Eddie tried to process the entire ridiculous conversation. Boli’s English was terrible. Eddie reasoned Boli had spoken to him in English so the other officers upstairs watching wouldn’t understand. But the camera was off, wasn’t it? So why would it matter? Why not just use Arabic? Or is his Arabic worse? Doubtful.
Whatever the commander’s reasons were for anything he’d done, he had actually answered several of Eddie’s questions. First of all, Lazzo was still alive. But Boli had indicated he and Lazzo had a plan Eddie knew nothing about, going all the way back to when they were working in Intelligence in Denver together. Lazzo knew our families were alive all the way back in Denver? Why didn’t he say anything? And now Eddie was being kept alive as insurance to make Lazzo follow through on his plan with Boli. That is what the cameras must be for … to show Lazzo live feeds of me and our families. Their families. Lazzo’s family must be here. His wife and baby? And my daughters?
Eddie heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He moved over by the bars, curious as to who was coming. He glanced up at the camera, but the red light was still off. Why is it still off? The soldier who had always been nice to him came around the corner and approached the bars. He glanced up at the camera and quickly handed Eddie a folded piece of paper containing something solid before he continued down the hall. Eddie heard him say something in Arabic to someone. Is there a guard down there? Is that why Boli used English? Eddie moved over under the window and pretended to be looking out at the ocean while he casually glanced down at the piece of paper. It was a rudimentary drawing—a map—of what had to be the prison. He could easily identify the stairs and his cell and a chain of cells moving on down the hall. There was a red circle in his cell and black circles in most of the other cells, but there were two other cells with red circles. Two in one—one in the other.
There were a series of X marks on the paper too. Six to his left, one three cells down from him—around the corner, and another three more cells down—between the two cells with red circles. Then there were four more Xs at the end of the cells. Guards? Does this mean there are twelve guards? Finally, there was a series of numbers scribbled across the bottom. “38.72527, -104.94581.” What the heck? Are these supposed to mean something?
Eddie glanced back at the camera. The red light was on now. He told himself not to look at the camera again, as his fingers clenched tightly around the object that had been folded into the paper—a brass key.
Lazzo was in America again. Supposedly he was on his way to Denver to give Commander Boli the book he’d spoken of. Once Boli had that book, he’d have no further need for Lazzo, for Eddie … for any of them. It sounded to Eddie as if that time was imminent. Could be tomorrow, could be a week … could be more. Eddie had to get out of here. He had to save their families. He had to warn Lazzo—stop Lazzo—but how?
THIRTY-ONE – Pringtime Reservoir (Danny)
---------- (Sunday. August 7, 2022.) ----------
I assumed the paratroops were coming for us. Keena, Blake, and I had only arrived at the Pringtime Reservoir two hours ago. I was certain the enemy’s radar had detected our Desert Patrol Vehicles cutting across Colorado—that the high-tech scramblers our Area 51 “DPVs” were equipped with had failed to do their job. This was the third set of planes I’d seen fly over and drop off troops. I was certain they were coming for us. Their approach was just a bit unorthodox—landing so far away. Assuming I was right about our equipment’s shortcomings, I kept our radar off, hoping to buy us time and maybe even a little luck. As a result, we were blind—I had no idea how many other vehicles might be closing in on us right now. And then the drones flew over and didn’t pay any attention to us whatsoever. They didn’t really even come close. Maybe they weren’t here for us.
What the heck? Why are they staying so far south? They could easily surround us at the reservoir. The drones could literally blow us out of the water. Why not try to do so? Keena, Blake, and I were flipping through the map book, trying to figure out where the troops were coming down. Best as we could tell the last troops—just after sunset—had been dropped about two miles southeast of us near another lake like this one—Skaguay Reservoir. We were still 16 miles from the coordinates on the instruction sheet I’d been given on Kauai but couldn’t afford to go any further tonight.
