Steve’s face darkened. “We have to give up. Can’t figure out a way to escape from the bottom of a ditch.”
“You sure?” Moon asked.
“Tell him,” Steve said, and stalked away.
“One minute,” the biker called, his tone mocking.
“All right. You win,” Moon answered. “But we’re not going to be able to get everyone disarmed in a minute.”
“Throw your rifles over the wall, now, and open the gate,” the biker ordered. “Anyone with a weapon when you come out is dead meat.”
Gil looked to Moon, who nodded again and hefted his rifle by the stock before hurling it as hard as he could over the twelve-foot wall, the top embedded with broken glass, the barrier built over many months after the collapse. Gill followed suit and the other gunmen did as well, tossing their handguns over next.
When there were no more weapons, Moon blinked away moisture and called out to two men by the heavy lever that barred the gate.
“Open it in half a minute,” Moon said, and then turned to where Steve was standing with his new wife and their son. Given the bikers’ reputation, she would be looking forward to endless torment for as long as she lived. He marveled at the sacrifice she was willing to make to buy her son a chance to survive, and gave Steve a salute as he approached.
“Good luck,” Moon said as he neared.
“Where are you going?” Steve asked.
“You made the right call – for you and your family. Not for me.”
Steve studied him for a long beat and then put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You did well.”
“Not well enough, or we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”
“There was no choice,” Steve said, his voice almost a whisper.
“There’s always a choice.”
Steve’s wife took her son’s hand and murmured reassurances; the little boy radiated fear, sensing that something catastrophic had happened. He gulped air and sobbed quietly, already hardened, trying to be as brave as he could.
Steve signaled to the men at the gate, who raised the lever into the open position and slid it to the side.
Gil waited until Steve returned to the wall with his family, and cringed at the sound of a single shot from inside the building into which Moon had disappeared. Steve held Gil’s gaze for several seconds before looking away and muttering a prayer for the dead. When he finished, he guided his charges to the gate, head hanging in shame. After all the years of fending off whatever threats the world threw at his group, he’d handed his people and the hard-won fruits of their labors over to the most ruthless cutthroats in the northwest.
Chapter 17
Astoria, Oregon
Colonel Hong stood at ramrod attention as his commanding officers inspected his column of men – purely a formality to remind everyone of the chain of command, but an important one in chaotic times. Absolute obedience was expected of the men chosen for this mission, which would seize the largest city in Oregon on behalf of China and formalize their possession of the state.
The generals walked slowly along the line, pausing to inspect a young man’s bearing or the cleanliness of his weapon, the routine familiar to all involved. The two high-ranking officers were lifelong veterans for whom the military was their family, and they served in a tradition that instilled pride in a nation where most were starving to death. It was an honor to head up one of the two ships sent to the U.S. as the first wave of the occupying force, and they took their duty seriously.
Hong’s eyes drifted to the bay when the generals were out of sight and a frown creased his brow. In spite of their best efforts and the torture of several of the captives, they hadn’t learned what had happened to their advance team, other than that they had been suspected of blowing up the ammo depot. That unexplained open issue troubled Hong, although the generals had dismissed his concerns as immaterial now that they were in possession of the town.
Hong had deferred to their wisdom, but as a commander responsible for his troops, he disliked loose ends, and that was a gigantic one. He’d warned the soldiers who would remain in Astoria to be especially careful and not to let down their guard; the unexplained disappearance of thirty of their own was unsettling, even if it didn’t trouble Mao or Jin. After careful consideration, his plan was to leave a contingent of two hundred of his top fighters in charge of the town, although he believed that to be overkill – so far there had been no resistance other than that put up by the tent people he’d conscripted for forced labor, and their reluctance to slave for the Chinese was understandable.
The whereabouts of the townspeople was another open issue he would need to tie up eventually, but it wasn’t a priority. One of the characters they’d tortured had confessed that the departing Astorians had ridden south and warned everyone not to follow, so he was confident he would be able to track them down once he had Portland under control. That would be far harder than locating a few country bumpkins, he thought, given the reputation of the gang that controlled the burgeoning city, but even so, he knew that civilians would be no match for the unexpected arrival of a trained military fighting force.
Hong snapped back to the present as the generals returned, the crack of the heels of their gleaming black dress shoes on the pavement like pistol shots in the still of the early morning. When they reached Hong, General Jin offered a rare smile of approval.
“Looking good, Colonel. You make us all proud,” Jin said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Do you require anything before you leave?” General Mao asked.
“No, sir. We have full provisions, we’ve boiled enough water to last us at least two days, and we’ve located sufficient pack animals to carry our loads,” Hong said, inclining his head at where twenty horses waited, some with carts attached.
“How many days do you anticipate it taking?”
“A week, assuming we don’t encounter any problems. Perhaps less. Depends on the state of the road.” The Chinese infantrymen could cover twenty to twenty-five miles a day with the animals carrying much of their equipment, assuming the route was relatively clear and level, which their maps said it was. Hong had planned the hundred-mile march more conservatively, wanting his men fresh when they were on the outskirts of Portland and had to begin fighting, not worn out from pushing the pace when there was no urgency.
