Twenty minutes later he was at the brush that hid an opening into the tunnel, adjacent to the Alpha’s fence. A jump and a tumble later, he found himself inside the Alpha’s backyard and bolted for the rear of the house. He knew there was a cast iron downspout from the roof there, and he shimmied up it to the balcony, flipped over the railing, and peered into the blacked-out room of his leader, the Alpha of the Timber Wolf Band, Speaker of Liz Town. Inside, nothing moved. He pulled an old credit card and had quickly opened the double French doors, slid inside, and closed the doors after him. Then he froze, and simply stood listening to the noises of the night. Nothing sounded out of the ordinary; he had made it undetected. Now for the easy part…
Carl crept to the four-poster bed in the center of the room, against one wall, and drew aside the sheer curtain. He whispered, “Hey boss, got a minute?”
The Alpha sat bolt upright and as he did so he withdrew his hand from under his pillow, a revolver in hand, but Carl half-expected that. No one slept deeply these days. Carl, being fully alert, disarmed his Alpha with a quick maneuver that used both his hands and left him holding the gun. “Whoa, not here to hurt you, boss.”
The Alpha said, groggily, “What the hell? Who? What?”
Carl grinned in the darkness. “Take a minute. It’s Carl, and we’re in your bedroom.”
“Goddammit, Carl. You scared me half to death. What time is it?”
“It’s four thirty a.m. We gotta talk.”
“So make an appointment—”
“No, it can’t wait. No one can know I came to you with this.”
The Alpha rubbed his eyes and glanced around in the room’s dim light before turning his gaze again to Carl. “You’d better have a good explanation.”
Carl nodded. There was a reason Carl wasn’t the Alpha and his friend was, and that reason was aggression, drive, ambition. Things Carl didn’t pride himself on and didn’t want. But the Alpha also prized his integrity, and that was something Carl did respect. “I do, trust me.”
“Well? Out with it.” The Alpha stood from his bed and put on his robe, then walked to the desk in his room. From it, he pulled out a bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon. “Want a snort?”
“Sure,” Carl replied, and took the offered glass with a nod of thanks. “Right to the point, then.” He paused to take a sip of bourbon, and sighed, “Ahhh…”
“This isn’t a slumber party, Carl. I sure hope you do actually get right to the point.”
“You know there’s people here who feel we shouldn’t stand against the Empire.”
“I know that, but those people aren’t in charge. I’m the Speaker, Carl, not them. Don’t worry about it.”
“One of them is in charge. Can I worry now?”
“What, the SecDef? He’s my brother-in-law, and loyal to a fault. Our troops are solidly behind me.”
“Not the SecDef, not that I know of anyway. But your SecState is one of them. She—”
“Pamela? Your ex wife? Don’t be foolish, Carl. She’s been loyal and one of our core people since the very beginning.”
“She’s loyal when it suits her purposes. It doesn’t suit her anymore. You don’t know her like I—”
“She’s loyal!” he said, raising his voice, but then took a deep breath and turned to listen toward the door. When no noise of rushing guards came, he continued in a quieter voice, “She’s always been loyal. She’s your ex, so you hate her and see the worst, but—”
“That’s not it, dammit! She came to me, to try to recruit me. There’s a conspiracy and it goes up high. She said you’d be out of office pretty damn soon, and then she and the cabal are going to buckle to the Empire. Says it’s the only way we all get to live, because she’s convinced we can’t hold off the Empire.”
“Bullshit. They can be beaten, and have been already. Springfield stopped them cold in Illinois, and God only knows how many thousands of Chippewas are in northern Michigan, but it was enough to stomp the Republic’s troops into the bloody dirt. Chicago Militia’s, too. Tell me again why I should believe this story, Carl. Are you sure you aren’t letting your emotions get in the way? Or are you just jealous of Pamela’s position?”
Carl clenched his jaw. This was not going as planned. “I’m not jealous, dammit. Pamela’s a damned traitor. She called me home from Clanholme and replaced me with one of her own plotters.”
