Dark New World (Book 5): EMP Resurrection

by Henry G. Foster

  Carl paused a moment, then continued, “I have one question. If I do this—if I step out of the way and let this happen—will my people and my business be taken care of? I’m responsible for them, and though some won’t understand why I did it, they’ll still be alive to figure out it was for the best.”

  Pamela’s grin grew wide, and when she spoke her voice seemed to soar with joy. “Of course. Those who steer us in the right direction will be rewarded, both by the new Speaker and by the Empire. They’ve made us specific offers and assurances, and you stand to make a great many profitable barters under our new arrangements. Liz Town will be made the next Falconry, and we can dominate east-west trade the way they do now. You’re in line to take a piece of that. Oh, Carl, you’ve got to join me! It’d crush me to lose you.”

  Carl nodded as though giving serious thought to her words. Then he said, “So, it was you who had me replaced as envoy to the Confederation. To get me here, to warn me.”

  Pamela squeezed his hand. “Of course. The woman we sent as your replacement is one of our people, too. She’s gathering intel there before separating Liz Town from our Clan entanglements. The more we help the Republic, the better off we’ll be when it’s over. It’s inevitable. The Midwest Republic will win—they hold all the high cards. But we have a choice about whether we survive and thrive or die.”

  What a stupid thing to say. No one ever got to choose whether they lived or died. Just ask Adamstown. They opened their gates to the invaders and cooperated with them, only to be lined up outside and slaughtered while their town burned.

  Sometimes it simply comes down to fight… or die. Sure, the Confederation took revenge for Adamstown, slaughtering the invaders who did it down to the last man as far as anyone could tell. But Adamstown was still a smoking graveyard. And now some in Liz Town were trying to go the same route. He had long ago decided that appeasing evil never spares you from that evil—only hard, bloody resistance has a chance. Of course, first he had to live long enough to warn the Speaker.

  “Sounds brilliant. I was so angry when you had me replaced, but when she gave me our code for meeting, I knew there had to be more to the story.” He gave her his most sincere smile.

  Pamela smiled back, and Carl knew he had her. She had been his wife for years and he knew her well. He continued, “I know logic when I see it, and what you have going here… It can ensure our survival as a town. I’d been racking my brain for so long about how we could begin to beat something as big as the Empire, this Midwest Republic. I don’t like what you’re doing, but you’re right. It might be the only way we all get to live long enough to find out what the future holds for me and you. For all of us here in Liz Town.”

  Carl stretched his arms out and they embraced in a hug, which he held for a long minute with his chin resting on her shoulder. He counted backwards from ten… nine… and thought about how much he’d like to plunge a knife in this traitor’s back right now. This sort of disgusting character defect was the reason he had left her in the first place, after he figured out what a self-serving, conniving bitch she really was… two… one…

  Carl separated himself from her, then put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Thank you, Pamela, for seeing a way out where I did not. What do you need me to do?”

  “Just stay in your room or at chow until I call for you, sweetie. I’m so happy to have you with me on this! I’ll let you know when you have a part to play in this. You’ll see me again in a few days.”

  Carl smiled at her, nodding, but hell no—she wouldn’t be seeing him again until it was time to hang her and the rest of her traitors off the north gate walls as a warning to the Empire. Thinking about that day, it got easier to make his smile believable.

  * * *

  0545 HOURS - ZERO DAY +193

  Cassy peered through her binoculars from the crest of the hill, surveying the skirmish going on some eighty yards away, below. A dozen scrawny, bedraggled men with hunting rifles were either lying prone in the dirt or hiding behind bushes and rocks, firing into Taj Mahal, the enclave of third-generation Indians she had settled near Clanholme and helped get on their feet. “Glad we got word of these guys from your scouts, Michael. Taj Mahal will be hard-pressed to repel them on their own without bad losses.”

