Kent nodded like a good little puppy. “I get it. I’ll talk to them. We’ll…I’ll make sure they know the stakes.”
Gary’s smile returned. “Good. I like dealing with a reasonable man. So, stay reasonable—and so will I.”
And if you don’t…that blood will be on your head, not mine.
He tossed his chin toward the city’s sandbag line. “Go on, then. Go make sure they make the right choice.”
Kent nodded, his expression tense, and Gary was pretty sure this was all going to go according to plan. Black had been right, yet again.
But then, Gary’s gaze locked onto a familiar face. An old man, burly but long past his prime, was staring at him. Gary’s eyes locked with the man’s.
Immediately, the other man turned away and vanished among the crowd of town defenders gathering. Gary saw the signs, though, in those people’s faces—it was time to go. Staying longer could get ugly, and that could screw everything up. It was time to let Kent push their fears and get them in line, once they calmed down. He scanned the crowd for the familiar face, but whoever it was, they were gone.
He waited until Kent was close to the sandbags line, then made a circular motion with his hand in the air as he whistled. Time to go. His team mounted up, getting into their vehicles quickly, and Gary slapped the truck’s roof twice. “Move out.”
It wasn’t until his vehicle column was a few hundred yards away, entering the forest again, that a name flashed through his mind.
Frank Brown.
The compound—that’s where he had seen that face before. An angry, red ember smoldered in Gary’s gut. The compound people were there…His compound, by all rights. This could complicate things, for Black and for him. There was only one reason the compound people would be in Burnsville, and it wasn’t to talk them into paying Black’s taxes.
Maybe it was time to talk to Black about taking his compound out of this equation. Maybe it was time to tell Black about the compound itself? Black now had bigger fish to fry than the little piece that was rightfully Gary’s.
32
Kent entered the room where his visitors were staying as “guests,” with Brooke one step behind him, and quickly took it all in. She’d agreed to let him talk without interrupting, thankfully, because it was important for him to get an accurate read on this visiting leader and his people.
The man who stood in front, Abram, would be the leader. It was a bit of a surprise that his father-in-law wasn’t leading them by this time—Frank was tough, smart, and competent. Although, from what little he’d heard, they must all fit that description to still be among the living—because they’d had a far harder time than Burnsville had. Kent took no small amount of pride in how well his people had done under his leadership. Too bad it had made them a target for that psycho warlord dude, Black.
To Abram’s left, at the rear, stood a younger man. His name was Owen, if Kent remembered it right. The mechanic among them. But Kent knew how to read a room and see the body language going on—he’d had to, growing up as he had—and Owen was just another guy. Not important, at least not for Kent’s purposes.
But in the middle, to Abram’s right, stood the one Kent had dreaded meeting. Frank Brown, his disapproving, intimidating father-in-law. Oh man, why had Frank turned on him right when they should have been coming together, in the face of her impending death? Darlene…She had been the love of Kent’s life, and as her cancer had progressed, as he’d watched the light fading from her eyes day by day, he’d grown desperate. She was terminal, and everyone knew it, especially her. Her fading spirits had been harder to watch than her failing body.
But then, a miracle. Kent had found a sudden opportunity to come up with the money they would have needed for an experimental procedure out of Spain, one that might have saved her—and it had been their only opportunity, because although Frank wanted to just work harder, make more money, Darlene hadn’t had time for that. The price tag was too great for normal ways. Hard work wasn’t going to save Darlene.
And at the moment, Frank was looking at him with the same wary, skeptical look he’d had when Kent told him of the chance to make enough easy, fast money to give the woman they both loved a shot at life. Frank, just as desperate as Kent, had agreed at last to try it. But, of course, that plan had turned out to be a deal that was too good to be true, backfiring on them, and they’d lost even the money to keep her comfortable in her final months.
Despite the agony of watching her suffer because he’d failed her, Kent had, over the years since, realized it wasn’t his own fault. High reward always came with high risk, and given the same choice, he’d have made the same decision today that he had back then. At least it had been a chance, however slim.
Unfortunately, Frank had placed the blame squarely on him, just as he had at first. They’d exchanged words—hard words, the kind they couldn’t ever take back, the kind someone would only say if they were certain they’d never want to take it back. On the heels of her death, losing Frank’s respect had been a steel-toed boot to the gut while he was down. It had changed Kent in some way he couldn’t put his finger on, though—and had made him the man who could step up when the CMEs hit, to lead the town in surviving. Thriving, even, by the new standards. He’d earned his spot, whatever his past failings, and would not let himself give one damn about what Frank thought of him.
Okay, that wasn’t true. But he wouldn’t allow it to sway him. He couldn’t. Burnsville could still be saved, unlike Darlene.
Kent nodded in greeting to Abram, ignoring the others. This was politics, and Abram was clearly The Man, over there at their compound. “Welcome to Burnsville, Mister Patterson. I feel bad we had to put you in here, but I know you get it. You got people relying on you, too, you know what I’m saying?”
Abram paused half a tick before replying, “I do understand. I had hoped for a warmer greeting from Frank’s son-in-law, though.”
Beside him, Frank visibly cringed at Abram’s words.
