Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall

by J. J. Holden

  Okay, deep breaths. Concentrate. Focus. Move right hand. Move right foot. Move left hand. Move left foot. Always keep three points of contact, move only one part at a time… She repeated the mantra in her mind and it helped. She let it cycle through her mind as if it were a dance step she was learning. She may have only moved at a snail’s pace, but she managed to make some real progress along the cliffside.

  The bushes stretched away to her right, but the end was in sight and knots of exposed roots were there to grab for the entire distance. If their predators took only a few more minutes to find them, then she and Choony just might make it…

  Then a familiar voice boomed out. “Jaz, my sweet, stop moving or I’ll blow your pretty little head off. Now, freeze!”

  In her panic Jaz almost lost her grip. Once she’d flailed for a moment, she managed to get both hands on the roots and struggled to bring her feet up again. Then she looked to her left, and sure as shit, Jim’s bastardly face was leering at her, just like she’d imagined earlier. He stood at the edge of the ravine with his rifle pointed directly at her, and another man had Choony covered.

  The seconds ticked away like hours as Jaz considered her options, but when Choony let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, jaw clenched, she knew it was over. The nightmare would continue if he didn’t just slit her throat and leave her in the woods. She tried to reply, to say something witty, but no words came to her. Her mind struggled to string words together but came up blank. She realized she was in some kind of shock.

  Jim laughed, and Jaz felt her cheeks flush. She visualized herself plunging a knife into his neck, watching him bleed out and smiling at him as the light left his eyes. It was a nice dream.

  Jim said, “Don’t just hang there staring at me, honey bunch. You and your Korean should get your asses back up here, or let go. I guess the choice is yours, but I’d sure rather have you back. Ten… Nine…”

  Jaz felt her fear turn to rage. That fucking animal. He needed to die. Thoughts of letting go fled before the heat of her anger. If she just let go, her torment would end, but Jim would just find another Clan victim. She’d be passing the buck for the easy way out, and well… Fuck Jim. Fuck that. She’d bide her time and take the abuse for a while, but when the opportunity came—and it would come, eventually—she’d kill the sonofabitch and shove the only thing that rapist really loved right down his damn throat while he bled out. She’d make sure he knew what she was doing to him. The thought made her savagely happy, and she realized for the first time what bloodlust felt like. It drove out all thoughts of fear or self-preservation, and her soul sang to the tune she heard playing to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Jaz realized she was the wolf, now, a hunter being invited into the sheep pen. Some detached part of her mind watched the change in herself with fascination and a savage joy.

  “We’re coming back, Jim. Don’t shoot, please,” she said, forcing herself to sound timid and scared, just the way Jim liked his women. She saw Jim’s rifle barrel lower just a bit, his shoulders relaxed a tad. It had worked. She and Choony slowly worked their way back along the ravine’s edge toward Jim and the other hunters.

  When first Choony and then Jaz climbed back up from the ravine, Jim and his people backed up, keeping their rifles at the ready. Jim shouted, “Get on your knees, hands behind your heads,” and Jaz felt an irrational urge to giggle. The bastard sounded like he’d watched too many bad cop movies. He probably had, along with a bottle of lotion and box of tissues. He was dangerous, but he was pathetic. And she knew first-hand just what he was compensating for.

  Once Jaz and Choony were on their knees, one of the men approached Choony and raised his rifle over his right shoulder, holding it with both hands. Choony closed his eyes, but did not move, as Jim’s flunky smashed his rifle butt into Choony’s head, sending her friend sprawling. He didn’t move. Jaz’s rage flared up again, but she controlled it. Mustn’t let Jim see that. He had to think she was defeated and broken. Hopefully Choony lived through that.

  Jim laughed at the scene, a full belly laugh. “Did you see that?” he asked his partners. “Oh my God, the look on his face. Fucking priceless.” Then he turned to look at Jaz, and his eyes roamed over her from bottom to top, lingering on her face. The bad men had always done that. Her face was her power and her Achilles heel, drawing the predators who always seemed to find her but helping her deal with them, too.

