by J. J. Holden
Then she watched in revulsion as the servers scooped a ladleful of thick gruel into her bowl. Constant stew, indeed. None of them would survive the winter on these tiny rations.
She prayed silently for God to send them help, and though His will be done, if He wished it she asked that He save her people and deliver them from Peter’s yoke. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
- 13 -
1300 HOURS - ZERO DAY +30
CHOONY SAT UNDER his lean-to, scrubbing his aluminum plate with some sandy soil. It would get the food grit off. Next to his makeshift bed lay the items he’d acquired during last night’s farm raid. Other than some MREs—which had been a great find—he’d picked up a water filter straw, new in the wrapper. It wasn’t needed for the farm’s clean water, but Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha had been kind to him to provide the filter just in case. He also got a compass and a pack of batteries for the flashlight Joe Ellings had given him to assist Choony’s stealthy raid.
A small, high-quality backpack filled with what Michael would call a “72-hour kit” topped it off. It held a couple knives, two bundles of paracord, a BIC lighter, a weird little fire starter that worked by making sparks and would never run out of butane, an aluminum cookware kit, a waterproof five-gallon canvas bag, a tarp, and a wool blanket. He was especially happy with the tarp, which now lined the ground inside his lean-to for keeping ground moisture in the soil and for adding to the blanket’s warmth at night.
As he finished scrubbing the plate, and rinsing it with a dash of water from a gallon jug, he heard hoofbeats in the distance. Not long ago he wouldn’t have recognized it right away, but horses were in common use on the farm, especially by foraging teams. Choony crept to the edge of the dense copse of trees that hid his camp and peered out; three riders approached. He was almost certain that one was Joe Ellings, though he hadn’t gotten a good look at the man in the darkness the night before. The other was a taller man with light brown hair, and he rode tall in the saddle as though he’d been born to it. The third wore the red shirt and headband of Peter’s Red Locust troops.
What the hell was this? Choony decided that Joe must have betrayed him. And he’d told Joe right where to find him! Not everyone was as honest as Choony. What a damn fool he’d been. Choony ran through his options. Hiding wouldn’t do, because he’d told Joe where to find him. Nor could he outrun three men on horses. He wouldn’t fight another human, even at the cost of his own life. The Locust could possibly be friendly to Joe’s cause… Choony’s only remaining option either way seemed to be to wait patiently and see what the universe had in store for him.
As they got closer, Choony caught drifts of their loud conversation. “…haven’t checked these woods…” and “…you it was clear…” reached his ears in snippets. The men reined up near the edge of the woods, and then Choony clearly heard the tall man say, “Well if you want us to check it out, let’s do it. I’m tellin’ you no one is in there. Lead onward, red man.”
All three dismounted, and the Locust took the lead with Joe and the other man behind him. Just before they reached the tree line, however, Joe took something shiny from his belt—a rather large knife—and, catching up to the Red Locust, Joe grabbed the man’s hair and thrust the knife through his neck until the knife tip protruded from the Locust’s throat, dripping blood. A few seconds later, the Locust’s legs collapsed, and Joe let him fall, let the momentum tear his knife out of the man’s neck. He wiped the blade on the Locust’s pant leg even before his victim’s corpse had finished its macabre twitching.
Choony stepped forward, right up to the edge of the woods, but was careful to stay half-hidden by a tree. No use standing out in the open. Who could say if someone else was watching Joe’s group? Choony wouldn’t put it past a sociopath like Peter to send watchers after his own men. Hesitating at first, Choony said in a whisper, “Hello, Joe. Did you have any trouble finding me?”
Grimly, Joe shook his head. “Nope. But we had this tag-along to deal with, too. Peter likes to send these eaters out along with his own people. He thinks it’ll keep his people loyal, and it mostly does. We’ll have a bit of explaining to do when we get back yonder. How you holdin’ up?”
The other, taller man stepped forward. Tall, fit, short sun-bleached hair, the picture of a corn-fed farmer. And he had a direct gaze. He certainly looked self-assured. This must be the supervisor Joe mentioned. “I’m Dennis, sir. Dennis Blake. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Joe told me all about your risky little raid. I haven’t decided if it was stupid or smart, but it was brave. A man has to respect that kind of grit, right, Joe?”