Kent kept his eyes on Abram’s. “We parted badly. I know he probably told you about it. But I got a town to run, people to feed. I didn’t have time to deal with that, not yet. And until we got to know you better, I wasn’t about to let you wander around my town—”
“Your town?” Frank asked, his voice hard.
Kent ignored him and continued dealing with their Big Dog. “—but my girl is a smart one, and I trust her instincts. She convinced me to let you out, s’long as she was around to keep an eye on you. I woulda talked to you sooner, but then the bandits’ traitor showed up with his story, and I been busy dealing with that ever since. I’m sure you all know about it.”
Abram got an odd look in his eyes, some kind of wave of emotion washing over his expression, but he quickly put it in check, face going blank again. “I’ve heard of it, and about his people showing up right behind him, making demands.”
“Yes. We got two days to decide if we gonna fight, or we gonna give in. Kind of a bitch, deciding what’s more important for my people.”
Frank’s expression grew harder. “There is no decision. You give in, your people starve.”
“Maybe, Pops.” Kent didn’t take his eyes off Abram, though. “But if we fight, no one gets out without losing people. Maybe everyone. You feel me? It’s not, what do they call it…It isn’t ‘cut and dried.’ I got things to figure out, before I decide.”
Frank almost took a step forward, glowering at Kent, but Abram held his hand out to stop him and replied, “Of course. I understand completely. But I have more experience dealing with their kind,”—Kent fought to keep his face straight—“and I can tell you only one thing with any certainty. If you cave in now, their protection racket gets stronger, and they’ll use that strength to step on your neck even harder.”
Kent shrugged. “Maybe. It’s one thing I need to look at before I decide. But maybe they use it to make us all stronger, protect us better. Maybe Burnsville needs a protector, someone who can take us under their wing. Strong enoug
h to protect my people.”
He expected Abram to get angry, but the look that flashed over his face looked to Kent more like sadness as he replied, “No. Look at the world around you, and I’m sure you’ll agree, things are going to get worse before they get better. When Black’s people get hungry, they’ll take their pound of flesh at last, and they’ll take it first from the people they already proved weak and helpless. It’ll be too late to fight, then—your people will be used to the idea of just lying down to let him put his boot on your necks.”
The man might be right. But he might also be wrong, and besides…Kent’s town was strong. Stronger than a couple farmers trying to hang on to some hippie commune. “I will consider what you said. You got my word on it, I’m not jumping into anything without thinking it out. But I ain’t saying I’m going to follow your advice, or that I won’t.”
Impossible. Frank’s in-law was going to cave, Abram could just feel it. Frank had said many things about the man, none of them good, but not once had he called Kent stupid. Abram kept his face carefully neutral, though it took much effort. But how to turn this around?
An idea struck him—one that could even be true. Certainly, it was worth mentioning, if he could fit it in edgewise between all the politics. For that was what this meeting was—ultimately, it was life-and-death for the compound, just as it would eventually be for Burnsville, even if Kent didn’t realize it yet. “Of course. I thank you for even allowing us into your town. You didn’t have to, and a lesser man would have seen a chance to avoid confronting Frank. You did not. It speaks well of you as their leader, and I have every confidence you’ll make the choice you feel is right for you and yours.”
Kent smiled wanly and inclined his head in thanks. “I’m glad to hear you say it. Because, whatever Burnsville decides, we ain’t all that far from you down around Fenton, you know what I’m saying? We can all still get something we each need. Now, Burnsville was like, a trade hub, before the CME. We don’t do much farming no more. But we got a lot of farmvilles around, folks who look to us for trade, food for stuff. I got us all doin’ gardens now, and we don’t need as much as we did, but we do still trade. We can work out some open borders for it, if you’re amiable.”
The word’s “amenable.” Best not to tell him that, though.
Abram also reminded himself not to underestimate the man based on his vocabulary. In Abram’s experience, education and intelligence weren’t the same thing, and neither thing had any bearing on a person’s cunning. So, he nodded. “I think you’ll find us quite ready to exchange goods, for as long as we’re both still able, at least.”
Kent’s slight narrowing of the eyes told Abram he’d caught the implication.
Abram charged forward before Kent could reply—he wasn’t yet done trying to convince the man he should stand up now, while he still could, against Black and those like him out there in the big, bad world. Plus, Brooke no doubt had great influence on Kent, and if he could convince his niece, then Kent might yet be swayed, even if this meeting ended undecided. “But have you considered the possibility that the bandits aren’t here just to talk about paying into their protection racket?”
“What do you mean?”
Abram pursed his lips and shook his head, putting on what he hoped was a concerned face. “This ‘Black’ fellow. He took over from Brooke’s father, isn’t that right?”
Brooke spoke for the first time since coming in. “Yeah. My daddy died, you know that.”
“And I’m terribly sorry for your loss. I remember how it felt when my own father passed away. It was a hard year, and I never will stop thinking of him. You might even have been closer to your dad than I was.” Abram met Kent’s gaze again. “But it seems to me that Black was an outsider, before that. There will be people under him who may not appreciate an outsider coming in and taking over—your other prisoner is proof of that.”
