“You know for a fact he killed your former leader? How did that happen?”
Danny shrugged. “I wasn’t there. There was a conflict with another group of survivors. They all left on a raid, some tiny community called Nettletown. When they left, our leader’s name was Wyatt. When they came back, Black was our new leader. The thing is, he’s got this pit bull of a man always at his side, doing his dirty work. I don’t have proof, but I’m telling you, Black killed Wyatt on that raid, when he saw an opportunity to take over.”
The familiar-looking man clapped one hand over his mouth and took a step backward, his face going pale. Brooke’s expression mirrored his.
At the same time, the oldest man—who looked a bit like a pit bull, himself—stepped forward and slammed both hands down on the counter on the far side of the glass, shouting, “Nettletown? You son of a —”
The familiar man grabbed the older one’s shoulder, pulling him away from the glass with a hard jerk. “Don’t get near the glass, Frank. He could reach through the slot.” Then, his eyes swiveled to lock onto Danny’s, and a cold rage burned in them. “You were on that raid?”
Danny sensed it was a loaded question, some importance to do with Nettletown, something he didn’t know. Cautiously, he shook his head. “No. My job was logistics, not fighting. They left me behind to keep the markets running. Life doesn’t stop because some of them left on a raid to sneak out supplies in a town with some people we were beefing with.”
The third man, who had not yet spoken, growled at Danny as his face flushed bright red. “You lie. You know damn well what happened there, and you’re covering your own ass.”
Alarm bells rang in the back of Danny’s mind. He’d had a suspicion something horrible had happened in Nettletown…What did these men know that Danny didn’t? He held up both hands in protest. “No, I swear. Look at me. Do I look like a fighter? Clarks Crossing is big enough that someone had to stay behind to keep things running smoothly while they went on the raid. It wasn’t even half of us who left. When they came back, though, none of them would talk about what happened. I got different half-stories. And Black, not Wyatt, was in charge.”
Brooke swayed a bit where she stood.
He continued, “Also, they came back with a lot of loot. Far more, I think, than they would get just by raiding their stockpiles. Something bad happened there, but I don’t know what, and I never had the chance to go look. I’m pretty sure that if Black caught me going, he’d have killed me. Or, more likely, he’d have had his pit bull do it.”
The third man glanced at the familiar-looking one and said through clenched teeth, “Don’t you believe him, Abram.”
Abram. So that was his name. The name, like the man, seemed familiar. It nagged at Danny, worrying in the back of his mind. He felt like the connection was right there, on the tip of his tongue, so to speak, but refused to reveal itself.
Danny looked at Abram directly in the eyes and said, “Believe it. It’s the truth. I wouldn’t have come here, of all places, and I wouldn’t have brought a warning, if I was one of them. It’s not the kind of story one makes up. You understand, I can never go home again as long as Black is in charge. I have friends there, people I’ve known my whole adult life. I have a life there. I had a job, and a good one.”
With his lip curled back in a snarl, Frank said, “Why should we care about some bandit’s problems? You deserve it.”
Danny shook his head. “I sacrificed all of that to do the right thing. I get why you wouldn’t believe me, but honestly, if you don’t listen to my warning, you will deserve what you’re going to get. Don’t be an idiot—what’s the risk, if you believe me? And what’s the risk, if you don’t? Ask Brooke. She knows. I’m no liar.”
“Enough,” Abram said, stepping between Danny and Brooke, blocking the view. “Frank, he has a point. I know we are all on edge at this guy because of what happened at Nettletown, but what if he’s telling the truth? And what could they get out of it, if they sent him in with this lie? There’s no upside for them, if this is all just one big lie.”
Abram looked back to Danny and narrowed his eyes. “Now, tell me something. How did you get away, and why’d you bring a truck full of loot?”
