They had freed the slaves, many of whom had joined his army as usual, and a deep feeling was growing in his bones that something truly strange and dangerous had occurred, was still occurring. The feeling left an itch in his mind that needed scratching, so he had ordered even more scouts sent out. Those would soon return, and then he hoped he’d have a clearer picture of what the heck was going on. All he knew for sure at this point was that they had damned well better get ahead of this… whatever it was that Ree had pulled.
When he finished raising the flag, Eagan came up behind Taggart and said, “General, you want to know what I think?”
“Not really, but you’ll tell me anyway,” Taggart replied.
“I think we just played Musical Chairs with Ree, and we both had enough chairs at the end. He’s down in Hackensack and we’re stuck with all this crappy wasteland. Looks like he got the better chair.”
Taggart looked up and took a deep breath. Shitbird’s words reflected his own line of thought, sadly. “If that’s the case, it explains why he left all his civilians behind with so few guards and so few supplies. He intended to supply his entire army for an all-or-nothing offensive.”
“So… now he has all our land that we worked, and most of our civilians to run it. And we got his worn out, half-starved slaves and a half-assed attempt at farming the “modern” corporate farming way, but without the modern machines to pull it off.”
Taggart nodded. That about summed it up. “Let’s not jump to conclusions until our scouts come back, but we do need to spread the word to settle in at least for a few days. Tell our agriculture heads to start thinking about how to salvage this land, Clan style. We can’t wait, if we’re stuck here now.”
“If Ree’s down in Hackensack, boss, we got one blessing out of this SNAFU,” Eagan said.
“Besides slaughtering the few troops he left behind, and occupying this admin complex-turned-fortress? The concrete construction is lovely this time of year, sure, but…”
“Yeah. We got all his civilians, while he didn’t get all of ours, since a huge number were with us carrying rifles and so on for the offensive.”
“The offensive that never happened.”
“Yeah. But we save who we can, arm them, get cracking on getting some permaculture going. There’s still time to get things growing so we’ll have enough food for next winter. And with all these new civvies and plenty of weapons for them all, we probably now have as many troops as Ree does. Plus, he’s the invader and we’re home-grown. Any people still living around here are going to support us, not him.”
Taggart frowned. “Yes, but now we have to re-do everything we already worked hard to set up if Ree’s back in Hackensack. How is that a win for us?”
Eagan bit his lip for a moment before saying, “Boss, we just liberated almost all the enslaved Americans. If Ree has re-occupied the territory we were operating out of, he has some new slaves now, but not nearly enough. If he’s down there, we just need to pounce. Hungry tigers on the hunt.”
That did make sense. It was hard not to be disappointed about all that lost effort setting up Clan-style farming. Still, he agreed with his aide that it wasn’t all bad. “Yes. Even if you’re right and he’s grabbed our Hackensack area farmlands, which we don’t know yet for sure… even if he did, we have the farms his slaves already planted, and we have the people to care for it and harvest it when the time comes. We have everything he set up and enough time to convert a lot of it to high-yield permaculture methods. Plus, he doesn’t know a thing about how to use Cassy’s permaculture methods. He has to be struggling.”
Then Eagan grinned. “Even better. Maybe we can’t really dig Ree out now, but we have him bottled up in New York City and the Jersey area right across the river from there. You get that? Bottled up. We won. He’s neutralized so long as we’re here to keep him contained.”
Taggart forced himself to grin. Eagan was right, and he didn’t deserve to have to carry Taggart’s own doubts. That was the leader’s burden, not the troops’. “Good perspective. Alright, set up people to meet the scouts coming back. Send a team straight to Hackensack to get the status there and see if your feeling is right about Ree being bottled up. Start recruiting any freed slaves we can use, and cut the rest loose. And let’s see if we can’t send another battalion to the Clan, now that we have more people than we know what to do with. They’re fighting off both the Empire traitors and whatever troops Ree sent out to harass them. We owe the Clan, so let’s help ’em out if we can.”