  Michael grunted. She heard him telling the other Clan troops, including his Marines, to move up to the crest, and assigning targets already visible. “On my count, fire at will,” he said.

  When he hit three, a deafening barrage of gunfire erupted to both sides of her, then the staccato bang, bang of continued firing. Down below, she saw most of the raiders fall, go limp, or roll around screaming. Their cries were cut short as her fighters continued firing, and ten seconds later it was all over. Cassy turned to look at Michael. “Well done. It’s amazing what crossfire from elevation can do when they don’t know you’re there.”

  Michael nodded somberly. “It’s a crippling force amplifier, for sure.” He then ordered the troops to descend, spread out with weapons ready in case any raiders survived to return fire. None did.

  As Cassy followed down to the secured battlefield, she saw the Taj Mahal people coming out from behind cover. Their leader, Barry, spotted her and walked toward her, and they met in the middle.

  “Cassy, thank goodness you made it on time,” Barry said, grinning.

  Cassy shook his hand eagerly. “I’m glad we made it, too. A scout happened to see them on the move, and we were out to ambush them. I guess we did, in a way.”

  Barry looked around the field as both his and Cassy’s people double-checked the bodies to make sure they were dead, and they divvied up whatever supplies were gathered without any direction from their leaders—there was a deal, after all, and half of all battle loot was owed to Cassy. She didn’t ask for more just because she had been the one to decide the battle. He said, “These are Hershey raiders, if I had to guess. Weird they wound up here.”

  Cassy frowned. “What the heck are Hershey’s people doing so far south? Usually Liz Town gets them before they can bother the rest of the Confederation.”

  Michael approached as she said it, and shook his head. “Ethan talked to them this morning, so we know they’re alive, but they either didn’t see these guys or didn’t tell us about them. I expect to see more of these types of underfed raiders in the future.”

  Cassy mulled that over. In his terse, not always direct style, Michael was saying that Liz Town wasn’t being effective, that he expected them to let slip more bands of hungry raiders. That bothered her because today’s raid, combined with the scene at the last Confed meeting, didn’t bode well. “I’m sure they just slipped by, Michael,” Cassy said, mostly for Barry’s benefit.

  Turning to Barry she said, “Alright, the loot’s divvied up. I’ll let you get back to your people, they’ll want to celebrate I’m sure. You need anything, friend?”

  Barry smiled, but shook his head. “A working microwave? Short of that, we have what we need. Our earthworks for spring planting are coming along great, so we’re nearly set for spring planting. We found tons of clover seed nearby, which we’ll use for ground cover everywhere we don’t plant something else.”

  “Alright, Barry, that’s great news. Radio Ethan if you need anything, okay?”

  They shook hands and Barry left back to his own people. Cassy turned to Michael. “Let Ethan know about this when we get back. Something isn’t right. Between this and the sudden replacement Liz Town envoy, I wonder what the hell those people are up to. Something feels very wrong about this.”

  “Whatever it is,” Michael replied, “I’m telling our Confed allies to double up on their scout patrols.”

  Cassy nodded but didn’t reply. What was there to say? If Liz Town was sloughing their duties, everyone else would have to pull more weight to keep everyone safe. If that continued into spring, it would mean fewer people working the farms. Bad all around.

  * * *

  Captain Samuel Pease, Midwest Republic Army, sat
near a fire with his sidekick, Brett, and warmed his hands. His breakfast tray sat in the dirt beside him. As always, he was still hungry after eating everything they gave him. There was never enough, dammit. The last time he had been full was after raiding Cincinnati with those troops from the general-in-the-mountain. Both the soldiers he and Brett had killed on the sly had MREs, which of course he didn’t turn in for Division of Spoils. That was more of a guideline than a rule, if they didn’t know you had loot or where you got it…

  Brett’s annoying voice interrupted Samuel’s thoughts. “When are we going on another joint-training mission? It was loads of fun, but I haven’t been full since then.” He tossed his tray into the dirt again.

