by Judd Vowell
“My anger may be controlled, Simone,” he said to her. “But rest assured, it is there.”
“I can’t believe they took out the entire base,” she said. “I’m gonna kill your ‘friend’ Quinn myself.”
“Quinn Connors had nothing to do with this. And he’s no good to us dead anyway.”
“What are you talking about, Salvador?”
“Don’t you see?” he asked her. Then he held up a photo from the scene of destruction at the base. It was a picture of the infirmary’s white wall with “TRIUMPHS FOREVER” written in huge letters across it. He made sure she could see it on her screen. “We can use him, Simone.”
She was struggling to connect the dots, but she could tell that Salvador already had. “You know, don’t you?”
“I do,” he answered. “And she’s heading your way.”
ΔΔΔ
It had come to Salvador the night before as he walked home from the hospital. In an effort to calm himself, he had taken a detour on his way back to his top-floor residence. He took left turns and right, exploring the Philadelphia grid as distraction. He was standing outside a bar, watching some musical ANT onstage performing for the patrons, when it hit him.
The bar scene reminded him of the speech that the young girl had made at the Lefty camp, the rousing inspiration she had given the rebels. Something had shown up in Quinn’s demeanor when Salvador had played her speech for him, and he had missed it when it happened. But there, on the streets of Philadelphia, he could see it. It was pride, the kind that elder family members instinctually hold for their descendants. Quinn had been proud of the girl’s ability to inspire a movement that day. He couldn’t help himself from showing it.
After his recognition and realization outside the bar, Salvador had strolled his way back to his penthouse apartment high in the ANTI- sky. His anger had left him, replaced by the satisfaction that he had finally discovered Quinn’s weakness.
21.
T he Lefty convoy reached the outskirts of Camp Alamo an hour before daylight. They knew they couldn’t approach the camp in darkness, so they parked the vehicles under a large interstate overpass a mile away and waited. As dawn broke, Anna decided to take Houser and Simpson with her to the camp’s guard post. The less people approaching, the lower the perceived threat.
“We’ve come too far to screw this up now with some trigger-happy guard up there,” she told the group. “Houser, Simpson, you’re coming with me. The rest of you wait here.”
The three of them climbed the overpass’s incline and started walking the interstate.
The guard post was much like the one at Camp Forager. It was a stationary mobile home that stretched from one side of the interstate to the other. When they got close to it, a loud airhorn sounded, and they stopped. Five Lefty soldiers came out of the mobile home and walked toward them.
It would be the same drill as Forager, and Overlord before it. Anna had learned the new password. She could only hope it hadn’t been changed again.
“What do you want?” the lead guard asked once he was a few feet from them.
“Retaliation,” Anna said with the same answer the Leftys had always used.
“What do you want?”
“Redemption,” she answered, still the same as before.
“What do you want?”
This was the answer that had changed, the true password to all of the Lefty camps. The Leftys behind the lead guard stood tensely, their weapons ready. She took a deep breath and said, “A reckoning.”
The lead guard smiled. “Welcome to Alamo.”
ΔΔΔ
Camp Alamo was just as organized as the two other camps Anna had experienced. On the grounds of a centuries-old Spanish mission that had been preserved by the state of Texas, it made for an ideal campground and training facility. The Leftys there had set up their headquarters inside the visitor center just outside the historical mission. Inside the center, Anna met the leader of the camp, a man named Cruz.
“New arrivals,” the lead guard said to Cruz as he led them into a large conference room. “From Forager.”
Cruz was looking at an oversized map of the city of San Antonio with his lieutenants. He raised his head and stared at Anna. “Forager, you say? Haven’t heard a word from them in two days.”
“That’s because there is no more Forager,” Anna said bluntly.
Cruz’s face showed confusion. He stood up straight. “No more Forager?”
“Gone,” Anna said. “ANTI- drone attack destroyed it, along with everyone there.”
“Except you,” Cruz said defensively.
“Me and eleven others. We were lucky.”
Cruz walked to where she stood and looked her up and down. He did the same with Houser and Simpson. He didn’t know what to make of the news Anna had just told him. But he knew she was telling the truth. He had an instinct for honesty.
“I don’t see eleven others,” he finally said. “I see two. Where are the rest of these fortuitous souls?”
Anna thought Cruz seemed a bit arrogant, in a classic cocksure military way. But she could see how smart he was, and what advantage that could be to her. Because his Camp Alamo was about to become central headquarters for the entire American Liberation Effort.
“A mile from here, in hiding,” she answered. “I thought it best to approach in small numbers.”
“Wise move,” Cruz said. “Well alright, let’s go get your friends. Then I want to hear everything that happened in Kansas City.”
22.
Q uinn remained unconscious for ten days, his brain swelling just enough to give the doctors some concern. They felt confident he would wake at some point, but in what state was the question.
When his eyes opened on the eleventh morning of his hospital stay, a nurse was standing above him. She had come into his room when his heartrate increased a few seconds before his awakening.
“Where…?” he struggled to say. “Who…?”