We had parked the two DPV’s in a deep ditch and did our best to cover them up. We laid thick branches over them, covered those with a tarp, and then covered the tarp with dirt and leaves—like a tiger pit. It would have to do. With all the troops falling out of the sky, we had scrambled to get out to the island. Cold water was always our friend in these life or death hide-and-seek “adventures.”
Throwing only the most essential supplies into our waterproof backpacks, we made the swim out to the island in the middle of the reservoir. Blake was the only one with night-vision goggles—which would be useful in a couple hours. He also had the only effective long-range weapon—Keena’s MK20. Keena had given me her Springfield 9mm, leaving her with just a knife. The DPVs had .50-caliber machine guns strapped to them—and we had a thousand rounds for each—but none of us was going to lug those suckers around. We had to make do with these items, a couple Himalayan sleeping bags—no bigger than a roll of toilet paper when packed—a first aid kit, MREs, water, camo paint, flint, flashlights, a compass, our Marine “ghost suits” and the book. I still had the book.
---------- (Monday. August 8, 2022.) ----------
Midnight came and went—six hours after we’d reached the reservoir—with no sign of Axel. It seemed a certainty he was gone for good. That sobering reality locked each of us into our own train of thought for a while. Around 1:00 a.m. I caught myself dozing off, shook my head to clear the cobwebs, and stood to wake the other two. “We’ve gotta move, guys.”
Unless things had changed since we’d initially fled the country, Qi Jia didn’t like to send their drones out at night. Given that it was hard to tell the difference between person and large animal with thermal, that made sense. That made the cover of darkness—like cold water—another of our valuable “natural” friends. Of course, we were well aware of the natural hazards out there too. I still had nightmares of mountain lions and Cameron’s death—occasionally—and just the thought of one of the big cats could send chills up my spine. They could sense our presence, and stalk us, long before we could see them.
Blake and Keena repacked their sleeping bags, and pulled their still wet Marine jumpsuits back on. The jumpsuits—or “ghost suits”—were great for cover. They were reversible—black on one side, tannish green on the other—but they did not dry well. That sucked.
We hadn’t seen or heard a single enemy soldier at the reservoir. They either weren’t here for us after all, or they were waiting for dawn to close in. We swam across to the other side of the reservoir and slowly made our way toward Knights Peak.
Given the extreme elevation changes, darkness, and treacherous topography, it took us five hours to cover nine miles—just over halfway to Knight’s Peak. A deep growl had held us in place for one twenty-minute period—around 4 a.m.—but we’d otherwise moved without more than an occasional breather. Traces of light were beginning to show in the sky ahead of us at 6 a.m. We knew we needed to climb—quickly—and find a place we could hide out for the day. Somewhere we could easily keep an eye on the area around and below us.
We found such cover under some large boulders near the summit of a treeless peak, just east of Elk Ranch Road. With this perch and our binoculars, it would be impossible for anyone to get within two miles without us seeing them coming. We’d move again as soon as darkness came, but this could be the only rest day we’d get. We drew pieces of straw for who would take which three-hour watch shift, and I drew the shortest—first slot. That was fine with me. I was wired.
The idea that Hayley could already be there, at Knights Peak—no more than six or seven miles from us now—was pumping the adrenaline through my veins. That and the thought of what I was going to do to Lazzo whe
n I found him. If he thought I was just going to hand this book over, he had another think coming.
THIRTY-TWO – Sacrifice (Hayley)
---------- (Monday. August 8, 2022.) ----------
Near Cheyenne Mountain, Central Colorado
We were getting closer to Knights Peak, but the sun was up now. There were so many open spaces we had to cross, and I was getting more nervous with each step. The paratroopers still hadn’t caught up to us, but that didn’t mean we weren’t walking right into more of them. I tried to convince Lazzo that we needed to find shelter and rest for a while, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I was concerned his rush to rejoin his family was making him less cautious—and prudent, for that matter. I wanted to see Danny, too—of course—but I knew that was out the window if we were caught.
We crossed a dirt road and approached a huge clearing, about a half-mile wide. As we stood on the edge of the trees and gazed across it, I glanced up into the adjacent hills, and for the first time I saw signs of the enemy. Figures that looked like gorillas were moving among the rocks. Snipers. I pointed them out to Lazzo. “They’re watching these clearings now. We have to stop.”