  It was for the Indentured to pick up after soldiers, one of the great perks of service. Samuel nudged his tray with the toe of his boot. “You remember those soldiers’ faces when they saw what we did? That one family had to die, of course, and when you gotta do something—”

  “—you might as well enjoy it!” they said in unison.

  Brett said, “Yeah, Sam. It’s on my highlights reel, the whole thing. Those tough-boy Army guys have been hiding up in their mountain base this whole time. I bet they never saw anything like that before, Cap’n. You figure that’s why we got assigned to this unit?”

  “Naw. The major told me we did a great job, so I doubt it.”

  “What’d the major tell you?” Brett asked, eyes bright with anticipation of a good laugh.

  “He said damn near everyone in that Army unit we cross-trained with filed a complaint about us and almost all of us who went on that mission. I guess we weren’t the only ones to have a good old time down there in burning Cincinnati. He said they ‘got a much better understanding now of the Republic’s operational tactics and capabilities,’ which I figure means they all went home to puke and cry to momma.”

  Brett laughed, happy the story ended with a punchline. “So then why did we get reassigned here? I didn’t think we were going to be doing much more expanding to the east anymore.”

  Samuel nodded. “I thought so, too. I figured they had enough of invading others for more land, but I guess once you have a taste for conquest, only more of it will do.”

  Brett grew quiet and stared into the fire a moment, then said, “I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, it means we get to have more fun and games, which I more or less thought we were done with. On the other hand, I don’t figure it’s necessary. We got enough land and then some. It’s like those people we met during our travels… We never took what we didn’t need, right? We were friendly and all unless we had to take something.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Samuel said. “I have mixed feelings, too. But then again, orders are orders, and that makes it necessary. Assuming we get such orders again.”

  “Damn, Sam. We’re bound to get orders like that. Have you seen who all makes up your new command? Half of them are scouts, for crying out loud. The only reason for scouts on a border unit sure isn’t for defense. And more units are trickling in since we got here. I think we’ll be on our bikes real soon, chewing up miles and making all those little towns Republic.”

  Samuel nodded. Brett was probably right, and they’d soon invade the free lands to the east. The Republic mostly used bikes instead of horses because horses were scarce, and because bikes were faster after about the first three days. They didn’t need supplies, whereas horses ran out of saddle-feed in a couple days and had to graze. It was a good thing bikes were better, Samuel mused, because most of the Republic’s horses were now being used to pull railway cars or wagons. Any operational orders would put a high priority on railway stations, to resupply their forces.

  Samuel said, “Yeah. With all these scouts, we’re probably going to go invite more survivors to vote on joining us.”

  Brett frowned. “Don’t make sense. We got all the land we need. But like you said, the higher-ups probably got a taste for conquest now. And not all of those survivor towns out there are going to vote the smart way. We’ll have to put on our game faces again, because you know how the Republic ‘requisitions’ all the supplies of those who don’t join, like a tax. They’re better off joining and only paying half of what they got, but a lot of those idiots got it in their head they can do as they like. Life isn’t like that.”

  Samuel shrugged. “There’s always someone bigger, badder, and more organized telling folks what to do.” He laughed. “I think they call it government.”

  “Sam, I hope you’re wrong. We got what we need. I don’t much like putting on our game faces just because. We only took what we needed when it was just you and me. I miss those days.”

  “Me too, Brett. Me too. But we take care of us first, right? We may be hungry, but we sure aren’t starving like most of those folks out there.” Samuel used his thumb to motion east, beyond the Republic’s control. “Of course, that’s because the Republic kills off what we can’t support. If we can’t take it, we burn it.”

  “It’s a shame,” Brett replied, staring into the fire.

  It was indeed a shame. But Samuel was no fool. When you gotta do something, you might as well have fun doing it.