“Shhh, Mr. Connors,” the nurse said. “Take your time. You’re in a hospital. You’ve had an injury, but you’ll be ok.”
“My head...” Quinn said. “It hurts.”
“Ok, we can help with that,” the nurse told him.
“What happened?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, Mr. Connors. You’ll have to wait for a doctor to discuss your injuries.”
That’s when Quinn felt the leather against his wrists. He raised his throbbing head so he could see what it was: a circular restraint on each side of the bed, wrapped tightly around his arms so that he couldn’t move them at all. Suddenly he became panicked and confused. Both his breathing and heartrate increased.
“Settle down, Mr. Connors,” the nurse said. “There’s no need to be stressed.”
But stress was exactly what Quinn was feeling. He detected the same restraints on his ankles when he tried to move his legs. He was a prisoner in his bed, a nightmarish scenario even though he was fully awake. Then he heard the echo of footsteps on the hospital hall’s linoleum floor. He looked to the open door of his room, where Salvador Sebastian suddenly stood with a doctor behind him.
“Look who’s come back to us!” Salvador said with excitement. He walked to the bed and stepped in front of the nurse. “Hello, Quinn,” he said quietly.
Most of Quinn’s senses had returned by then. His panic had shifted to rage. “Why the hell am I strapped down here, Salvador?” he demanded.
“You took a nasty fall, friend. We didn’t want you re-injuring yourself when you woke up.”
“Bullshit!”
The doctor interrupted from over Salvador’s shoulder. “Sir, his vitals are spiking. Can’t this wait?”
Salvador sighed. “I guess it will have to,” he said. “Calm down, Quinn. I really am happy that you’re ok. It turns out we have a lot to talk about.”
Salvador turned and left the room. Following the doctor’s instruction, the nurse pushed fluid from a syringe into Quinn’s IV, and he quickly fell into
a state of cloudy bliss.
ΔΔΔ
Salvador let Quinn recuperate in the hospital without any more interference. A nurse, presumably under Salvador’s directive, unstrapped him from his restraints soon after Salvador left the day he woke. There were no more sedatives after that because there were no more outbursts. Quinn decided to rebuild his strength with calm sobriety before he met with Salvador again. He knew he was going to need it.
Four days after his awakening, the doctors released Quinn from the hospital. He had experienced a concussion when he fell, and nearly fractured his skull. The doctors told him he was lucky to have survived such a direct blow to his head, and they said his rapid recovery was nothing short of miraculous. But as he left their care, he felt neither lucky nor blessed by a miracle. He felt the dread of a secret-bearing man discovered.
His transport from the hospital dropped him at the tall Philadelphia building where he had been staying just two floors below Salvador. He went through the building’s doors without hesitation, though he wondered what Salvador had in store for him. He strode through the lobby with a conscious effort of confidence until he arrived at the elevators. His head had begun to hurt again.
When he got to his apartment on the 56th floor, he noticed a repaired doorframe and replaced door inside it. It was a curious sight. The door creaked on its new hinges as he opened it.
He saw the note as soon as he entered. It had been placed on his kitchenette counter, offset so that it was obvious. He checked the rooms of the apartment before he looked at it. No one there, nothing disturbed. His open suitcase sat on the floor of his bedroom just as he had left it two weeks before. He thought about taking one of the pain pills the doctor had given him for his head. But then he thought better of it. He didn’t want his reactions to be dulled. The pain in his head would have to stay. He went to the note. It read:
Quinn,
Welcome back to reality. The doctors tell me you have shown great improvement. And fast! That doesn’t surprise me at all.
I’m sorry for my unannounced hospital visit a few days ago. It was not my intention to aggravate you in any way. Please know this.
When you are feeling up to it, come see me. As you know, I spend most of my time upstairs. You can find me there. I look forward to seeing you.
S.
Quinn reviewed the note three times, searching for any hidden meanings. But he could find none. He folded it in half and put it in his pocket. Then he left his apartment and went directly to the elevator. He pushed the number “58” when he stepped inside. The doors closed and the elevator began to rise.
ΔΔΔ
“Quinn!” Salvador said when the elevator doors opened and he stepped into the giant one-room penthouse. Salvador walked to him and opened his arms, suggesting they hug. Quinn complied. “Good to see you, old friend,” Salvador said quietly into his ear.
Quinn pulled away from the hug after a few seconds. He wasn’t sure how he should act. Salvador had thrown him off with his effervescence. It almost seemed sincere.
“Hello, Salvador,” Quinn finally said. “Good to see you, too.” He pulled Salvador’s note from his pocket and waved it. “I didn’t see the point in waiting. What is it you want to discuss?”
“What? No interest in small talk?”
“Listen, Salvador. My head hurts. I need to rest. But I know you have something for me. So let’s get to it.”
“Yes, of course,” Salvador said with a look of concern. “Forgive me, there’s just not many people I can talk to here. Certainly nobody like you. It’s good to have a friend back.”