  Jim continued: “Hey, cover us. I feel like she needs a little discipline put back into her before we go back, if you know what I mean.” He chuckled.

  Jaz saw that the other men looked down, looked away, looked anywhere but at Jim. Even those bastards realized what a monster Jim was. She knew they wouldn’t stop him though. They turned away, focusing on Choony and binding him. Cowards. Then Jim approached her. He ran his fingers through her hair, then clutched a handful in his fist painfully.

  “Oh yes, you do need discipline,” he said, and his voice was breathy. If he was true to form, next would come the beating, and then he’d start in on what he really wanted from her. She braced herself for it. She’d been through it now more times than she could count. This was just another day with Jim, and she added it to the tally of reasons he needed a slow, painful death.

  The sudden impact of his open hand across her face sent her sprawling, seeing stars. One. He always hit her five or six times before the really bad stuff began. She heard the hum of Jim’s voice, but her ears were ringing too much to understand what he was saying. Not that it mattered much. She braced herself for the next blow, but Jim went off pattern. Instead of another slap, kick, or punch, she heard the rattle of a belt buckle being undone. It just figured the chase had excited the pervert.

  An instant later, the staccato sounds of gunfire. Jaz jumped. Had the bastards killed Choony? Other voices. Jaz cautiously opened one eye, and the effort was greeted by the sight of people with rifles, moving like Michael did in battle—gliding like some deadly cat that spat lethal venom, a monster striding over the battlefield. She didn’t recognize any of them, and they wore green camouflage. “What the hell?” she said aloud, without realizing it.

  Then one of the green giants was standing over her. She saw his mouth moving, but it all sounded like gibberish. Her mind just couldn’t make sense of the words. And then with a sensation she could almost physically feel, like a car shifting gears, her mind caught up. Holy crap—his hat. It had a symbol on it she now recognized. A symbol she’d learned to love. It was the Marine Corps eagle, globe, and anchor emblem.

  “Miss, I say again, are you injured?”

  Jaz looked over her shoulder and saw Choony, still unconscious, being looked over carefully by another Marine. A half dozen more were checking bodies. Jim’s men. They were dead and gone, and Jaz said, “No, I think I’m all right. You’re, like, my heroes.”

  The man smiled. “I’m sorry we didn’t intervene earlier, miss. We had to see who the bad guys were first. They say your friend will live, but he has a significant concussion. We’ll have to stay here until he’s awake on his own. How many men were chasing you, miss?”

  Jaz nodded. She’d figure out later how she felt about these people waiting, but it didn’t really matter. They’d saved her, and Choony as well. “Four.”

  The Marine stood bolt upright and pointed at two of his people. “Single enemy has escaped. Pursue and capture if possible, otherwise terminate. If not found in twenty mikes, rendezvous here.”

  That got Jaz’s attention. She sat up and looked at the bodies. Damn and hell. Jim wasn’t there. “Oh my God,” Jaz said and bolted to her feet. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she toppled over. The Marine grabbed her and eased her down to the ground. “The one that got away, his name is Jim, and he’s the frikkin’ devil. You have to get him! If he makes it back to the farm, he’ll warn the other assholes.”

  “You’re not making a lot of sense, miss, but don’t worry. My people will probably find him before he can get very far. Now tell me, what farm? Intel on this area is sketchy.” />
  “The Clan’s! My people. Survivors with children and families. Good people. We beat the odds and set up paradise, but there’s worse things than starvation these days. We fought, but lost, and now my people are slaves. Frikking slaves! You have to help us,” she shouted.

  The Marine turned to his people. “Alright, Marines, listen up! This woman and her companion are from the Clan. Get this man moving, build a stretcher if you have to, but get it done. Clanholme isn’t far.” Jaz didn’t know what Clanholme was, but she could guess.

  A female voice shouted, “Oorah!” and this was quickly followed by many other voices repeating the word. Michael’s word. Right now, it was Jaz’s favorite word in the world.

  The Marine turned to Jaz again and grinned. “Miss, we were sent here to rescue you. Welcome to Echo Company, two twenty-fifth of the Fourth MarDiv. Oorah.” Again, the chorus of gleeful repetition by the others.