  - 5 -

  0345 HOURS - ZERO DAY +194

  CARL STRETCHED HIS back after crouching by his third-floor bedroom window for the last hour, peering out to look for movement, any sign of watchers. He’d spotted one earlier, after chow, posted hiding across the street from the front door, but he was fairly sure there were no spies in back of the house, where his bedroom window faced. He picked up his rappelling rope and at one end tied a Tumble Hitch knot around one of his bed’s steel legs. Grabbing the correct length, the side that would hold, he climbed out the third-story window and slid feet-first down, using his booted feet to control the descent. Once on the patio at the bottom, he stashed the rope’s trailing ends out of sight as best he could among the standing evergreen trees that lined the patio.

  Then he bolted toward the back fence line, jumped up, hooked his elbow over the top edge, and rolled over the top, landing on his feet in the pitch-black alley behind the house. There, from one of the derelict trash cans that lined the alleyway—no one had ever bothered to take them in after the EMPs—he pulled out a black jacket and a shemaugh that he kept hidden there. In moments he was suitably clad in mostly black, and the shemaugh would partially obscure his face without being obvious that was what he was doing. He jogged to the end of the alley, then slowed to a brisk walk, slow enough to seem casual but fast enough that he hoped anyone looking would assume he had somewhere to be.

  He spared a moment to be thankful that the Speaker of Liz Town was a Timber Wolf Band member—had he lived in another band’s territory it would have been nearly impossible to get to his house without being seen and challenged. As it was he walked down the street, heading three blocks north to the right cross street. Halfway there, he heard a scuff of shoes behind him, but he managed to avoid looking, or skipping a step. His pulse picked up; someone was behind him and at this time of night it was probably no coincidence. At the next alley, with only a block to go, he took his time turning right, and off the street. After three paces, he spun on his heels and drew his knife, a simple five-inch fixed blade with a Tanto point, ideal for punching through the thick jackets and layers that everyone wore this time of year, but far less useful for slashing attacks. Still, slashing wasn’t ideal anyway when everyone was padded for winter weather.

  He waited, heart pounding, trying desperately to breath quietly despite his body’s adrenalized need for air… Several seconds later, a man came around the corner at a half-run, clearly trying to catch up to him, and Carl thrust his knife straight forward. Between his thrust, the heavy tip of his knife, and the man’s momentum, the knife slid through the other man’s ribs almost effortlessly, sinking up to the hilt. Whoever this man was, he stared at Carl with eyes open wide with shock and surprise, then slowly fell to the side, his weight tearing the knife blade free. He was dead by the time he hit the ground,
landing on his back.

  “Amateur,” Carl muttered.

  He threw the knife over the fence into the overgrown shrubs of the abandoned house there and stuffed the corpse into a dumpster, being careful not to get blood on himself. There wasn’t a lot of blood. That done, Carl put his hands in his pockets and casually strode out of the alley and continued on his way toward the Alpha’s house.

  Of course, there would be people watching there, too. Even if Pamela’s cabal wasn’t watching, every Band of any size would have the building under observation, noting who came and went and how long they stayed. Knowledge was power. He patted his jacket and felt his other knife resting comfortably within its sheath, but hoped not to have to use it. He’d have to find a way to get inside unobserved.

  Fortunately, Carl knew this layout like the back of his hand. A narrow path, supposedly an alley but too narrow for two people to pass side by side, ran behind the Alpha’s house. It was completely overgrown—had been for years—but before the EMPs it had been tunneled out by neighborhood kids as a play fort. He zipped his jacket and tucked his shemaugh in like a scarf so it wouldn’t catch on anything, and pushed aside a bush. As expected, there was a tunnel, easily large enough for a kid but cramped for a man Carl’s size. It was his only real hope of reaching the Alpha unobserved, though, so he took a breath and crawled in. In the time since the EMPs, a few ambitious branches had grown into the chopped-out tunnel, but with some effort and his knife he removed them. That took longer than it should have, but Tanto-tipped knives sucked at that sort of work.