Quinn’s confusion grew with every word Salvador spoke. That day in the hospital, Salvador had been aggressive and angry. But not anymore. He had returned to the Salvador that Quinn respected and liked. Quinn proceeded with trepidation. He began to wonder if it was all an act, if Salvador was setting him up for something.
“I hope you’re not in too much pain,” Salvador continued, “because I have something for you to review.” He walked to his desk and picked up a full folder. He brought it to Quinn and handed it to him.
Quinn opened the folder and saw a stack of typed pages and photographs. He knew it was a report from a military operation just by glancing through it.
“The attack on Camp Forager?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Salvador replied. “What you have there is a report on a rebel attack at Fort Riley in Kansas. An attack that unfortunately proved quite successful for them.”
“The drones…”
“That’s right. The drones, the Omega XT stationed there, everything. Destroyed. You’ll see.”
“When?” Quinn asked.
“The night following our drone strike on the rebel camp. From what we’ve been able to gather, a small group of rebels survived. The soldiers at Riley were caught completely off-guard.”
“My God,” Quinn said. The pain in his head was sharpening. He thought of Jessica.
“Take that report with you,” Salvador told him. “Study it. Figure out what happened. This group of rebels is your new project. I want you to find them for me.”
“How do you expect me to do that, Salvador? They could have gone anywhere.”
Salvador smiled. “C’mon, Quinn. You’re one of the most creative men I’ve ever known. Just think like a rebel would, and you’ll find them. I know you will.”
“But...” Quinn started. Then a dagger of pain traveled through the inside of his head, and he winced.
“No buts about it, old friend. And no rush, either. Your first priority is to get better. This little project is something to get you back in the swing of things. I’ve already got another drone headquarters in mind for you, but only when you’re ready. Now go, get some rest.”
Quinn’s head was swimming with questions underneath the thick layer of pain that had become a constant. He couldn’t find any more words to say. He needed to lie down. He went to the elevator and rode it back to floor 56. He stumbled his way along the hall and into his apartment, where he barely found the couch and collapsed onto it.
23.
I t took Quinn more than a month to fully recuperate from his head injury, even though he would continue to have near-weekly migraines for the remainder of his life. He visited his doctors regularly while he recovered, and they reluctantly agreed to release him from further check-ups after six weeks. By then it was late fall, and he was eager to leave a rapidly cooling Philadelphia and the direct control of Salvador. He was ready to go west, to ANTI‑’s new drone base in the desert.
The base that Salvador had chosen for his next drone operation headquarters was located on the eastern border of New Mexico, just a few miles from the panhandle of Texas. It had been a massive air force base in its time before the Great Dark, home to numerous aircraft, including both Predator and Reaper drones. Its proximity to San Antonio and the rebel camp outside of it was not lost on Salvador.
Quinn had reviewed the report on the rebel counter-attack ad nauseum leading up to his transfer. He had looked through it repeatedly in hopes of finding a potential clue to Jessica’s participation. The graffiti left behind on the infirmary’s wall was a possibility. But any of the rebels could have painted that. After all, it had become their battle cry. In the end, he couldn’t definitively decide that Jessica had taken part in it. But something told him that she did.
He discussed the report and what it meant for the rebellion and ANTI- many times with Salvador. He agreed to relocate to New Mexico, and to continue searching for the band of rebels who had perpetrated the surprise attack from there. But he withheld his real feelings about the search. He knew too much time had passed. The rebels would have found a new home by then, at some established camp somewhere else. Maybe California, or on Salvador’s doorstep outside Philadelphia. Or, as Quinn was guessing, at the camp in Texas. If he could just get to New Mexico, under the guise of helping Salvador, then he might have a chance to find his granddaughter for good.
ΔΔΔ
Salvador called Simone in Texas the night Quinn left for the southwestern air force base. The two of them had been talking almost daily, as she had become his closest confidant since Quinn’s transformation and Jacob’s betrayal. He was excited on the call that day. Everything was falling into place just as he had wanted.
“Good evening, Salvador,” Simone said as the image of her face appeared on his laptop’s screen.
“It is, isn’t it?” he asked.
“I’m guessing it’s done?”
“He’s on his way now.”
“So what happens next?”
“We wait for him to find her. As long as it takes.”
“Why don’t you just bomb the hell out of the place like you did in Kansas City? Just bomb ‘em all, for that matter.”
“All in due time, Simone. First I have to make sure she’s out of the picture. Don’t you see? She’s become too important to them. As long as she’s alive, they will have hope. Her and that brother of hers.”
“Her brother?” Simone asked incredulously. “What does he have to do with this?”
“Everything,” Salvador answered with clever certainty.
Simone scoffed on the video feed. “And how do you know he’s even still alive?”
“Because I’ve seen him,” Salvador said smugly. “And their mother, too.”
24.
A lthough different in landscape and size, Camp Alamo was remarkably similar to Forager. There were the daily tasks of gathering food and training for future battles. There was a transportation platoon who went in search of workable vehicles and then transformed them into military machines. There were the menial tasks of cleaning and cooking for the camp. And there were strategy sessions, held inside the transformed visitor center.