This time he didn’t argue. Best as we could tell, we were about six miles from Knights Peak. It was a crystal-clear blue-sky day, and I hated that. Our dark clothes were too dark, the sun too bright, and the gaps between the trees were far too wide. We wouldn’t blend in with these surroundings, and the troops coming behind us would be closing in fast. We considered moving further south to try to sneak east, but seeing the snipers had spooked us. We at least knew they were there. We weren’t sure what else could be south of us. We were going to throw the entire day away and stay here. Talk about frustrating.
We covered our clothes and visible skin with mud from a spring-fed creek bed and climbed the densest trees we could find. The comfort of sitting in the crook of a high, densely shrouded tree branch lasted all of about ten minutes. An hour later, my legs and butt were asleep. Awesome. Twelve more hours felt like sixty, but finally sunset brought a little darkness. Just when I thought we would be able to move again, I heard dogs barking and voices.
A line of troops as far as I could see in each direction crept through the evening shadows toward the clearing beyond us. The quantity of enemy soldiers was surprising—there had to be hundreds of them—but I was more concerned with the dogs. We were well hidden in these trees but, even if the troops couldn’t see us, dogs could still sniff us out. That could be a problem.
I couldn’t see anyone holding a THIRST system—Qi Jia’s thermal imagery trackers—so the soldiers seemed to be relying on the dogs—during the day at least. Maybe that was good news. Having covered ourselves in mud—which really stunk now—only flies seemed to be paying any attention to us. The dogs might not even pick up our scent if we stayed still. But we needed to move. We needed to get across that clearing. Bet those snipers on the ridge have infrared scopes though. It was going to be a risky move in any light.
Glancing over at Flynn I could see traces of fear in her eyes. It occurred to me then that I didn’t feel afraid at all. Odd. That in and of itself was rather freaky. This was not something a person should get used to. I motioned at her to stay calm. I couldn’t see Lazzo from my perch—as he was in a tree about ten yards directly behind me—but I was certain he knew the troops were approaching too. He was a little bigger than Flynn and me, a little more restless, and a little harder to conceal. Lazzo, you better not give us away. These guys had been walking all day. They were clearly tired and could barely see in this light. If we didn’t move, they would pass us by and we’d be okay. Or so I thought.
Instead, when they reached the edge of the clearing, they stopped and clustered. I saw them taking off their packs and looking around. Shit. They were setting up camp. Right beneath us. I watched as six men gathered under Flynn’s tree—twenty feet to my right—and another half dozen settled in about thirty yards to my left.
I had seen Red Dawn and the Hunger Games movies a dozen times each on Redemption—themes and settings we could certainly relate to in our “post America” existence. A decade ago those plots were entertainment—a distant fictional “surreality.” This—our plot today—was anything but. These men below us reminded me of the scene in the original Games where some of the participants camp under Katniss—waiting to kill her. But—unless I’d missed them—I didn’t have the luxury of genetically engineered wasps to fight back. And Ms. Everdeen’s one-on-three was nothing like our three-on however many hundred.
I could hear the soldiers speaking but had no idea what they were saying. Maybe Lazzo would know. I wished I could move enough to see him, but I couldn’t yet risk shifting that much. In another hour it would be pitch-black. One more hour of being a statue.
Each group of soldiers was collecting wood, and soon there were a dozen small fires crackling around us. I couldn’t see Flynn’s eyes anymore, but I was sure she was either watching me or the men directly below her. I knew I was going to have to make the first move.
By 10:00 p.m. all but two of the men around each of the fires were asleep. But even those men were struggling to stay awake. Occasionally they would stand and stretch, walk around a little, and then settle back down. Finally, around eleven, I saw the last two under Flynn’s tree nod off. It was time.