This was it. The shiver ran down Danny’s spine. If they didn’t believe the next words out of his mouth, he had a deep suspicion that he’d never leave this room alive. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, but couldn’t keep eye contact. That image flashed through his mind again, chewing on him like a wolf on a bone. “I had a scheme to get away. It didn’t work. I had to kill a man to get away, and I had to take the truck to make it look like some other bandits had swooped up and taken both me and the truck. I figured that if…”
Danny blinked hard, fighting tears. Eyes burning, he continued, “I thought I might be able to go home someday, after Black is dead, if they thought bandits killed the man. But it was me or him, and I just couldn’t let myself get killed. Not before I did everything I could to rid my people of that monster, Black. The man truly is a monster, hiding behind a reptile smile and his pet henchman.”
There was a long silence as everyone looked at the one they’d called Abram. Danny could practically see the gears turning in Abram’s mind as he considered what judgment he would pass, and Danny was helpless to do anything but wait for the verdict. The overwhelming feeling of helplessness made Danny’s stomach flip-flop, threatening to unleash breakfast all over the glass between them.
At last, Abram said, “There it is. A truth bomb just blew up all over you, son—”
Danny didn’t hear the rest of what Abram was saying. Truth bomb…Misty said that, too, and there was no way it was a coincidence. Abram’s familiarity then clicked into place. His cheekbones, the shape of his eyes, the angle of his chin—those were all Misty’s, as well. Danny reeled, staggering backward step. He heard himself mutter, “It can’t be…”
Irritation flashed on Abram’s face. “What the hell’s the matter with you, boy? What can’t be?”
Danny’s body felt numb, pins and needles tingling all up and down his back and arms. “You. You looked familiar when I first saw you. I think I might know why.”
Abram shook his head, then walked back and forth in front of the glass, eyeing Danny. After a moment, he said, “We’ve never met. No, I’d have remembered meeting you.”
Danny looked at Brooke, locking eyes with her, willing her to keep her gaze locked with his, to see the truth in his words, and said, “In my stuff, you guys took my wallet. There’s a picture in there. I need that picture.”
Brooke nodded, almost imperceptibly.
Satisfied, Danny looked at Abram and said, “Believe me, I think you’re going to want to see that picture, too. Please, it’s important.”
Abram looked at Brooke, raising one eyebrow. “Well, what do you think?”
She shrugged. “I don’t see the harm. He was always good to my family.” She looked at Abram until he gave a nod, then said, “Okay. Hang on.”
She walked over to a four-drawer filing cabinet and used a small key to unlock it. She pulled the top drawer open and pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag, in which they’d put Danny’s few personal possessions. She fished his wallet out and opened it, looking through it. It took only a second for her to grab onto a piece of paper and pull it out from the inner pocket in the wallet—Misty’s photograph, which he had taken from her just to have something to remember her by. Oh, the irony.
Brooke stood, staring at the photo, unmoving. Seconds ticked by.
Abram cleared his throat.
Brooke shook her head, as though clearing away memories—probably exactly what it was—and then handed the photo to Abram.
Danny watched as, first, the man’s eyebrows furrowed. Then, his mouth opened to form a little “O” shape, and he staggered backward, almost falling. “Miranda?” he said, his voice tight and cracking. “It can’t be her…”
Abram stared at the photo in his shaking hands. Miranda…How? It couldn
’t be her, and yet, it had to be. She was older, but she hadn’t changed all that much from the little girl he remembered. The little sister he’d failed to protect. He’d spent half his life running from that failure. Everyone had assumed the worst, that she was dead, probably horrifically. But this bandit from some small town in backwoods Vermont had her picture in his wallet.
It was like a neon sign from Heaven. God was giving him a message, right there in his hands. A thousand words—that’s what a picture was worth, people said. Well, this one was worth a man’s life. He couldn’t turn his back on Danny, not when it might mean the man’s life, and not when that man was Abram’s only link to the sister he’d lost so many years ago.
Frank said, “Can’t be who? You know that girl?”
Abram glared at Danny. “Where the hell did you get this? How do you know her? You lie, you die. Understand?”
“Who is she?” Owen asked, stepping up to try to peer over Abram’s shoulder to see the photo.
Brooke said, “It’s my mom, Misty.”
