by Angela White
“Americans help first and ask questions later. Stand by while I get the boss.”
“Can’t. Battery’s dyin’. There must be some place taking in refugees.”
“Yeah, us.”
“But if you’re Red Cross, who do you get your orders from? Where are they?”
“Those aren’t questions for me. I just work the radio. What’s your situation?”
“Bad. People are hurt, sick. Supplies are gone, food’s low. Where are you?”
“That’s another one I won’t answer on open waves. You need to talk to the boss. Call back and we’ll get him quick, but for now, what’s your message?”
There was a long pause, and then a tired voice so full of despair that it made Adrian’s heart demand he take action.
“I’m overloaded. I can’t describe it. We need protection, a way out to some place safe. Tell him we’re American citizens begging for his–”
The transmission ended suddenly, and Mitch shut off the tape. “Figured their battery went dead.”
“You did a great job,” Adrian praised. “Get me right away when he calls.”
Mitch was all shit-eating grin. “You got it, A-Man. Catch you later?”
Adrian forced himself to agree and was glad to leave the drunk’s company.
Kenn and Adrian went to Adrian’s semi (always in the lead), and the leader climbed behind the wheel, leaving the door open. Time was running out. He could feel it threatening what he held dear, and yet, he couldn’t ignore the call.
He motioned at the glove compartment, at the maps crammed inside. “Find out how far to Cheyenne and what’s between here and there.”
Kenn got to work as Adrian picked up the mike, knowing the leader was hoping for a reason to get the camp behind a rescue.
“Let’s do a count, Mitch. Eagle One, clear.”
The count-off always took a while, people forgetting or going in the wrong order. Usually Adrian handled it, straightened them out, but today he let it go, waiting.
After a full minute of not getting by thirteen, Mitch took control, knowing Adrian wanted the radio clear, and again, he pleased the boss.
“Fourteen, ready.”
“Okay fourteen, but thirteen goes first. Thirteen, you ready?”
“Roger that.”
“Good. We know fourteen is ready, so let’s keep going.”
“Rogetssscccfourteenssch,”
Mitch’s voice boomed over the radio, “Fourteen! Put your mike down! Hang it up now!”
“Roger.”
The two men shared a grin as the check continued more smoothly. Everyone knew Mitch had little patience and, now, Adrian’s blessing to keep people in line.
“Three hundred miles. Laramie and Casper are the only big towns.” Kenn peered at the small writing. “Damn. There are only a couple of reservoirs. Not a good enough excuse.”
Adrian scanned the dusty Wyoming land around them as Kenn got his notebook out, shaking his head at the radio.
“Come on twenty! Why are you calling out of order?”
“Because I’ve got too many kids in my area!”
“Did you check the–” The radio went quiet for a moment as the guards straightened out the mix-up.
“Your impression?”
Kenn’s voice was flat. “He said protection before food or water, like we might be walking into something and have to fight for them.”
“Are we able to do that?”
Kenn shrugged, sounding more confident than he felt. Marines, these people were not. Most were more like shower shoes–not even a boot graduate. “Maybe we could be. Kyle’s team might be now.”
“Just a simple plan, a team of a dozen,” Adrian said, leading him.
Kenn’s pen started moving, copying his own words as he also settled into the groove and gave Adrian exactly what he needed at that moment–signs of progress.
“We’d need more men as Eagles, a longer-range communication system, and full-time gun classes… Wish we could find ammo for the rifles, but we’ll make do.”
Adrian waited, wanting to see if Kenn would get the most important part.
“Also need more tents and practices for the camp, a drill of some kind.” Kenn glanced up suddenly. “Cheyenne’s by the slavers’ path, on 25. Will the sheep go, with the base in Montana so close?”
Adrian stared out the dirty window. Even his right-hand believed they were still going. He would take care of that at the next meeting. “The Eagles will go where I do. The camp would feel extremely unprotected while we’re gone.”