“Pamela told me you’d been acting funny lately. It’s why she had you relieved from your envoy duties. She thought the pressure was getting to you, and I think I think I see it too.”
Carl’s jaw dropped and he stared at the Alpha wide-eyed. “Sir, you can’t mean that. I’m here trying to warn you, risking my own life to do so, and—”
“And now you think people want to kill you?” the Alpha said. “Enough of this nonsense. Carl, I know you. I believe that you believe the things you’re saying, but I need you to return to your quarters and stay there until I summon you. I have to decide what to do with you. Maybe time away from the stress of your duties will help.”
“But sir, if I—”
“I said that’s enough,” the Alpha snapped, his hand up as if to say halt. Then he sighed and lowered his voice. “Carl, I’m going to put you under house arrest, and you are relieved of all your duties for now. Go home, get some sleep, read a book.
“But Pamela—”
The Alpha’s face turned bright red, “This is a damn order, not a suggestion. Now get the hell out of my room.”
The Alpha stared at Carl, eyes unwavering as he met Carl’s gaze. After a few moments, Carl looked away and let out a long, deep breath. “Yes, sir. I hear and I obey.”
Neither said another word as Carl left the way he had come in. If he said another word he’d probably end up getting an escort home, and that would be the death of them both shortly afterward, in all likelihood. Carl shimmied down the cast iron pipe and quickly vanished the way he’d come.
But in the tunnel, instead of turning right to go home, he turned left. The tunnel let out amidst rubble from a burnt-out section of town, and from there Carl began to run. He had a safehouse set up out here in the supposed barrens, stocked well enough to keep him going for months. It would give him time to decide what to do next, and who could be trusted. Among his large business enterprises he had several rough, shady people who took care of his “odd jobs.” He’d have to figure out how to contact one of them and get updates on what was going down in Liz Town. He suspected it would happen sooner rather than later, whatever Pamela had in mind, once she realized he was gone. The Alpha would probably call Pamela in to tell her all about the nighttime visit. Carl had to be well hidden before morning.
* * *
Nestor walked around the inferno that was once a cabin. They’d found it without much problem, and one of his people had doused the building’s perimeter with gasoline from two jerry cans on the back of the very dead 4x4 SUV parked outside. The building had gone up almost immediately, and he and his people only had to shoot one person attempting to escape from a window in the loft. Everyone else inside, the fire claimed. Now the blaze was beginning to lessen, since the building had collapsed in on itself.
Nestor turned to two of his people, and pointed at the barn. “Go clear it, make sure no one is hiding in there. Find anything of value and let me know. Then we’ll burn it down too.”
As they ran off, Nestor opened the SUV and rummaged through it, checking every space in the slowly dawning morning light. Not much of value, of course. He didn’t expect to find anything, but it passed the time and it had to be checked anyway.
The cabin had probably held a lot of useful items, but a siege would have taken forever and rushing the house would have been an unnecessary risk. Why take the chance of losing a fighter to gunfire when they could end it safely with one match?
As his people scoured the area, checking every shed or outbuilding, and any place that looked like a possible stash spot, the two he’d sent to the barn returned. One held a small metal box, like a
money lockbox. “Found this buried in the hay, boss. The hay is too fresh to be from before the lights went out, so they put it there since then.”
Nestor examined the box; it was a simple thing, rectangular and not too tall. A round-key lock set flush with the box surface secured it. “Good work. It might be important. Maybe medicines, or who knows what. Find a way to pry this damn thing open,” he said, and handed the box back.
Ten minutes later they returned, but they looked tense, even spooked, and their eyes darted everywhere, searching. “It’s open. You aren’t going to like it.” One handed the box to Nestor.
He set the bent, twisted box on the SUV’s hood and flipped open the lid. Inside was a huge pill bottle stuffed with tiny pink pills. The label read, “Oxycodone 10mg tablets.”
There was also a map with bold, red writing on it. A glance told him it had pinpointed the settlements in the area, rough population, how well supplied they were, and also pointed out important features throughout this little pocket of Pennsylvania.