Joe grunted in affirmation. “Let’s get in them woods with the body so we can talk in private.” Then he and Dennis each grabbed a leg and, Choony thought, rather unceremoniously dragged it right into the woods. No measure of pity for the dead man. These were hard men, Choony decided. Right now, he needed that kind of “sand” on his side. Once the body was well inside the dense copse, they covered him with dirt and leaves and came back to Choony’s camp, where they squatted on the dirt.
“Let’s talk,” Dennis said. “Peter knows about you, but he figures you ran straight for North Korea. He can’t get his head around it, ’cause you’re Asian, he thinks, so not an American. So he won’t be looking for you, Choony. And I brought you some binoculars, so’s you can scout the farm better and safer.”
“Thanks,” Choony said and took the offered binoculars. The rig was smaller than he’d imagined, from what he’d seen in movies. Lightweight. Good. He looked back up, smiling thanks at the man. “So, aside from this kind of support, which I badly needed, what can we do for each other, Dennis? Joe here risked himself to help me out last night, and I respect him and am grateful for it. If he trusts you, so do I. I won’t kill anyone, but I’ll do anything else that I can to help my friends in the Clan against your monster of a leader.”
“Good thing, because we need you to do something for us tonight. It so happens it’ll help your Clan, too. You see, your friend Jaz, she’s not giving in to ol’ Jim like the good little tart he figures her for. He isn’t feeding her now, and with all the beatings she takes from him—body and soul, I reckon—she’s gonna waste away fast. I don’t cotton to men beating on women like that, and Jim’s raped our women before. So, me ’n Joe here, we’re gonna bust her out tonight. She don’t know where to go and she’s getting weak, so we need you to pick her up and hightail it the hell out of there before Jim posse’s up and comes looking for her.”
Choony considered for a moment. It sounded wrong, he decided. “Tell me, sir, why you’d risk both your lives to save one of ours? What does it accomplish for you? I want to know the truth before I’ll agree to risk my life on your word.”
Joe chuckled. “You’re a smart fella, Choony. Turns out we got another sympathizer who’s a crack shot. She’ll be waiting out in the shrubs to ambush his punk ass. One shot to the chest when Jim is far enough out so the camp can’t hear it too good. Peter’s a great tracker and so are some of our people, and they’ll pick up you two’s tracks pretty quick. Jim will chomp at the bit to come after Jaz. Peter will let him, so his little minion can redeem himself. But once Jim’s out of the picture, that makes Peter weaker. Jim’s half the reason any of us follow him—better to follow him and screw you people over than to get tossed to Jim, and then the Locusts. But we’re countin’ the days until we can wipe Peter off the face of God’s green earth. He don’t belong here.”
Choony nodded. That did make a cold sort of sense. Of course, it also made Choony and Jaz into bait for their trap. Their only hope of getting out alive hinged upon one sniper being able to get to the right place at the right time without being noticed, getting a clean shot, and hitting her target. Very long odds, it seemed to him. Still, Jaz deserved a chance to get away from whatever it was Jim was doing to her—and he had a pretty good idea of what that was. It would greatly weaken Peter to lose Jim. Perhaps the karma of saving Jaz would outweigh that of aiding in the murder of a man. Perhaps.
“Very well,” Choony said with what he hoped sounded like iron determination. “When and where do I play my part in this drama?”
* * *
1630 HOURS - ZERO DAY +30
Choony lay in the tall post-harvest aftergrowth, now thriving dense and tall in one section of the Jungle. He was covered with bits of chaff and other foliage and looked through his newly liberated binoculars, scanning the homestead, simply observing. From what he could see, there had been no change in schedule, no increasing of the guards. Peter’s people must not have noticed the items gone missing during Choony’s raid the night before. That was good because in a few minutes Jaz would escape if all went well. Peter would hunt her, but with the unalerted White Stag people somewhat off guard it might take them an extra few precious minutes to get their act together. It had to happen fast or it wouldn’t happen at all.