“Very well. We’ll monitor the operating frequencies at all times. Be sure to update us regularly,” Jin ordered.
“Of course, sir.”
“Carry on, Colonel,” Mao said, and snapped off a precise salute. Hong did likewise, his chest swelled with pride, and then pivoted in a textbook about-face and addressed his men.
“It is an auspicious day for China. Today we make history. Officers, ready your men for departure!”
The officers down the line barked orders, and the drovers moved to the horses, the carts piled high, their loads tied down and covered with green tarps. The battalion was well outfitted with the latest weaponry from the ship, although the promised cache of weapons from a nearby base had never materialized – another unnerving development as a result of the advance team having gone missing. Hong had a rough idea of the whereabouts of the base in the hills to the south from radio reports, but had been given no precise location; the advance team hadn’t carried maps of the area lest they be searched when they arrived in Oregon as lost refugees.
Hong walked over to the horse that had been chosen for him, a chestnut mare with a shiny coat, and struggled up into the saddle. His bones ached from the cold and dampness of the seaside town. When he was seated with his feet in the stirrups, he flicked the reins and led the procession toward the main gate, where the remaining Astoria occupation force waited with weapons at present arms. Upon arrival, the guards opened the barrier wide and Hong’s men marched through, ten abreast, presenting a fearsome spectacle of power to the squatters, who watched the soldiers with open mouths.
The troops were through the gate in minutes, the animals bringing up the
rear. Hong rode alongside the carts, a stone’s throw from the sad collection of humanity in the squatter camp. Most were chronically malnourished, some obviously ill, all victims of the collapse and a hardscrabble life. Still, many of the squatters’ faces radiated fear and enmity, which Hong took satisfaction in seeing. A cowed population was a pliable one, and he needed the roughly thousand unfortunates to be obedient and subservient to the wishes of his men. That had been the real reason for the lightning forays into the camp and the enslavement of some of the squatters – to send the message that the occupation force could do whatever it liked and that its wishes were the law.
Likewise, they had kept the women they found imprisoned to send a message: everyone existed at the pleasure of the Chinese now, and the only reason they weren’t being serially raped and then butchered was because their captors were beneficent governors. Of course in time, the more attractive females would become sex slaves, but that would be later. For now the commanders didn’t want any distractions for the men, and locking up anything in a skirt removed temptation from the streets.
The assembled tent people eyed the passage of the military convoy wordlessly; the destructive power of a group as large and well equipped as the invasion force was obvious to them all. Ray stood well away from the main group, watching from the tree line through battered spyglasses with one cracked lens. He remained tense, ready to run into the woods at the first sign that the soldiers were going to turn on the camp, and only relaxed when they disappeared down the road that ran along the Columbia River.
“Must be most of the fighters off to Portland,” he muttered under his breath.
The idea made sense. The Chinese would want to take control of the city as soon as possible, while they still had the element of surprise. Little did they know what awaited them there – they obviously hadn’t asked the right questions of their captives or they would have known the city was a shambles.
Ray smiled at the thought of their arriving at the city only to find the place empty of all but the rotting corpses of the dead. A nightmarish vision that would be ample payback for their invasion, he mused, lowering the glasses and looking around before studying the main gate again.
He could make out ten sentries stationed behind sandbags, the menacing snouts of their assault rifles jutting from the protective cover. The men seemed alert, but with most of the soldiers gone, perhaps his chances of coming up with a plan to free the women had just increased markedly.
Ray’s smile slowly faded as he took in the faces of the Chinese guards. They looked tough as fighting dogs and twice as mean, and they’d probably be on edge now that their numerical advantage was substantially reduced.
The snap of a twig behind him startled him, and Ray spun in a fluid motion, dropping the binoculars to his chest and whipping his Desert Eagle free from his belt. He found himself facing an imposing figure in tattered clothes, a patina of silver hair glistening in the morning light.
“You!” Ray exclaimed, lowering the weapon. “The last person I thought I’d ever see again.” He hesitated and slid the pistol back into his waistband. “I thought you were dead.”
The General smiled, and a fresh scab running down the right side of his face crinkled like parchment. Pain radiated from his eyes and his lips formed a tight line.
“It’s harder to kill me than I let on.”
“What happened?” Ray asked.
Art looked around and backed away from Ray, toward the trees. “Looks like you’re in the eye of the storm, son. Wouldn’t be too worried about me if I was you. Seems like half the Chinese army just hoofed out of here – that about right?”
Ray nodded. “They’ve got Mary and Rosemary in town. In the jail.”
It was the General’s turn to nod. “Figures. I’d have done the same.”
Ray glared at the older man like he was a rattling snake. “Why’s that?”
Art glanced at the tent city and then the main gate. “Let’s get out of here, kid. Too many prying eyes. Right now I don’t know who tried to do me in, so I’m not feeling mighty neighborly.” He paused. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a spare hog leg squirreled away somewhere, do you? Not like that pimp gun of yours. Maybe a 1911 .45?”
