Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall

by J. J. Holden

  Cassy spat on him, her face a mask of anger. “You didn’t give them a real choice. You’re a sadistic bastard, and someday you’re gonna reap what you sow, motherfucker.”

  Frank felt a jolt of shock. Cassy almost never swore, not like that. But Peter didn’t bother to wipe the spit from his face. He smiled again, and said, “Defiant until the end. It’s why you have to die, you know. So be it. Cassy, bend over so I have a good shot at your neck. I’m gonna be as quick as possible, because mercy is a virtue. If you don’t, it won’t go well for the rest of your people. I think you understand what I’m saying.”

  Cassy stood tall and proud, Frank thought. “You’ll kill me either way. Let’s just get this over with.” She spat again on the ground and bowed at the waist as low as she could. “I hope you’re good enough with that knife to get it right the first time.”

  Peter moved to Cassy’s left side to put her between himself and the crowd and placed the machete blade on her neck. “Let’s find out,” he said, and raised the blade up over his head.

  Frank’s mind finally caught up to what was happening, the shock flowing away like the tide. “Fuck this,” he muttered to Michael, and leapt to his feet. Michael tried to pull him back, but Frank shrugged him off and shouted, “Stop! This isn’t right, Peter. I’ll take Jaz’s place, just spare Cassy’s life. Chain me, instead,” he shouted.

  There was a collective intake of breath from the other Clanners, and Frank’s wife, Mary, let out a strangled sob. But it was too late to back down now, even if he’d wanted to.

  “Only one among you is brave enough. How sad. Very well. I told you I’d spare her, and I’m a man of my word. I respect you, what’s your name? Frank, right? Then get over here and let’s get this over with so everyone can go to bed.”

  Frank wove his way through the crowd. He kept his gaze on Peter, but it was more to steady his nerve than to show bravery. That, and he couldn’t bear to meet his family’s eyes. He reached Peter and stopped a few feet away. Looking at the ground, Frank said, “I’m ready for the chain.”

  Peter motioned a guard, who walked up to Frank and put the chain around his neck. The guard then put on the lock, closing it with an audible click. Frank fought the urge to shake from all the adrenaline pumping through him. What the hell had he just done? Well, Cassy was worth it, he told himself over and over.

  Once the chain was clasped, Peter furrowed his brow and pursed his lips and with his left hand tapped his chin. After a moment he said, “Something is missing. Let’s see…” He continued with his bullshit showmanship, and Frank felt dread growing in the pit of his belly. Then Peter’s face lit up into a happy smile. “I know what’s missing! You see, Jaz fled, leaving all of you here to deal with the results. I can’t have anyone else running off willy-nilly, now can I?”

  Peter then turned to his nearest guards. “Grab him by the hands and feet and stretch his stupid ass out. He’ll bear Jaz’s punishment, just like he wanted.”

  As the guards piled onto Frank, he struggled, landing one solid elbow into someone’s nose, but it did no good. In seconds he was buried under a mound of White Stag people, and his arms and legs were pinned, spread-eagle.

  Peter, still grinning, walked to Frank’s left side, putting Frank between himself and the Clan. The better for them to see whatever he had in mind. Frank stared at Peter and considered terrible ways to kill the sonofabitch. Peter looked him in the eyes, and grinned again. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said quietly. Then, louder, he said, “Jaz’s replacement will never run away. Ha! He’ll never run at all, after this. You Clanners, watch this and remember. This is the penalty for disobedience.”

  Frank watched in horror. Peter put the machete blade on Frank’s ankle and rested it there. Then Peter turned his head enough to look Frank in the eyes. “Brave, but stupid.”

  Peter raised the blade high over Frank’s ankle and then brought it down with all his might.

  * * *

  0500 HOURS - ZERO DAY +31

  Grandma Mandy sat near the pitiful fire with Michael, Sturm and Mueller. They were discussing ways to escape or turn the tables on Peter. Mandy had come to the fire after being unable to sleep; the terrible vision of Frank’s foot laying in the dirt with blood spurting everywhere wouldn’t leave her mind. The sound of Frank’s scream when they cauterized his wound would haunt her dreams forever. She shuddered and forced herself back to the conversation.