“And…I can’t be positive, a lot of years have passed.” And yet, Abram was as sure of it as he’d ever been of anything before. “But I know it’s…This is…” he stammered, then took a sharp breath to steady himself. “It may be impossible, but this is a picture of my baby sister, Miranda. She was taken, a long time ago.”
Brooke let out a squeak, her throat sounding tight. “Your sister? You’re my…” Her voice faded away.
Uncle…Abram’s mistrust of people told him this was an elaborate scam. And yet, he was certain that was his sister, in that photo—Brooke’s mother.
The room spun a little.
Abram turned and glared at Danny. “You tell me where you got this, and how you know Miranda, and where she is, and you better tell me right damn now, or I’ll kill you myself.”
Danny paused at the threat. It was one Abram could definitely make good on, and would, if this bandit didn’t start talking.
Brooke muttered something in a whisper, but Abram couldn’t hear it.
Danny’s voice drowned out Brooke’s as he said, “I know her as Misty, not Miranda. She’s a good friend. All I know is that Misty’s parents died when she was a teen. They were a nice old couple, from what everyone says, and they had only one child, late in life. I’ve heard it said they moved in from out of state when she was just a kid, intent on starting a new life on a new little farm. The farm was sold to pay off their estate when they died, but she was married by then to my good friend, Wyatt. After her parents died and the farm was gone, she just stayed in Clarks Crossing with Wyatt. When the CMEs hit, Wyatt stepped up to lead us, but I don’t think he could have done it without her help. She’s a sharp cookie. It’s too bad she is falling for Black’s lies, just like everyone else.”
Well. Those “parents” must have been the ones who’d taken Miranda. Either that, or they bought her from whoever had. Either way, Abram regretted to hear they were dead as, for the first time in his life, he wanted to kill them himself. He almost felt…cheated. But if Danny was telling the truth about this Black, his sister was in grave danger, as were all the people of Clarks Crossing.
One thought struck him, with an almost physical impact—the only way to get his sister back was to get rid of Black, and the only way to do that was with the help of Frank’s son and his people here in Burnsville—including Abram’s…niece. The word echoed inside his head.
Abram spun to face Brooke. “He’s telling the truth. That means a bandit army is coming, just like Danny says. You have to make Kent see that he can’t give in to them. If Danny is telling the truth, and I’m positive that he is, then giving in to Black isn’t going to keep you and your people safe, nor your mom. Appeasement never works— it just makes the bastard bolder. He’ll want more, and then more, until Kent has nothing left for you and his people. Kids will starve, while the bandits—your people—eat well.”
Her jaw dropped, but she couldn’t seem to look away.
Abram continued to hammer his point. “And when that’s all gone, it won’t be your food they eat, when they get hungry enough. You think they’ll turn to farming? Not while there’s easy meat to get, not if they don’t know how to farm without fertilizers and pesticides, and not when it’s easier to catch long-pig than it is to grow potatoes.”
Brooke turned pale as he spoke, flinching at each statement.
Normally, he’d have felt bad for scaring her, but not now. She needed to be afraid. They all did. And Black needed to die, because Abram needed his sister—and his niece—to live. He added, “I’m sorry for being blunt. But you have to understand, appeasement never works.” And it doesn’t get my sister back. Eventually, he’d have to have a come-to-Jesus talk with Brooke about the elephant in the room, the possibility she was his niece, but that would have to wait.
Frank said, “Whoa, boss. Take it easy on the little lady. She didn’t do nothing wrong. You’re scaring her.”
Abram didn’t break eye contact with Brooke, but replied, “Danny is telling the truth. So, she ought to be scared. They all should. Bandits are coming, and they won’t be stopped with fancy words like ‘mercy’ and ‘justice.’ Giving them what they want will only make them hungry for the rest of what Burnsville has. Only, Burnsville will be weaker then, because they caved in already. The best time to fight is now, not after they come back for more, and more, and then the rest.”