In his binoculars, he saw Jaz sitting on her heels, knees in the dirt, not far from Cassy but probably too far to talk to her unnoticed. In the guard tower, a single sentry seemed alert. But Joe had assured him she would be another sympathizer, eager to take revenge on both Peter and Jim for her own reasons.
To his right, off to the east a bit from Jaz, the outdoor kitchen was in full swing and a crowd had gathered, just as expected. Everyone was still on slightly reduced rations until Peter could locate wherever the Clan had hid its food. Apparently, neither Cassy nor Jaz had broken down and told them, at least not yet. Cassy was a strong one, and it was a little sad that she didn’t realize her own inner strength. He’d tried to help with that in his own way, much as his elders had taught him by leading him to his own conclusions when he was younger. But she was stubborn too, and it had almost turned into a game between them back before Peter arrived. It had touched him deeply when she had said she trusted him.
He swung the binoculars back to Cassy and zoomed in as close as the little field binoculars would allow. Her face was covered in bruises, he saw, and one of her eyes looked swollen shut. Her hair was matted to her head in one large spot over her left ear, and he hoped it was mud, not blood. Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha, watch over her! If only they could free Cassy as well as Jaz… But things were what they were, he reminded himself. “Bend to life’s misfortunes like the reed in the wind,” he muttered, more for Cassy than for himself.
Choony checked the sky with a clinical eye and saw that the sun was about 35 degrees above the horizon. This time of year, that made it roughly 4:30 or 5:00 p.m., he decided after doing a few quick calculations in his head. Then he smiled, realizing Michael would have known what time it was at a glance—no geek math required. Well, whatever worked.
It was almost time for Jaz’s karma to save or doom her. If she died, he mused, she’d surely come back as an eagle so she could soar above the terrible earth she’d had to endure during this lifetime and would see only its beauty. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and began mentally chanting the calming mantras that would empty his mind and heart so he would be ready to play his part in what was about to happen, without hesitation or fear. Om tare tuttare ture soha…
* * *
Mandy stood at the outdoor kitchen’s counter chopping carrots, Brianna beside her washing more of them. So many carrots. Still, it was the Lord’s blessing that they even had carrots to eat.
Brianna let out a sharp breath and practically tore out the rat nest of hair that fell over her face as she struggled to somehow push it out of her eyes. “Dammit, Grandma, why can’t I at least wash this mop of straw on my head? My hair looks so terrible, I can’t stand it.”
“Dearie, stop messing with your hair. I know you don’t like it, but right now it’s time to get dinner ready. I suspect the Clan will think that is more important than your hairdo.”
“But Grandma, it keeps falling over my face and I can’t hardly see.”
“Can hardly,” Mandy corrected. “And that’s your new hairdo until the White Stag is gone, honey. Some parts of life go on—like making dinner—but with your hair a mess and your clothes looking ratty, I feel a lot better about the… intentions… of the White Stags. You know you are a beautiful young girl, and you have to learn to dress down to avoid getting the wrong kind of attention. Just like when you were in school and your mom wouldn’t let you wear makeup or miniskirts. It’s not that you shouldn’t wear those things, but it’s smarter to avoid unwanted attention.”
Brianna exhaled sharply through her nose and furrowed her brow. “I guess, Grandma. But this is stupid! I hate this new world. I can’t even do my hair nice.”
Mandy shrugged. “That’s true, dear. Not yet. But the Lord has a plan for us, you mark my words. Our fate could have been much worse, you know. Peter needs us until he figures out this whole permaculture thing. What worked before can’t be done anymore, so it’s either learn or die. God willing, you’ll be able to do your hair however you want soon, but we need to get through this tribulation first.”
“Yes, Grandma,” muttered Brianna and she rolled her eyes. Mandy pretended not to notice and was soon lost again in the steady snick, snick sound of chopping carrots.