  “If we could get to the stockpile,” Michael said—they never referred to the bunker by name, fearful someone might overhear it—“then we could arm ourselves. Maybe engage the enemy at their weakest, just before shift change.”

  Mandy shook her head. “But if Peter somehow followed you, wouldn’t that be the end of Ethan? And with our stockpile, who knows what use Peter would put the Clan to.”

  Sturm shrugged. “If we’re armed we can defend that bunker all day.”

  Mueller said, “Stow it, Sturm. We will not abandon the civilians we’re entrusted with just to get ourselves to safety.”

  Michael nodded and looked like he approved. “Oorah. But we’re overlooking some operational assets that we didn’t know about before Jaz’s escape. Someone was shooting at the guards, a feint that distracted the Stag fighters. They didn’t hit a single guard or civilian. We were all accounted for. I think we have sympathizers among the White Stag people.”

  There was silence for a long while as that sunk in. Mandy finally spoke up. “God works in the hearts of all good people, strengthening them through the Holy Spirit. I think He is working toward our eventual triumph over evil.”

  Michael nodded. “That may well be. But I know God, and He told me we have to help ourselves first and then He will look after us as He did Jaz. What were the odds she’d escape? Pretty small, I think. Yet it came together just right for that to happen. More and more, I believe in Mandy’s God.”

  “All of our God,” she said with a smile. “He loves all men and wants them to be saved, even the ones who don’t love Him back.”

  Sturm snorted. “Maybe. But here and now, we’re outnumbered. We can rally maybe twenty fighters from among the Clan. Sympathizer numbers are unknown and can’t be factored in. We’re looking at twenty fighters at best, facing at least twice that many enemy forces.”

  Mueller nodded. “A direct engagement is out of the question. And, we’re unarmed. We can get armed, but only if luck—or God—goes way above the call of duty to get us into the bunker undetected. Would twenty people even fit in the bunker?”

  Mandy felt a wash of resignation flow over her. “No, only about ten people, including whoever’s in there now. At least Ethan, and hopefully Amber as well. So eight of us.”

  Michael’s head snapped up to look at Mandy, and he frowned. “And then there’s Ethan. From what I know, his mission matters more than every living person here. He’s kept operational secrecy, so I don’t know exactly what he’s doing, but something to do with coordinating partisan and guerrilla activity.”

  Sturm shrugged. “So, nothing. Nada. We can’t arm, we can’t sneak out, we can’t engage the enemy directly, and we lack assets to go guerrilla. What’s left? We sit here and rot.”

  Mandy stared into the fire, and the others grew quiet. Each was lost in thoughts they didn’t share, of course. God didn’t put obstacles into the path of the righteous that they couldn’t overcome, was Mandy’s thought, unless their loss served a greater purpose. She could see no great purpose to their enslavement and probable death. Therefore, God had a plan for them. His ways were unknowable though. She had to remember that it wasn’t necessary for her to know, just to keep her faith. Sometimes, she thought sadly, it’s hard.

  But then she remembered that the others looked to her for guidance, and she rallied. “You folks are Marines. Christ’s Soldiers. Do not lose faith, brothers and sister. God has a plan for us even if we don’t yet see it. Keep your eyes and ears open. When God presents us with the opportunity, we have to be ready. Tell all the Clan we can trust to b
e ready. Everyone needs to start to gather and hide whatever supplies they can. We must be ready when He calls us to action.” She turned to Sturm. “What’s your motto? Always Faithful?”

  “Semper Fi,” the Marines muttered in unison. They still looked down into the fire, Mandy noted, but she thought she could see their shoulders rise a little higher, their backs grow a little straighter. Okay, Semper Fi, she had to remember that and trust God’s power was in it.