Danny said, “Damn right. People like Black don’t stop when you give them what they want. It’ll never be enough. They’ll only stop when someone stands up and stops them.”
For the first time since Abram had met her, Brooke appeared to shrink, showing a glimpse of fear, not merely shock. In a small voice, she pleaded, “But what can I do about it?”
Abram’s heart longed to reach out and comfort the young lady, and not only because she might be his niece. Was his niece. She was hurting, it was obvious.
Frank, though, snarled, “If I know Kent, and I do, he’s going to want to take the easy way out. He’s gonna get swayed by pretty words, because it’ll make it easier for him to be a coward.”
Brooke stomped toward him—Abram let her go by, unsure what to do about it—and she jammed her finger into Frank’s chest. “You get one thing straight, mister. Kent is a good man, and I know him a lot better than I know you. Better’n you know him, too. So you just shut your damn mouth, you got it? You better not say one more thing about my man, or you’ll get to see me kick an old guy’s ass.”
Abram grinned at Frank’s helpless expression, but gently set one hand on Brooke’s shoulder. “They have bad blood between them, and Frank doesn’t know when to shut up and seem like a fool instead of opening his mouth to prove it. But that doesn’t mean he’s wrong about Kent wanting to be swayed. Giving in, hoping for security, is a lot easier than fighting back. A lot safer, too—right up until they come back with meat cleavers instead of more demands. You have to get him to prepare, so he can fight back when they come. It’s the only way to keep his people truly safe.”
And the only way I can get Miranda back.
But Abram shoved that thought aside. He wasn’t going to get what he wanted by thinking of his own needs. He had to put himself into Kent’s head, he had to try to think like Kent would think, if he wanted to convince the man it was safer to fight than to cave in. Brooke was Abram’s best hope at doing that.
He said, “Let’s go meet Kent. I think it’s time he and Frank had their reunion. Whatever happens there, though, you have to convince him to prepare for the worst, even if only so he can get a better deal out of Black’s bandits, when they come. You know the story of our battle with bandits, and how we were outnumbered? Well, you’ll face better odds. And better still, we can lend you our experience and expertise to get ready for it. This isn’t impossible, especially with our help. Burnsville has friends in Fenton, Brooke.”
Abram smiled at her, hoping to reassure her. No matter what happened in Kent’s negotiation with those bandits, when they ca
me, Abram was certain of only one thing—so long as he was breathing, there would be no peace between Clarks Crossing and Burnsville. He’d make sure of it, and then he’d kill Black, and he’d save his sister just like he had failed to do before. This time, he wouldn’t fail her.
31
Gary looked over his hand-picked group of “soldiers,” men and women he felt certain shared his pragmatic world view. These were people he could count on to get the job done, even if that meant shooting a man in the back to keep him from being a problem tomorrow, or next month, or maybe someday. Most of them had been at Nettletown, and he’d seen them doing what was needful without hesitating.
His lips flatlined. “Okay, people, listen up. There’s twenty of us. I don’t think they got more than sixty people who can and would shoot a gun. That sounds like a lot, but they don’t know we’re coming. We’re going to go in there and own the place, right from the start. Every last one of them will follow the herd’s lead, like the good little sheeple they are. You want to avoid problems? Deal with the first one that shows its face by blowing it clean-the-hell-off. You get me?”
A chorus shouted, “We get you, sir.”
His jaw muscles relaxed a bit. “So, we’re going to walk in with swagger. Like, it’s a done deal. These assholes are already gonna give us what we want, we just got to make them realize it. The first person down there who has an opinion, I’m going to regulate them. Immediately, without hesitating. Then I’ll make a speech, but while I’m doing that, all of you got to look scary as hell. Let as many people see down your rifle barrel as you can, but do it slow. Not frantic. Remember, we’re in charge, so there’s no rush. But unless they start shooting back, I don’t want any of you asshats to fire one damn bullet without me saying to. You want I should shove my boot up your ass? Don’t screw this up for us. Black promised folks stuff to make our lives easier, and we’re here to make sure that happens. You get me?”
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 21