  Jaz grinned and whispered a thanks to God, or Buddha, or whoever had sent these men. “Where’s the rest of you?” she asked, still smiling.

  His face fell. “Making green grass grow, miss. We’re what’s left—twelve men and women, including me.”

  Jaz froze. Twelve against forty. But these were Marines, not farmers. They would find a way. They just had to.

  - 15 -

  1100 HOURS - ZERO DAY +31

  JOE ELLINGS STOOD with two other sympathizers, discussing how best to overthrow Peter. The little cabal had ten people in the inner circle and another dozen known sympathizers that they had not yet actively recruited for security reasons—that recommendation had come from Michael, the Clanner. The things he knew about “OpSec” went beyond what one expected from a regular Marine, but Joe hadn’t asked questions.

  He heard a sudden commotion and snapped his head toward the noise. That little pissant, Jim, came tearing through the Jungle underbrush, and as soon as he emerged, he started hooting and hollering for Peter. “Cheese and crackers,” Joe said to the other two. “I thought he got taken care of when Jaz escaped. Shit.”

  Joe trotted toward Jim and saw Peter emerge from the main house as well. Joe caught up just as Peter got to him.

  “What the hell, Jim. Where’s Jaz? Where are my scouts?” Peter crossed his arms and stood ramrod straight. Joe could see him clenching his jaw; Peter was dangerous when he was like this, but Jim seemed oblivious. Good.

  Jim said, “We caught them, boss—Jaz and that damn Korean. We were about to bring them back when someone started shooting at us. I’m the only one that got away.” Jim panted as he said it, out of breath from running back to the homestead.

  “Who the hell shot at you? There’s no one out there anymore. Did you see them?”

  “No, dammit. All I saw was a bunch of people in green. There were more than a couple—they looked like they were all over the place. Dodged bullets long enough to get the hell outta there. They chased me for a long time before I ditched ’em.”

  Peter frowned and shook his head. Joe noted he was still clenching his jaw. Hopefully, he’d kill Jim out of frustration. He was that kind of guy, always had been even back at White Stag Farms where you could tell he often wanted to kill people. It’s why the good boss had detailed him out into the field as a so-called scout. Too bad it hadn’t worked. Then Peter started talking, jerking Joe out of his reverie.

  “Let’s hope they were bandits and took care of Jaz for us, but we sure as shit aren’t going to count on that. Go double our guards on every shift. They could be right behind you still. And make sure those idiots have full clips.”

  Joe mentally corrected Peter. They’re magazines, not clips. Then he interrupted, “Boss, you want us to round up the Clan from field duty?”

  Peter turned his head toward Joe sharply, eyes narrowed. “You have to ask? Get your ass out there and round them up! Fucking idiot.”

  Joe turned and ran. He had to get the Clan together, not to help Peter, but so they could act in unison if the opportunity came—and so he could keep an eye on them all at once. All except Cassy, of course. There was no way Joe could get her off her chain right now. He reckoned she’d have to take her chances, but he did send up a quick prayer for her safety while he ran.

  * * *

  1200 HOURS - ZERO DAY +31

  Frank lay in the shade of the second house, half-delirious from the pain in his left foot. Leg, he corrected himself—the foot was gone. Cauterizing it had knocked him right out from the pain, and it still burned. Hurt worse than losing his foot had, if that was even possible. Even now he faded in and out of consciousness as pain came at him in waves. Thank God Mandy had hidden away a supply of antibiotics. An infection would be the end of him, he knew. Mandy had also lightly wrapped the end of his leg in clean cloth to keep dirt out of the terrible wound. Grandma Mandy was an angel, and she’d looked like hell the last few days. Frank didn’t know what was wrong with her, but she looked so bad that he didn’t expect her to last long. He’d seen his own mother die from cancer, and Mandy had that sunken, drained look of his mother in the months before she died. He knew if Mandy died, it could knock the spirit right out of a lot of his Clanners.

  He sent a short prayer for her up to her God and passed out again as the next wave hit him.