Four large gold coins lay inside the box, each weighing about an ounce, with the rough image of some dude he’d never seen. It certainly wasn’t U.S.-minted coinage. It looked homemade. The faint inscription read, “MWR - A New Dawn.”
Most tantalizing of all, he found a note handwritten on printer paper. It consisted of text in three neat columns, the writing small and precise, with alternating numbers and letters. Some sort of a code, maybe. “What the heck. Any of you seen anything like this before?”
Nestor showed it to his people one at a time, but none admitted to knowing what it was. “We’ll have to make a trip to Clanholme,” he announced. “They have a guy there who might be able to make sense of this. What do you make of the rest of this stuff?”
There was a long moment of silence before Ratbone hesitantly suggested, “Maybe the MWR is the Empire. You know, the Midwest Republic. I think that’s what they’re calling themselves.”
Nestor nodded, staring at the map. “I think you’re right. And this map, all of this is stuff the Empire would want to know ahead of time. Spies, d’you think?”
“Damn, boss,” Ratbone muttered, sounding shocked. “These candyballs were working for the Empire?”
Nestor grit his teeth. If he could burn those assholes alive again, he would. “Even cannibals have a price. Especially cannibals, in fact. That’s probably enough gold coin to set them up nicely in the Empire. And the pills, those were the bribe for here and now. Well, take them. That stuff makes good barter, you know. We’ll take the note and the map to Clanholme. Cassy will want to know that the Empire is hiring traitors. You can bet your sweet knives that these guys aren’t the only people the Empire bought, Ratbone.” Nestor handed the box to one of his fighters. “Pack it all up. Get all the hay we can carry and then torch the barn. Let’s get the hell out of here, this place feels like it has evil oozing from every crack.”
Nestor resaddled his horse and gave it the last of the hay in his saddlebags. They’d soon be full again, to the horse’s probable delight. At least this simple creature would be happy with today’s results—Nestor sure wasn’t. The Empire was coming, no matter what platitudes and promises they’d given to Cassy. Spring would bring more blood. It never seemed to end, the blood he had to spill. Even now at the end of the world as they knew it, the killing was the one thing that hadn’t changed. The Other loved it, but Nestor only hoped he could stay strong through the times that lay ahead.
* * *
Ethan heard the bunker door open and hastily threw on a pair of sweatpants and an old tee-shirt. With a quick kiss to Amber, he left the bunks area, closing the curtain behind him. Seconds later, Cassy emerged from the tunnel to the surface. “Evening, Cassy,” he said with a smile. “Your timing is terrible as always.”
Cassy gave him a smile and said, “Har dee har har. You and Amber will just have to wait. We just had a visit from one of Nestor’s Night Ghosts, and got something for you.”
That got his attention. Nestor was technically part of the Clan, but the reality was that he and his band of Adamstown survivors were their own guerrilla operation, running around like nomads, taking the fight to the enemy. Very exciting stories to tell the kids, when he visited, but not great for one’s longevity. “I hope it’s a pony. Or an MMO server.”
“Ponies won’t fit down here in your Cave of Justice, and we don’t have the power to run a server farm. Sorry, not this time. He did send some intel, though. He just got done tracking down that band of cannibals we’ve been hearing about, so there’s that.”
Ethan frowned. “A pony would have been nice. But those people have been a thorn in our sides for over a month. I assume they won’t be eating anymore Long Pig.”
“Nope, the messenger said the Night Ghosts burned the house down with them in it. Bad way to go. They say they got some intel for us, too. It seems the cannibals had a lockbox with a bigass bottle of narcotics inside, half of which he sent to us. The box also had a map of the area covered in the sorts of notes an army would need to know in an invasion. And four hefty gold coins, freshly minted, with what they think is a picture of the Empire’s leader on them.” Cassy handed him two of the coins. “They sent us half, of course.”
Ethan felt the cool, heavy coins in his hand and examined them. They felt soft, like only fairly pure gold can. The edges were smooth, not ridged against paring away a little at a time like American money had been since the days of gold and silver coins. On one side the coins had an inscription with the Empire’s acronym and motto—A New Dawn—with crude crossed rifles as decoration. On the other, he saw the profile image of a man’s face. The Emperor, or whatever they called their leader, no doubt. Their founder, or whoever was taking credit for it.