* * *
Damn those bastards. Look at them, like, totally eating food and just looking at her like nothing was wrong. Jaz fumed but it did no good. No one, it seemed, would risk Jim’s wrath by bringing her food without his say-so. She glanced at Cassy, who was near enough to see—and to pity, in her current condition—but not close enough to talk to. Someday, she swore, Peter and his asswads would pay for what they’d done to Cassy. She was too nice, too smart, and too strong to be treated like that in a just world. But, it wasn’t a just world anymore, she reminded herself. It never had been, not in her memory. Even with that said, a lot of her illusions about humanity’s basic decency had fallen away in the last month.
Briefly, Jaz wondered why she was so focused on Cassy’s buckets of trouble, when she totally had enough troubs of her own. Maybe it was easier to be inside her own skin, with everything Jim had done to her, if she focused on someone else’s craptastic life. Or maybe she just really liked Cassy. The poor woman hadn’t ever had to deal with this kind of stuff like Jaz had for her whole life. Cassy had never been on the streets like Jaz, so how could she know? If the two of them ever got out of this alive, Cassy would need someone to cry to, someone who knew what she had been through. Jaz wanted to be there for her when the time came. Decent people had been rare in her own life and, for Jaz, it was too late to hope for better, but she wanted better for Cassy. By God, she’d help provide it if she got the chance.
Jaz decided she had to survive to be there for Cassy when that day came, and the result dazed her a bit. She felt the anger flow out and away, replaced by… Something. Something “do or die.” She wasn’t sure of the right words for it. Resolve? Determination? Yeah, maybe that was right. Whatever. She just suddenly knew she’d better be ready if an opportunity came to strike back at these White Stag pricks. Pay attention, study their weaknesses. Every dude had them, but now she’d just be looking for a different kind of weakness. And then she was going to kill that sonofabitch and get her and Cassy the fuck out of Dodge. Bide her time. Stay alert. Strike quickly when the time was right. That would be her new mantra.
A voice behind her jolted her out of her thoughts. It came from the Jungle, to which she had her back. “Jaz, don’t say anything or move. I’m a friend. You’re getting the hell out of here in just a few minutes, so stretch those legs while you can, and get ready to run, but don’t look all excited. Reckon you can handle that?”
It was a pleasing, deep voice that sort of rumbled in her ears and felt warm and reassuring. But go where? How? Well, whoever he was, if he was legit then he’d have the info when she needed it. Jaz carefully unwound her legs and stretched them, grimacing as the blood flowed back into them after sitting on her heels for so long. She felt a bit disoriented at first, having been lost in her own thoughts seemingly forever.
When her head cleared and the pain in her legs had subsided, she murmured, “Ready
when you are, Mister Growlyvoice.”
“Good. We have only a couple minutes more before your opportunity shows itself. You’ll know it when you hear it. I’m going to cut your ropes first. When I tell you to move your ass, you sneak into the Jungle with me, and we’ll run to the southwest, toward the whatdoyoucallit, the Food Forest. I’ll lead you, but you gotta keep up, sweetie. The timing’s as tight as a frog’s ass. Then a friend is waiting with a stolen horse. He knows what to do from there.”
The unknown guy behind her cut her ropes while he spoke, and she forced herself to sit still and avoid looking around. Whatever the guy had planned, she was onboard. Anything to get away from Jim. Sorry, Cassy—rescuing you would have to wait. For a moment Jaz considered not going, so she could stay with Cassy, but in the end she couldn’t really do anything to help her. Not here. Not now, not when she was constantly bound and watched, just as Cassy was. Jaz promised herself that she’d come back, and when she did she was totally gonna come down on Peter and his dickwads like the fist of God. Biblical asswoopings were coming Peter’s way, just as soon as she figured out how to do it. Once she made that promise to herself, she felt a lot better about leaving Cassy. It would only be for a little while.
The outdoor kitchen began to admit the Clanners for dinner—what little of it there was—and the area between and near the two houses became, as usual, somewhat chaotic. The guards kept things orderly, but only barely. These were hungry people, and the guards’ attention was completely absorbed in the effort of forcing thirty-five desperately hungry Clanners to form up in lines and wait their turn. For their part, Jaz’s Clansmen were friendly and polite to one another, but when pressed forward toward the servers, they resisted any sense of order.