  “God bless Marines,” she murmured, seeing the others look briefly surprised, then lower their heads. “And God, watch over Frank, if it be Your will, for he needs You now more than ever, and so does his family. So do we all. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

  * * *

  Taggart inched his way into a sitting position, his back aching from a night on the cold cement floor of the tunnels they used as a basecamp. Other than the light of one rechargeable camping lantern in the tunnel nexus outside what had become his sleeping chamber, no light penetrated down here. The lantern cast eerie shadows that seemed to crawl toward him from the dark beyond. Glancing at the wind-up watch he’d acquired in a raid, he saw that it was barely 0500 hours. He’d only fallen asleep a few hours earlier, and he muttered a curse. Someone probably got up to hit the head, but these days even someone moving quietly to the bathroom would wake him up. He was about to lie back down when a slight sound caught his attention.

  He felt an adrenalin surge as he sat in silence, straining to identify the noise. It was soft and repeated, but didn’t come in any regular pattern. Then it hit him. He was hearing shuffling footsteps and whispered voices. What the fuck? He slowly lifted his rifle off the cement and rose like a phantom from his makeshift bedding. With a toe he nudged Eagan, who hadn’t woken but was beginning to stir. Eagan sat bolt upright, but Taggart held a finger to his lips, and Eagan nodded. Taggart touched his ear with his left hand, then pointed out toward the nexus, and beyond, toward the tunnels that led to other little chambers.

  Once he knew Eagan was alert, Taggart moved out with his rifle firmly welded to his cheek, finger lightly on the trigger guard. His posture low, almost a crouch, moved with the fluid, noiseless grace of a panther prowling. Just before the nexus, he paused and spared a moment to curse the lantern; it was ruining his night vision now that he was within its warm glow.

  Directions weren’t clear down here, but the nexus had five intersecting tunnels. One went to the chamber where he and Eagan had slept, opposite a tunnel that stretched away toward another nexus down the line. To the right, a short tunnel led to a larger chamber where several more of Taggart’s people slept. The left-hand tunnel led to their “supply depot,” and between it and the entry came another chamber where more of Taggart’s forces slept.

  Again, he listened carefully. To the right, no noise. To the left, one person softly snoring but nothing more. Staying low, he moved across the chamber to the tunnel entry that stretched away toward another nexus and paused. Ahead, he barely heard the faint scuffling of feet. Eagan caught up to him and placed a hand on Taggart’s shoulder to let him know where he was.

  Taggart moved forward again and noted Eagan’s hand remained on his shoulder. Good. They arrived at the next nexus, again pausing just before they entered it. All was blackness there, as not even the faint light from Taggart’s lantern reached within. They paused once again, searching for any noise, but all was silent. He couldn’t hear the scuffle of feet anymore. But where was his guard? He’d posted a guard in this nexus to guard the tunnel they’d come down. Then a familiar stench—the smell of blood and of bowels released in death—reached him in the dark.

  After a few seconds to marshal his reactions in the utter silence, Taggart felt secure enough to turn on his flashlight. He pulled out the little Stinger and covered the lit end with his fingers, then flicked it on. Only a little light seeped out between his fingers, and he spent a three-count sweeping the light around the nexus. Then he turned it back off. The brief time had been long enough—he’d spotted the sentry. She was sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, face down. Someone had changed everything with this act and had to be stopped, but first Taggart needed to know the situation. It had to be Black’s doing. This was a complete Charlie Foxtrot now.

  Taggart muttered, “We return to base. Sentry down. Move out.” He and Eagan then moved somewhat faster back down the tunnel toward their chambers. Taggart led, with his rifle covering their advance; Eagan covered their retreat. Soon they had returned to their own nexus. The two set about waking the few soldiers in silence. Once everyone was roused, Taggart went to check the supply depot—the chamber where they kept their stockpiles—and gasped. Most of their gear was gone, only a medkit and their comm gear remaining. Ammo stockpiles, enemy weapons, Arab “uniforms,” food and medicines—all gone.

  “That fucking civilian sonofabitch,” growled Taggart, no longer concerned with silence.

  Behind him, Eagan said, “Captain, we have another problem. Black may have taken off with our supplies, but he was also the only one who knew these tunnels very well. Until we find a hatch to topside, we’re stuck down here.”