  He awoke to a riot of sound all around, and as his senses came back, he realized the entire Clan was being herded into a knot of people centered on him. Herded like cattle. And the White Stag assholes were running back and forth around the homestead like bad guys in some ’80s action movie.

  “What’s going on,” Frank asked, trying to raise his voice above the din, but it came out sounding faint and weak. He wiped a layer of pain-sweat from his forehead. Disgusting, but sweating was the least of his problems.

  Frank felt a hand squeeze his own, and he looked down in confusion. Someone holding his hand… He looked up and found his wife, Mary, looking at him intently. She wore her “I’m worried” smile, which Frank usually found charming and pretty but in his current condition, it was only alarming.

  Mary said, “All the Clanners are being rounded up from field duty and herded together here. But we’re making sure no one bumps you, love. The paramedic guy said you look like you’ll pull through.”

  “Why bother? Even if I pull through, I’ll only be a burden to everyone. I can’t work, dammit!” Frank had spent his entire life working hard, from the day he turned fifteen. First he helped his dad at the garage, and then took over when his dad passed away. He usually held down a second job as well, moonlighting as a welder for local jobs when the work was available. “No more crab and steak dinners for us, baby,” he said, trying to smile. He failed. “I’m just going to be a burden…”

  “You hush now,” Mary replied. “I won’t hear any of that defeatist garbage from you, mister. Hunter and I need you. The Clan needs you, for a lot more than just harvesting wheat. Even Cassy listens to what you have to say before making a decision. She’s weaker without you, honey. We all are.”

  Another voice came from his other side—Michael’s voice. “Take it easy, Mary. Right now, we all need to stay calm, including you and Frank.”

  Mary nodded. “Doing the best I can.”

  “Remember, all is not lost,” Michael said. “There are people among White Stag who hate Peter as much as we do. They help us, giving us extra water, bits of food, that sort of thing. They helped Jaz escape. And that leads to the best intel we’ve had in a long time.”

  “And what’s that, Michael?” Frank asked. “What great news? We’re slaves, all of us.”

  “Maybe not for long. Our assets within the Stag have told us that Jaz lives—she escaped with the help of our sympathizers and, get this, Choony. He’s alive out there and with Jaz now.”

  That news brought Frank his first smile in many hours. “I’m glad,” Frank said. “At least two of us might survive this. But they can’t free us on their own, Michael. You’re military. You know that. What do you call it? Insurmountable odds?”

  “OpFor numerical superiority. B
ut maybe not, Frank. Jim chased out after Jaz with three of their scouts, and a while later he came back. He was alone and running for his filthy little rapist life.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, it seems a group of soldiers in American camo came to Jaz’s rescue and killed three of Jim’s scouts. Jim escaped, and that’s why there’s all this buzz around camp. It’s why they’re rounding us up. Rumor is, at least a dozen soldiers were in the rescue party.”

  “You think a dozen soldiers can do much to help us here?”

  “Hard to say, Frank, but I’m thinking that against these damned Stag farmers a dozen could well be combat-effective. Especially since Peter has made a lot of his own people into our secret allies.” Michael paused, his expression tightening to steel. “Peter’s about to fall, and hard. I’d like to be first in line at his execution, but Frank, you’ve earned that privilege.”

  Frank stopped to consider this new information. On the one hand, Jaz and Choony would certainly try to get those soldiers to help against White Stag, but there was no guarantee they would help. They might be on a mission, not just wandering survivors—of which there were damn few decent ones left around here. And far too many like Peter and his crew.

  Even if the soldiers did agree to help, they would be outnumbered at least six-to-one. Those were long odds. They’d only stand a chance if they had total surprise on their side, and that was impossible now that Jim had warned Peter. Unless they had help from inside. Michael said some of the Stags were secretly working with them already. With soldiers firing from outside, the Clan and their Stag sympathizers really could turn the tide—but only if they could all coordinate action, and that was impossible.

  Frank’s frown relaxed a little and then one eyebrow lifted. Impossible… But was it really? Ethan hadn’t been found, nor had Amber. He was certain they were holed up in the bunker, with cameras and radios and everything. The Clan could use that, if they had time. It’d still be long odds, but at least it was a plan, something for them to work toward.