Eagan stood bolt upright at that, heels snapping together crisply, and saluted. Taggart returned a proper salute because it felt appropriate for the moment and, as Eagan left, turned back toward the land that stretched out before him. Eagan was right. This wasn’t the worst thing ever to happen.
And now, with so many new troops, he could start harassing the invaders to his north and east in Pennsylvania under the other North Korean commander, General Park if his intel was right. That would relieve a lot of the pressure on survivor groups up there in northern Pennsylvania. And though the Clan had kicked General Park’s ass and sent his troops fleeing, according to Dark Ryder’s back-channel reports, those troops were still out there, operating like bandits. If they could put pressure on Park, it would help the Clan, too, at least in the sense of reducing a potential future threat. A win for everyone but the invaders.
All in all, Taggart decided, the loss he now expected—everything from Hackensack to Hoboken—was a small price to pay for the results, when he looked at the big picture. Sometimes it took a friend like Eagan to point out the silver linings in life, even when he didn’t want to see them.
He chuckled at a sudden thought. Being disappointed about not “winning it all” in this offensive was like the man in an old joke who thought he won a free Rolls Royce. When they instead sent him a free top-of-the-line Mercedes Benz limousine and a free pristine Porsche 918 Spyder, he screamed, “I was robbed!”
Still chuckling at himself, Taggart turned back toward his work.
- 24 -
1225 HOURS - ZERO DAY +255
THE FUNERAL COMPLETED shortly after noon. It seemed everyone wanted to share what they remembered about each of the fallen, and they had taken to calling it “Testimony.”
Cassy suspected that memorial Testimony and burial in the forest would now be forever part of Clan culture, along with a tree planted over the fallen. Fine and good. People needed traditions, culture, ritual, heritage. The Clan, like every other group of survivors, had already created more of these than she probably even realized. And more would come. It was how humans connected the past with the future. It defined their place in existence as time moved them inexorably forward.
She reflected on her sudden turn toward philosophy for a moment and then turned her head to look at Corporal Sturm as the latter, acting as Clan medic, worked on her arm brace. “Thanks,” Cassy said. “I didn’t want to do this until after the ceremony, and then other things came up.”
“What, like lunch?” Sturm asked. “You and I both know you wouldn’t wear this thing at all if you could get away with it.”
“I hate being seen as weak,” Cassy muttered.
“No one would think that of you,” Sturm said finishing up.
Cassy moved her arm, felt pain. She let her arm relax and the pain faded back quite a bit. “Thanks, I think this will do.”
From the front door came Frank’s deep voice, startling them both. “Sturm, can I speak to Cassy a moment?” He stood tall facing Cassy head-on as if Sturm were invisible as he spoke. His arms folded over his chest.
“Sure,” Sturm said as she gathered herself and walked through the doorway leaving Cassy and Frank alone. There was a moment of deafening silence before he spoke again.
“Quite a wound you got there.”
“Yeah, but people heal from their wounds and I will too.”
“Yeah, it’ll buff out,” he said. “Just like last time. And the time before that.”
Cassy a
lmost did a double take. “I—”
“You’re the Confederation leader.” It wasn’t a question, but he waited for her to reply.
She raised her eyebrows, a bit stunned by his assertiveness. She breathed in through her nose, a way to lift herself up. “Yes.”
“And you’re the Secretary of Agriculture for all of New America, right?” His arms stretched out as if to display the whole world.
Cassy tilted her head and nodded slowly. “Yes… but New America is pretty much—”
“And if you fail them, possibly hundreds of thousands of people could die?”
She said nothing.
“Passing along your knowledge of the permaculture is crucial to survivors.”
She felt her temper begin to rise. “That’s why I spend priceless hours teaching the so-called Agricultural Deputies how we do things here.”
