struggle to come. But what of these dead enemies? Do they deserve to be buried? I say no, they do not. Our food stores are for citizens, yet these recruits need nourishment as well. I give them the enemy fallen, just as I would anyone who betrays us all by turning against their leader, and our God-given mission.”
Peter looked around and saw, but did not understand, the horror in his people’s eyes. Good. Let them remember the grisly scene that was about to unfold, and reckon in their hearts whether they really wanted to question his rule. They were sheeple, so without proper motivation they were always cowards. Love of each other and fear of consequences, now those were real motivation for a cowardly flock.
“Jim, invite the remaining Red Locusts to join us as their brethren did. Any that don’t jump at the chance are to be shot immediately and thrown on the banquet.” But Peter knew they’d all prefer to join him than die. People respected only strength, and now they had a leader they could really look up to. Peter resisted the urge to laugh, and his ears wiggled from the effort. Must keep up appearances, after all. The sheeple were easy to impress, but you did have to keep it up or they forgot. Always gotta pump it.
Just as important as the fear this cannibal feast created, feeding the Locusts to their own would save days of White Stag food stores. The Quartermaster was the only other person who knew that, unless they took the farm within a week, the White Stag people would go hungry. And he’d better damn well not let that happen.
- 9 -
0900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +26
JAZ SAT LEANING against the tree they’d bound her to, her hands tied up in front of her as well. It was hard to move around, but of course the bastards didn’t care. They were total tools. Especially the one who stood in front of her. His name was Peter, she’d learned, and he was the leader of the people coming to take the farm away from the Clan. The enemy. And he was looking down at her with an all-too-familiar expression. He was pretty hot, but in that cocky, strutting kind of way that just screamed “douchebag.” It would be best not to upset him, so she broke eye contact.
Peter said, “So your name is Jaz, and you’re one of the original members of the Clan—one of the spy’s first little followers. Seeing you now, I regret that I promised to give you to my lieutenant, Jim. I almost want to just take you for myself. Next time I capture enemies, I’ll be smarter about it and look at them myself before handing them out.”
Rage bubbled up inside Jaz. Could this freak really be, like, talking about handing people around like candy? Well, two months ago Old Jaz would have just played it safe and stayed quiet, trying to make the experience not totally suck by not resisting, just like her dad taught her, that sonovabitch. New Jaz decided that someday soon she was going to cut the dude’s junk off and choke him with it. Him and Jim both. Fuckers. Just as soon as she got up the courage.
“So you don’t have anything to say about that?” Peter asked. “Well, that’s fine. It doesn’t change your fate. You see, I’m going to take the Clan’s lands for my own, to make up for what your bitch of a leader cost me. And the people of the Clan will be compound interest on that debt, because someone has to do the dirty work. I’d rather break all your backs in the fields than my own people.”
Jaz seethed. She didn’t expect any better from this prick, but it was still a jolt to hear him say openly that they’d all be slaves of one sort or another. On the other hand, most of her people might live through this, and that was totes amaze, because it would give whatever Clanners survived time to plot some freakin’ payback. Surprise, surprise, fuckers—karma, beotch.
Peter grinned down at Jaz. “I see your wheels turning. Plotting. It won’t do you any good, you know. I got you outnumbered, and I reckon outgunned, too. But hang on to your dreams, girl. You’ll need them soon.”
Jaz had the urge to lash out, tell him he was in for more of a fight than he bargained for, but stopped herself at the last second. That would betray the Clan’s preparations. She’d already
opened her mouth to speak, so she covered it up by begging. It almost always worked with the bad dudes. “Please, don’t hurt them. Just let them go, they’re no threat to you! I’ll do…whatever… Anything you want.” She forced herself to smile the timid smile that always worked. “I’m not, like, committed to them or anything. They just kept me alive, but you totally have more peeps, more guns. Maybe you and me, we can work something out.”
Peter laughed, but it was forced, deliberate, taunting. “Oh girl. You are a smart one, aren’t you? Well, I’m not falling for it. I don’t need your permission to make you do ‘anything I want.’ You’re a prisoner, not a guest. And soon, the rest of you vermin will be under my boot as well. But you did give me an idea, little liar.”
There was a noise behind Peter, and Jim stepped up next to him, eyeing Jaz with a cold expression that sent a chill up her spine. “Boss, you said she was mine. I haven’t questioned her yet.”
Peter put a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “You’ll have the chance, but first I’m going to see if she can be used as bait to lure their leader out. It won’t change anything for Jaz here, but if we can kill their leader before all this goes down, taking out her cronies will be a lot easier. Before you get to doing what I asked of you, I need to try to negotiate a swap. Jaz for Cassy. If the bitch is dumb enough to stick her head up, though, we’ll have a sniper ready. Smile for the camera, wait for the flash. If it goes well, great. If not, we lose nothing. Either way, Jaz isn’t going anywhere. Then you get to question her. Or whatever you feel is needed.”
Peter turned and walked away, leaving Jim staring down at her. Jaz thought his eyes looked like a snake’s, the ones that hypnotize birds before striking. Guess what, New Jaz wasn’t some bird he could freeze. Not anymore. Then he said, “This pisses me off. I have a responsibility to my people to question you. To punish you for what you all did to our boss’s people—”