Kenn said nothing at the threat, not doubting. Those words wouldn’t be used, but the message would be clear. Adrian was going, and those who were with him would follow. The rest would have to fend for themselves until–if–he came back for them. “When will they be told?”
“Right after the next call, but it’s best to start with little hints. Have people ‘overhear’ the men say it’s our duty. If not for that, none of them would be safe right now. Remind them that Americans don’t refuse to do what’s right just because it’s hard.”
9
The sky was full of vivid shades of purple and green that were mesmerizing, and Adrian spotted people taking long looks at the mysterious beauty as he headed to dinner. There was a large crowd in and around the mess, most people talking of the shooting contest to come and of Kenn’s match-up with Doug.
There were still yells and groans from the late-running football game, garbage cans full of trash were burning at the four corners of the camp, and two warmly-dressed women were playing their guitars softly around the large bonfire. It felt like early October as Adrian got his tray and took it to the full center table. The smell of salt came to him, bringing flashes of an angry sea, and he wondered where and how many they’d be come fall.
The rookie sentries were at a double table nearby, still congratulating and welcoming Seth. The Level Threes were on the other side of the Adrian’s center table, looking glum as they listened to the happy voices.
Doug and Neil sat across from Kenn, and when Adrian pushed his mostly finished tray aside, the others did too. “Mini meeting and we can skip it later.”
Notebooks and pens came out, and Adrian got busy, not lowering his voice. It was crucial to his plans that the people here thought they knew how he ran things. “Sitrep on your run.”
“We got everything on the lists, except gas. All the stations were dry or destroyed.”
“Alpine?”
“Just like all the rest. Nothing alive. We took pictures.”
“Okay. That’s it. Who’s ready to shoot something?”
The men laughed, the boasting loud, and Adrian saw Doug hand Kenn his envelope with apologetic words. He was glad when Kenn accepted it casually, as if Doug hadn’t insulted him when clearly he had. Things were looking up.
10
“All right, let’s get to it.” Bonfire warming his legs, Adrian stood in front of two teams of men, his army, and raised his bottle. “Rookies! Congratulations on passing!”
All the men cheered, one group much louder than the other, and they all drank together.
“You are now Level One Eagles. You boys get to choose your leader tonight, and I’ll need a name before this meeting is over.”
He raised his bottle again. “Level Three Eagles, congratulations on passing!”
There were surprised looks with the cheers, and Adrian waved a hand at Kyle. “You made it past Kenn, and while there were mistakes, you couldn’t have won anyway. Seth was the wild card that you can’t always be ready for. I consider it a success.”
Both groups cheered fully this time and drank, and Adrian held up a hand as the yells lingered. “We have one more challenge tonight, a personal level test.”
He gestured. “Come up here, Seth.”
The cop left his beer and new friends, approaching Adrian with pride and confusion.
“You have demonstrated great thinking skills, excellent teamwork, and an above average slyness that men
have used to protect this country for centuries. As a reward, Kenn will give you a test. If you pass, you’ll graduate straight to the top level and start working with Kyle and his team.”
The men all cheered, glad for him, and Seth raised a brow. “When?”
Kenn stood up, and Adrian grinned. “Now.”
The leader tossed his dog tags at Kenn’s booted feet, and the wind immediately began trying to cover the shiny metal with sand. “All you have to do is pick them up and hand them to me.”
“That’s it?”
The newly crowned Level Four men groaned and snorted at the question. Kenn’s look was menacing enough to make Seth get serious as he realized this wouldn’t be a give-me. Kenn had beaten Doug.
“Just get by me, is all,” Kenn sneered.
Seth handed his gun to Adrian. The second he let go of it, he spun and dove for the tags.
He came close, but Kenn kicked Seth’s shoulder with the flat of his boot at the last second, sending him rolling through the grit.
Seth got easily to his feet, eyes on the prize, and this time when he rushed Kenn, the Marine used Seth’s own weight to throw him across the ring of now standing and shouting men.