Frank glared at her but she had enough. She had no time for this. “I am the leader, Frank—”
“You’re no leader! You’re on the front lines fighting and hot dogging until your time is up. Then what? You want to leave your people to fend for themselves because you were too hotheaded, too late to realize you made a mistake?”
“I’m on the front lines as an example.”
“An example of what?”
“Of leadership and courage.”
“That courage almost got you killed and you go off and do it again?”
“Yes, I do it again. I didn’t gain the trust of my people by hiding or leading from the rear.”
Frank limped across her living room to stand only a couple feet from her, his finger hovering in front of her face like a challenging wasp.
“You want to know what your ‘leading’ is? It’s a distraction. Our people can’t concentrate on the battle because they are too busy trying to keep their leader alive. Step off the field and do your job so we can do ours.” Frank’s voice boomed. “For once, Cassy, stop trying to be a goddamn hero.” And with that he turned his back and was gone.
Cassy was frozen. She took a deep breath and looked down at her arm. She had never seen Frank like this before.
The door opened again causing Cassy to jump. It was only Ethan. “Got some news,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other. He put one hand on the other elbow, then dropped his hand down again.
Sometimes, Cassy thought Ethan was like a hyperactive ferret on crack. She said, “Spit it out.”
“The Empire isn’t wasting any time. They’re on the move again.”
“God, what now?” This couldn’t be good, of course, so she braced herself for bad news.
“At least two regiments. Well over two-thousand troops, mostly on foot, some on bicycles or horses. They’re followed by extensive supply caravans. They could be here as early as tomorrow, though Michael thinks they’ll slow once they get near us and therefore, not hit until the next day.”
Cassy knew this was going to happen, a one-two punch of sorts, but hearing the words didn’t make it any easier. The Empire’s follow-up attack was looming over them, but their arrival so soon still was a shock. “That’s still not enough time to get ready,” she said. “There’s never enough time.”
“There’s more,” Ethan said. “Liz Town’s Interim Speaker and that replacement envoy, apparently, got caught doing something treasonous and were just hanged.”
“The woman envoy that was here?” Cassy asked.
“Yeah, and Carl, the envoy she replaced, is now a leader of one of their groups.”
“Okay, so why do I care?”
“The new Speaker has ratified our alliance treaty,” Ethan said.
Cassy felt her spirit soar. “That’s fantastic news,” she said. Liz Town’s alliance could mean the difference between freedom or slavery, life or death.
Cassy began to pace. “Maybe we should send out more scouts, a lot more, so they can relay messages. We’d know where they’ll hit, and where they’re thin and vulnerable. And then we’ll know where to send people.”
She stopped and turned to Ethan. “Let everyone we can contact by radio know, and ask them to relay troop movements so we can act quickly next time. Let Taggart know about the reported Empire movement too. If the 20s give you an update, I don’t care if it’s real or an attempt to mislead us, report back immediately. We need to stay alert. Got it?”
Ethan nodded. “You got it, Cassy. Right away.” He turned and disappeared out the door.
Cassy rubbed her chin. She had an idea.
* * *
The sun was well past its zenith as the wagon jostled and bounced toward the hill just south of Clanholme, and Jaz’s spirits rose despite the shooting pains that hit with every bump and dip. As they traveled—more slowly than she’d have liked—Choony hovered over her like a worried mama hummingbird. Are you okay, are you doing okay, are you still okay…
“Yes, dammit, I’m fine. Stop asking,” she snapped for the thousandth time after his millionth such question. Again. And again. And again. She doubted he’d listen now any more than the last three hundred times she had said it.
“I know it bothers you, but you’re wounded,” he said this time, sounding like her wound was torturing him. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, trying to dream up a suitable wisecrack about that, but he continued before she could put one together. “Your condition could change in an instant for all we know. You look pale and sweaty, and those are signs of either shock or infection. I’m worried.”
“It wasn’t infected when you finally let us set out this morning.”
“Then perhaps you’re in shock.”