“Cassy, these are newly made coins. I imagine they used a rubber mold to create a casting, then pour molten gold into it. Slow, laborious. I used to make coins like that out of Zinc for my Saturday roleplaying game sessions. I used ’em for Bennies for the best pen-and-paper game in the universe, Savage Wo—”
Cassy abruptly cut him off. “Save your pretend-war stories, Ethan. But they sent something else I figure you’ll love.” She pulled an envelope from her back pocket and handed it to Ethan.
He opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of printer paper, which had three columns of neat, small writing. It was a series of letters and numbers. “Some sort of code?”
Cassy nodded. “Think you can crack it?”
“I can try.”
“Good, I’d like to know what they’re up to, and whether the cannibals killed an Empire spy to get this stuff or, as Nestor thinks, they were collaborators selling out to the Empire. Hopefully this can give us some answers.”
Ethan looked up from the note, locking eyes with Cassy. That would not be good. “You mean the Empire is infiltrating Confed territory with spies? I figured they would try, but to see evidence of it… how many more spies are there?”
“We knew the Empire was coming though, right? Spring will be on us soon, and then the fighting starts. Not just enclaves against the Empire but everywhere. We’re back to campaign seasons, like in medieval times. People who only want to peaceably farm always suffer the worst in times like that.”
“Like all the times, ever, before the industrial revolution,” Ethan agreed. “Whatever this code says, I doubt it’ll be something we can use to our advantage. The Empire isn’t sending vital military secrets to Confed renegade cannibals, and even if they ate an Empire spy to get this stuff it’s not going to be their plan of attack. But it could still be useful, so I’ll get right on it. I have no idea if I can crack it, but I have software that gives us at least a shot in hell. Maybe two.”
“Alright. Do your best. This is classified, by the way. I don’t want everyone knowing about this—it’ll spook people. And we definitely don’t want our Empire envoys to know.”
Ethan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He felt the muscles in his neck tense. “Great. Now we’re keeping secr
ets from the people for their own good. Sounds familiar.”
Cassy’s eyebrows furrowed, her lips tight. “Don’t give me that. Until this is decoded we don’t know if they simply ate a spy or they’re collaborators, and wild speculation is the only result of telling people half a story. Figure out what this says and I’ll let you tell everyone yourself if that’s what you want. But make no mistake, Ethan, we’re in a war now. The side that wins will be the side that wants it more, and I won’t have you spooking our Clanners based on some half-assed theory. Or having it leak back to the Empire.”
Ethan looked away, and nodded. It didn’t sit well with him, good little anarchist that he was, but she had a point. He’d go along, for now at least. “Alright. Let’s get the whole story if we can, then, but we have to at least put our scouts on high alert. And by the way, there’s news out of Florida.”
Cassy’s expression softened. “Really? That’s fantastic.” She caught Ethan’s frown. “Not fantastic? What’s going on in Gatorland?”
“Right after taking Orlando, two factions got to squabbling over loot. Who got how much food, that sort of thing. It spread from there when other factions didn’t want to be left out. Why let those two decide, right? The whole thing has been falling apart. The Russians and Cubans may be dead and gone, but they found new enemies. Each other.”
“Crap. It’s like former Yugoslavia. If they don’t get that under control, it’ll be years of low-intensity bloodshed that will take a century to get over, even after someone wins. With personal feuds left between families forever.” Cassy let out another sigh. It was her most annoying habit.
Ethan said, “Also, I reached out to Liz Town by radio. It’s not promising… They have it manned of course, but when we asked to talk to the envoy, we were told she’s unavailable. They didn’t even pretend to go find her and ask—he just replied and said she’s not available to talk to us. He offered to take a message. I said we’d like to talk to her about all the raiders filtering through their turf into the rest of the Confed, and asked whether we can help with anything. Still no response.”
Dark New World (Book 5): EMP Resurrection Page 8