Kent flinched. “You ain’t prisoners. I had to be careful, that’s all.”
“Of course, you absolutely had to.” Abram smiled wanly. “It’s hard, being responsible for other people’s lives. But my point is this—Black might be desperate to get his hands on Brooke here. She’s got to be sort of a rallying flag for anyone who would like to stand up to Black, if only they had someone to lead them. She’s the only one who could do that, really. Her father’s name carries weight up there, and once Black gets your measure and sees what kind of man you are…”
“And what kind of man am I?” Kent leaned forward slightly, the corners of his mouth and eyes tightening.
Abram smiled easily. “A good one. Your people follow you for a reason. Frank’s daughter loved you for who you are. That’s enough for me. But some people see everyone only in terms of predators and prey. His thugs are here in part to see which one you are, and right or wrong, if he decides you’re prey, it could be an easy leap to seeing that getting rid of his predecessor’s daughter is the smart move for him. If he kills her, any chance of organized opposition will melt away, or so a man like that will assume.”
Kent looked over at his girlfriend. “That ain’t happening. We don’t turn over our own people, and she’s with me. That makes her one of us.”
“Of course. I could tell that from the moment I saw you two together. But will Black see that? If you’re in his ‘prey’ category of people, he may think he can bully you into handing her over, just like he’s trying to bully you into paying him off to leave you alone. Certainly, the man who came to warn you Black was coming thinks he was responsible for her father’s death, after pretending to be a good asset to recruit. At some point, Wyatt went from being the alpha predator, in Black’s mind, to being prey. Just saying—don’t be prey.”
Let that sink in, she’ll go a long way toward convincing him to stand up…
“Maybe. I’ve known a lot of people like that,” Kent replied, speaking slowly, and stroked his chin with his fingers. “But anyway, I have other meetings to get to. No offense, but I need to cut this short.” Kent looked at Frank again, for the first time since entering the room. “Mister Brown, I know we got a lot to hash out, and you got a lot you want to say to me. At least, I would, if I was you. I promise, I’ll make time for you, just not right now. Lots came up. Maybe we can have dinner, or something, and talk things out.”
Abram cut in before Frank could. “Of course, and I respect that. We’ll stick around at least long enough for that, and to talk about that trade idea of yours. But that will keep until later. I know you have responsibilities to take care of, at the moment.”
Abram paused, as another idea flicked through his mind. He couldn’t do it himself, but he could maybe get Kent to do it—keeping his niece safe was paramount. So, he added, “If you get a minute, though, think about going to talk to the guy who came to tell you about Black. You might want to make sure he isn’t some kind of double agent for Black, so you can be sure he isn’t just here for Brooke. I think he could get very well rewarded if he snatched Brooke and took her back to him.”
Kent’s head whipped to look at Brooke.
Her face instantly flashed red, eyebrows furrowing, and she seemed to inflate, getting bigger. “No way. I know Danny. He’s a good man who gave up everything to do the right thing.”
Abram shrugged, palms up. “I hope so. But he gets his life back if he brings you back, and he couldn’t have known you were here. Maybe his plan was one thing, but it could easily become another, given the right circumstances. People can surprise you. Just be careful, that’s all.”
Kent put his arm around Brooke’s shoulders and guided her toward the door. “She’s always careful, and so am I. That fool ain’t getting anywhere near her, that’s a fact.”
Abram watched as they left. Only after the door closed behind them did he turn to Frank. “Thanks for keeping your cool, there. I know that can’t have been easy, seeing him again for the first time since you fell out, only to have him focused on other things. I’m pretty sure he meant what he said about giving you time to say what
you need to say, but thanks again.”
Frank clenched his jaw tightly as he nodded. “Screwing things up won’t bring Darlene back. But it was hard not to speak plain to him.” He took a deep breath, which sounded somewhat ragged, then said, “But there’s a new development. I didn’t have time to tell you before Kent showed up, though.”
Owen said, “Another new development? It’s getting to the point where I’m afraid to even ask what’s new. But, what’s new?”
“I know the feeling,” Frank replied. “I hate to say this, but you need to know, Abram. When I was out there, I got a good look at who this Black guy sent to threaten this town. It’s…someone you know.”
Abram’s stomach flip-flopped. Who could he know that Frank would recognize? The possibilities were few. He closed his eyes and held them shut, waiting for the obvious answer to fall on him like a ton of bricks. “Who?”
“I only saw him once or twice, and from a distance, at that, but I’d recognize that bastard anywhere.”
Abram opened his eyes, surprised. Frank rarely cursed.
Frank said, “It was Gary, the one who murdered the man at Hammel’s Grocery. I know you wondered where he went, after he escaped during the big bandit raid we fought off. Well, now you know. He’s with Black, and he must rank highly to get sent on this mission.”
“You’re positive?” Abram stared. No way. This was a nightmare come true, if it really was Gary…
“Yeah. He swaggered up to the gate and gunned down the first person to show a spine. Cold-blooded murder, just to prove a point. That sound like Gary?”
It did, indeed. Abram pinched the bridge of his nose, nodding. “God, save us all if he has pull with Black. Did he…Do you think he recognized you?”
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 23