Seth gained his balance, rolling as he landed. When the cop rushed a third time, Kenn planted a hard fist in his ribs that had him grunting.
“This is for real! If you don’t want it, quit now!” Kenn growled, not about to take it easy on Seth, even though he hoped for another ally in him.
Seth shook his head, side hurting and heart waking at the challenge. His body language changed, became intent.
Each of the Level men watched him, remembering their own tests and that moment when they too, had realized they wanted it almost more than anything– because of Adrian.
Seth advanced as he circled, no longer eyeing the metal under Kenn’s feet, but still keeping track of it. This time when Seth rushed, he came in low and hard, making Kenn retreat as they shoved against each other.
Kenn quickly delivered a vicious kick to his knee, then another to his ankle, and Seth fell, grunting in pain.
“Just quit,” Kenn ordered. “Give up!”
Seth’s face hardened, and everyone knew that he wouldn’t. The feeling of failing Adrian was one that would never go away, not in this new life.
Seth got to his feet a fourth time and Adrian observed with real interest as fire grew in the cop’s eyes.
Seth stepped straight at Kenn, as if he meant to rush again, but instead he swung a roundhouse that landed on Kenn’s jaw.
The other fist came around, slamming into the Marine’s cheek. Then, Kenn started hitting back and Seth fell to his knees in the sand while the Marine beat on his face.
Seth sank his head into Kenn’s hard gut, shoving with his legs, and as they rolled over, his fingers clutched at the dusty ground.
His pinky snagged the chain, and when he got to his feet, the dog tags were securely in his grip.
Seth flashed them at Kenn, who was moving determinedly in his direction. “I got ‘em! It’s over, right?” he panted and then ducked as Kenn swung.
“But I’m done. I–”
No one spoke, waiting for him to figure it out.
Seth glared at Adrian’s outstretched hand, and then he moved-ducking, darting, and shoving his way to the man whose life he often dreamed of giving his own for.
Kenn spun him by the shoulder, and Seth threw out a fist, punching him hard.
Kenn swung back, rocking the cop on his heels.
Pissed now, Seth returned the hit, putting his weight into it.
When Kenn did the same, the Eagles were impressed that Seth stayed on his feet.
The two men kept swinging, trading blow for fast blow, but when Adrian gave him a subtle nod, Kenn delivered a nasty hit to Seth’s forehead that knocked him face down in the dirt at the leader’s feet.
When Seth’s hand rose, Adrian bent down and retrieved his property.
“Pass. Effective immediately, you are a Level Four Eagle.”
“No.”
There was a shocked silence as Seth climbed to his feet, covered in sand and blood splatter.
“Because?”
“Because…they...voted me team leader...earlier. Can’t have…that as a Level Four.”
Kenn slung an arm around the cop’s tense, gritty shoulders. “If you knew you didn’t want it, why did you go through with the test?”
Seth smirked at his fellow Eagle, but the expression on his bruising face said his words were for Adrian.
“To prove…that I could.”
11
The call came as Adrian was grinding his hard body against a very willing ass, breath coming in short rasps. He pressed a quick, apologetic kiss to her neck as he stepped back, zipped up.
He left without a word, marching quickly through the blowing grit to the communications truck–sliding into the sandy seat a minute later.
As he keyed the mike, Adrian was aware of Kenn waiting nearby to help him. Good. The Marine would make it easier.
“This is Eagle One. Go ahead with your message.”
“We need help.”
“Tell me what exactly.”
“We have to leave no matter what, but we need an armed escort. Things are rough here.”
“How rough? Don’t send me in blind, but be careful what you say.”
“Slavers.”
That one word brought mutters from the half a dozen men lingering around the radio truck and Adrian keyed the mike. “Do any of you know Morse Code?”
“No... Wait.”
There were a few seconds of silence.
“We know it.”
Adrian signaled to Kenn, and the Marine opened his notebook and slid into the other chair. “Get ready for a message. Word for word. Don’t miss one.”