“I’m only shocked that you keep asking if I’m okay,” Jaz replied. He was annoying, yes, but only because he cared. And in truth, she didn’t feel great. Light-headed from some of the worst pain she had ever felt. Her stomach churned more than the wagon did.
“There’s the south hill up ahead,” Choony said. “We’ll be home in half an hour at the most.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “I’m sure they saw us long ago. I wonder why they didn’t ride out to meet us this time.”
Jaz had no answer, so she stayed quiet. She shut her eyes and focused on fighting the pain and on not throwing up. Soon they had ridden around the south hill and were approaching the south food forest. Jaz peeled one eye open and saw two riders coming out of the woods toward them, each bearing a pack. “Took ’em long enough,” she said between pain-clenched teeth.
The guards greeted Choony, recognizing him and Jaz, and handed over the packs. They contained fresh bottles of water, and—glorious!—tupperware with fresh salad. Miracles! Too bad her stomach was churning too badly to risk food. In her mind, Jaz added the emoji for frowning to the end of her thought.
They were led through the woods toward the Complex. Jaz noticed they weren’t very talkative, though, and slowly her concern grew as they rode on in silence. She leaned over to Choony and whispered, “They’re awful quiet, don’t you think?”
He only nodded. She saw the tension building in his shoulders, though his face remained neutral. She had come to learn that it happened when he was trying to get all Buddha-Zen, or whatever, trying to accept something, calm himself down, prepare for bad news… That made her even more concerned. Something seemed, like, really wrong.
When they reached the Complex, Jaz saw that very few people were out in the fields. No one was up with the animals, which was unusual at this hour of the day. People waved and smiled as the wagon went by, but to Jaz they looked sad. Like shell-shocked or something.
The wagon halted, and Choony hopped down, came around the back of the wagon, and scrambled up to Jaz. He offered his arm to help her down and she reached out to take it, but Choony was politely elbowed aside (can you be politely elbowed?) by Sturm and another paramedic, a guy whose name Jaz forgot.
While helping her down, Sturm said, “How bad is it?”
Jaz said, “I don’t think I’ll be able to play the piano again.”
Choony said, “You play piano?” and Jaz ro
lled her eyes.
Sturm led her toward the chow pavilion, sat her down on a bench, and told her to take off her shirt. The other paramedic and Choony turned away and stayed at the entrance flap to keep people out.
Jaz pulled off her unzipped hoodie, and then took off the purple tank-top she wore beneath it. Sturm let out a low whistle. “Nice stitching. Choony’s work?”
“Yeah. How’d you know I was hurt?”
“One of the guys who rode out to meet you came and found me. Said you looked really sick, but I saw right away it was shock. How long ago you get shot?”
“Days ago. Three days? I can’t remember. But it’s just a flesh wound.”
Sturm shook her head emphatically. “No, no, no. Bullets don’t leave flesh wounds, they leave wounds. Shoulders are among the worst.”
Jaz raised an eyebrow. “It just grazed my armpit.”
“Let me take a look,” Sturm said. “Oh, you’re right—I see where it passed through, just under the skin. Missed that big tendon in your armpit, too. What you got here is a ‘one-in-a-million’ shot. A quarter inch to either side and you’d either be dead or permanently crippled. Did it get cleaned out?”
“As best we could,” Choony said over his shoulder. “Everclear and antibiotic ointment.”
Sturm nodded, but didn’t look satisfied. “It’s hard to tell how bad the infection is,” she said. “It’s inflamed a little, but puncture wounds don’t always present infection clearly until gangrene sets in and then it’s too late. Have you checked your temperature?”
Jaz shook her head. “You got a mercury thermometer?”
“No, but I have a regular one from down in the bunker.” Sturm fidgeted around inside her medical bag, then brought out an electronic thermometer. She rubbed it with an antiseptic wipe, and practically shoved it into Jaz’s mouth. “Under the tongue, please.”
Dark New World (Book 5): EMP Resurrection Page 33