“I can find one. You want a rifle, too?”
“Of course. I’d prefer an M16, but an AK would work, too.”
Ray studied the man, who looked like he’d been through hell and back. “Can you pay?”
“Of course.”
Ray smiled. “Then follow me to the promised land.”
“You missed your calling, kid. Next time I open a bar, you’ll be the bartender.”
“Sounds like a real job. Not sure I’m interested.”
That drew a laugh. “You’d be perfect. It’s a license to steal.”
Chapter 18
Lucas and Jeb skirted the road Lucas had originally taken into Astoria with Ruby and Joel a lifetime ago. The two had watched the town from the hills through Lucas’s binoculars all night, but had seen nothing that could help them other than the changing of the guard. They had, however, confirmed that the town was now heavily fortified. That morning they’d observed the departure of the battalion, and after a breakfast of dry provisions washed down with canteen water, they mounted up and decided to chance a trip into the tent city, the Chinese having obviously not done anything to purge it, judging by the teeming humanity they could see.
Lucas’s hope was they could find out from the squatters what had transpired since they’d left, and hopefully learn the whereabouts of the women. He didn’t rate the odds as very good, but they had to start somewhere, and he wanted to avoid subjecting himself to any more risk than he had to. Judging by the number of soldiers in town, any attempt at an incursion would be futile – they were obviously prepared to rebuff any attack, and Lucas knew from experience that a disciplined, alert fighting group could repel twice their number with ease from decently organized defenses. And if it were he commanding the occupation security, he would have been on guard for a stealth attack, so he expected the Chinese would be too.
That didn’t leave many options he could see, but the camp was the logical place to start. Perhaps the women had made it out before the Chinese had landed and were hiding for some reason. Anything was possible, even if his gut told him it was wishful thinking.
Jeb had been restless all night, and Lucas could tell that he was itching to ride down to the town, even though he hadn’t said so. Lucas’s concerns about him had intensified over the course of their ride, and he’d barely gotten any rest that night for fear of Jeb sneaking off and doing something stupid. Now, in the light of day, Lucas felt bleary-eyed and worked, and his mood hadn’t improved from sequential days of sleep deprivation.
They rode past the empty sports field, the bustle of the farmer’s market replaced by desolation, and Lucas couldn’t help but reflect on how everything had changed in only a week. He was accustomed to radical dislocations since the collapse, but even for him, the difference struck him as stark.
The tent city looked like no more than twenty percent of the inhabitants had fled the Chinese. Lucas slowed as he neared the outer edges, dismounted, and called to Jeb to do the same. Two men on horseback would draw unwelcome attention, so they lashed their horses to trees at the periphery of the forested hills and made their way into the tent city on foot, the ground beneath their feet spongy from a predawn shower.
They walked with rifles in hand, Lucas leading the way. The sky was as gray as shark skin, and the breeze carried the stink of the sewage trench by the riverbank. Curious squatters looked them over and then averted their gazes when they saw Jeb’s expression, his jaw clenched hard enough to crack fillings. Lucas paused by the spot where he and Joel had camped when they’d been ejected from the town, but he didn’t recognize anyone – the youth and his child bride were gone, as were the three card-playing drifters who’d eyed Tango a bit too closely for his liking.
“What now?” Jeb asked.
“We see if
we can find anyone we recognize and ask what happened.”
“What do you mean what happened? It’s plain as day. The Chinese took over the town. No mystery there.”
“We need info, Jeb. Do you know anyone in the tent city?”
Jeb recoiled in disgust. “What would I have to do with any of these sinners? I stayed as far away from them as I could. They’re all following the devil straight to hell.”
“You didn’t trade with any, for the shop? Maybe hire some to help haul stuff?”
“I won’t be party to helping people live in sin.”
“What about Mary? Anyone she might have had contact with? Or Rosemary? We need someone sympathetic, Jeb. Think.”
“I don’t know anyone.”
Lucas stopped dead, and Jeb almost collided with him. Jeb grunted and waited expectantly.
“Mary’s nephew – Ray,” Lucas said. “Was he with the convoy headed south?”
Jeb shook his head. “He’s not part of the town. There was no reason for him to be with us.”
“Then he might still be here.”
“He’s no good, Lucas. A bad seed. He had his chance to live honorably, but he chose a different path. He’s dead to us.”
“He has a lean-to somewhere on the other side of the camp, doesn’t he? By the bar?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“I’m sure of it. Come on. Maybe we can find someone who knows.”
Lucas resumed walking, his pace faster now that he had a destination. They made their way through the sea of tents, smoke from cooking fires mixing with the stench off the water, until they were within sight of the bar, which appeared deserted. Lucas looked around, getting his bearings, and nearly jumped when a voice called to him from the trees.
“Lucas! What are you doing back here?”
The Day After Never - Perdition (Book 6) Page 9