“Go ahead, Safe Haven.”
Adrian gave Kenn the mike. “Say the number, five.”
Kenn tapped out Adrian’s instructions, and they waited.
“Five,” came the reply.
“Say the state, Nevada.”
“Nevada.”
Kenn gave Adrian a nod and got ready to work.
“We will fight for you, protect you, and feed you. In return, you’ll be expected to obey and work for it.”
There was a lot of tapping and silence, and Adrian waited impatiently for this part to be over so that he could get to the information he needed.
“Agreed, but everyone goes.”
Kenn handed the mike to Adrian, and the leader’s voice was flat. “We don’t leave people behind. I have some questions. Ready?”
“Roger that, Safe Haven, and thank you. You’re the first people we’ve heard who aren’t in the same boat as us.”
Kenn took the mike back, and started tapping out Adrian’s instructions.
“Tell exactly double the number of people you have. Include everyone.”
“Seventy.”
“How many fighters? Double it.”
“Ten.”
Both men winced. “Weapons?”
“Limited.”
Tap tap tap tap tap.
“A few hand guns. No ammo.”
“Have you seen the slavers?”
“Yes. Twice, from a distance.”
“How many are there? Double it and add a hundred.”
“Not exact, four hundred?”
Adrian’s frown was deep. “Where are they now?”
The taps went on for a long time, Kenn’s hand flying, and then he circled an area on the map and held it up for the boss to view.
Adrian counted quickly.
Tap tap tap tap tap…
He looked over Kenn’s shoulder, reading out aloud: “Heard them this morning. They spend a few days each time they take a town. Most people here are from the places they’ve invaded.”
“Based on his calculations, they’re only four towns away from Cheyenne. Two and a half weeks,” Kenn estimated.
Adrian nodded, the plan falling into place. He didn’t
like it, but it was the only thing he could do. “Tell them to be ready from the twenty-first. Radio silence until then, unless they see or hear of the slavers reaching Wellington. Switch to channel eighteen and say double the date I’ve given you.”
“Forty two,” the refugee responded.
Adrian took the mike, hoping the slavers weren’t listening. Hundreds of channels and both calls had lasted less than seven minutes total. Maybe they would get lucky. “Hang in there, Overloaded. Liberty and justice will prevail.”
“Roger that, Safe Haven. Cheyenne, out.”
Adrian looked at his right-hand man. “It’s yours, Marine. Hope for the best but plan for the worst.”
Kenn was confident. “We’ll come and go like the wind.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Close Call
March 10th, 2013
1
Still alone and once again in danger, Samantha’s heart pounded as she waited motionless in the dank basement of a farmhouse on the outskirts of Boulder, Colorado.
She viewed the drunken passage of a large group of well-armed men who were rolling down the street as if they owned it. Praying none of them glanced her way, she listened to shouts, glass breaking, and wild gunfire, ducking down a bit more.
These were the stragglers hurrying to catch up to the main group that she had already watched go by. The sky behind them warned of another nasty storm coming and she ignored the throbbing leg that confirmed the forecast. Samantha had been moving cautiously since surviving the battle with the wolves, and she saw the billowing, black smoke filling the air in the direction the Mexicans had come from. Were they the ones who had taken NORAD?
The small cellar room Samantha had taken shelter in was cold and stank of mildew. The floor was covered in standing, stagnant water, but she only had eyes for the dangerous men moving through the devastated neighborhood that bordered the big, dark city. Samantha didn’t know who the men were, but it was clear that they were trouble.
Not that she would have made contact, even if they had appeared civilized. She hoped to be left alone until she got to Cheyenne, and it never crossed her mind that this group might be going there too.
Samantha had noticed more bodies around here than in other places, and the dead had sores that made her push away horrible flashes of the bunker where she had killed. There had been a few live people, too–brief, distant glimpses of her fellow survivors that had her dropping out of sight as fast as she could.