  “We’ll have to organize a search pattern to find our way out. We can assume Black has left this operational area as fast as he can, but I still want our people moving in pairs. Get them together, Eagan, so I can brief them. We’ll find an exit point soon enough, and then we go hunting for those traitors. We need that gear to survive, but most of all we need that radio. Without it we can’t receive intel and instructions from the 20s and our effectiveness is degraded. We can’t let him do that to us.”

  Eagan grinned. “You mean we’d be blind and hungry? Good call, boss. We’re under Martial Law, right? What’s the book say about treason, looting, and stealing military supplies during times of war and enemy occupation?”

  Taggart clenched his jaw. “You already know the answer, shitbird. A short trial followed by execution. No appeals. Now stop dicking around. The mission window is closing while we chatter.”

  * * *

  0800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +31

  Jaz and Choony faced a small ravine. She saw no way across, and the White Stag pursuers could only be an hour behind them at most. More likely twenty minutes… “Choony, what do we do?” she asked, and she could hear the panicked tone in her voice.

  Choony seemed calm. “We turn left. Go deeper into the woods. And pray.”

  Choony turned the horse and urged it to move faster, but it refused to charge through the dense foliage. As they wound their way through the underbrush, the trees grew denser, further slowing their progress. Minute after tense minute, they tried to urge the horse forward until they came to an impenetrable barrier of brushes stretching to the left, away from the ravine.

  “We’ll have to double back,” Choony said, and Jaz now heard an edge to his voice that was very out of character. He must be totally freaking out inside, she realized.

  Jaz cried out, “No! If we do that we run right into them. The horse is trapped, but we’re not.” She slid off the horse and grabbed Choony’s backpack. “We can get through on foot. Come on, Choony!” She grabbed his arm, half-panicked, and nearly yanked him off the horse.

  Choony nodded and slid down to join Jaz on foot, then took the backpack from her and slung it over his shoulder. “Go! I’ll be right behind you. I’m sending the horse running—it might lure them away from our tracks.”

  Jaz didn’t hesitate. Growing up on the streets, she’d learned that standing still never helped and death could come quickly. Doing something was better than nothing and, as much as she wanted to argue with Choony to stay with her as frightened as she was, she was more afraid their pursuers would catch up. Besides, if Choony could spook the horses, it might actually help. Screw it, she decided. She would totally not ever go back to being Jim’s plaything. “I’d rather die,” she muttered to herself, and sprinted toward the dense bushes. Behind her, she heard Choony smack the horse’s rump and shout at it like a real-life TV cowboy. She had to smile at the thought even a
s she ran.

  The bushes in front were thick now, covered in thorns, a tangled bramble. There was no way through. Then, looking around for an idea, any idea, she saw what appeared to be a small opening in the bushes to her left. On a closer look, she realized it was some sort of animal passage and already growing over. There seemed to be no way through there, either. Her heart fell, and she struggled to control her rising panic.

  Choony appeared next to her and grabbed her arm. “No time for panic, Jaz. Let’s go check the ravine. Maybe there’s a trail, or maybe we can climb down somehow.” He tugged at her again, and she found herself following him. At least someone was giving directions. She felt her cheeks flush, ashamed of her panic and indecision, but Choony spared a smile and continued on toward the ravine, moving quickly. And she felt better. Choony had a way of doing that for people.

  Behind her, Jaz heard the faint sounds of hooves muffled by the forest soil, and voices raised in alarm. Their pursuers were closing in. If the White Stags hadn’t seen them yet, they soon would. Jaz redoubled her efforts. Clinging to a cluster of tree roots that grew out of the soil at the edge of the ravine, she tried to shuffle along the ledge, feet planted on the ravine’s wall like one of those cool SWAT guys. Only unlike those guys, Jaz wasn’t doing so well at keeping her feet planted on the ravine’s wall. The dirt kept falling away, making her scramble to keep from falling, and she wasn’t going very fast. The slower she went, the faster her heart raced. In her mind, Jim and Peter were right behind her, grinning, leering, laughing at her feeble attempts to get away. She could never get away.

  Choony penetrated the fog she’d fallen into, saying “They are coming through the foliage now, Jaz. I urge you to move faster if you wish to escape.” His voice sounded far away, and she realized adrenaline was screwing up her perceptions.