I slowly stood on my branch. I needed to let the blood flow through my lower extremities, needed to stretch, needed to flex. I couldn’t afford a slip or misstep, and after about fifteen minutes of loosening up, I slowly slipped down to the ground. I set my bow and quiver against the base of my tree and tiptoed away from Flynn’s tree and the men by that fire. Five minutes felt like an hour to inch to Lazzo’s tree. I took the penlight out of my pocket and flashed it quickly twice up at him. I could hear him shifting around. He wasn’t the most agile—and made considerably more noise than I had—but ten minutes later he stood beside me, shaking off his own stiffness. He apologized for taking so long to climb down but I dismissed it. He didn’t need to explain himself—not when a single cracked branch could kill us all. He whispered that there were over three hundred soldiers just this side of the clearing and about a dozen dogs. Far as he could tell they were all Libyan, or at least North African. Most of them had been communicating in Arabic. No one had seen any sign of us, but they were only looking for two people. They don’t know anything about Flynn.
Clearly everything Lazzo had shared with the Libyan commander had been shared with his men. They had all been talking about their mission around the fires. There was even a significant bounty on our heads. The reward for Lazzo depended on him being taken alive. The reward for me was without restriction—dead or alive. Taking that into consideration, it was evident that the Libyan commander didn’t trust Lazzo to come in on his own. He didn’t care what Lazzo’s plan was at all. He was hoping to catch Lazzo and lure Danny into a trap. Lazzo’s life expectancy would be short after that. Once the commander had the book, Lazzo was done. The writing was on the wall. And all over Lazzo’s face.
I imagined Lazzo was pretty conflicted about this. I knew the status of his family was uncertain. He claimed he’d received convincing proof of life, but how long was that good for? Even if he did get the book from Danny and hand it over to the Libyan commander, there was no guarantee the commander would deliver on any of his promises. In fact, the opposite seemed more likely. The commander had lied to him about everything.
I don’t know what Lazzo had been expecting in the beginning—honesty, integrity, fairness—but I could tell he wasn’t confident in that anymore. I could tell he was embarrassed. I could tell he felt lost. As I leaned in to listen to him, I could feel him trembling. I almost felt sorry for him. “I’m sorry I did this—that I’ve brought you here. You shouldn’t be here Hayley. My family was never going to be free. I should have known better and kept you out of all of it. I’ve only made everything worse. You and Flynn deserve better. I’m so sorry.” He seemed to be conceding their death, his own death—our death.
Well, I wasn’t. Not yet.
I grabbed him by the arm. “Listen to me. It’s too late to go back now. You need to be a soldier now—a fighter. There’s no turning around. You can’t take back anything you’ve done. Danny is either coming or he isn’t. We don’t know. But we’re six miles from the rendezvous point. We have to at least try to get there. You hear me?”
I was close enough to feel him nod. “Yes, but Boli’s not going to let my family go. He’ll kill them all.”
“Lazzo, hey.” I grabbed his face and forced him to look at me. “Maybe that’s true, but we die here and we’ll never know. We still have a shot. Don’t give up on them. Okay?”
He shrugged. “I—”
“Okay.” I looked around. “I’ve got to get Flynn out of that tree. Lazzo—hey, Lazzo … you with me?”
“Yeah, I’m with you.”
There we go. That’s a start. “Hold my bag.” I handed it to him.
He looked at me like I’d just given him a pink purse. “Where’s your bow?” he asked.
I pointed toward the tree. All of a sudden I heard dogs barking a hundred yards or so uphill from us. There was some crashing in the brush, more barking, and a thundering gunshot echoed down the valley. Then another. Everyone started moving around us at once. A great deal of yelling ensued, and all the soldiers around the two fires closest to us were wide-awake now—most of them standing—guns ready. We froze, and I waited for Lazzo to tell me what had happened. Finally he heard one of the men call out that a couple of deer had run through the troop line and into the clearing. The snipers had taken them out.
We stayed crouched where we were for another hour as everyone settled back in, but I was anything but settled now. The snipers had reinstated my fear of crossing that clearing. They were definitely lying in wait and could see just fine in the dark. Great.
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