Fifty Years of Peace (Abrupt Dissent Series)

by Andrews, Charlotte

  He smiled, sheepish, as he adjusted the straps on his pack.

  “I thought I did, but we’re a few degrees off.”

  “It’s ok, it’s only your second time here,” she said. As she passed him, she turned slightly southwest, along the path of a small brook.

  “You don’t need to stop and rest?” George said as he caught up to her.

  “I’m a ranch girl,” she smiled, “I bet I can hike just as far as you can.”

  “I bet you could,” he answered. “How do you know the mountains so well?”

  “I’ve always wanted to know everything that was going on in the world. But when you live on a farm, you have to do it yourself. So I rode Zeus everywhere I could. I guess the trails just stayed with me.

  “You’re a great guide.”

  The compliment made her smile.

  “I used to dream about what was beyond the town. The ranch was hard work, and we didn’t get much chance to travel. But I always knew I wanted to see something more, something different. I always wanted to see the next trail, the next hill.”

  “Maybe one day I can take you east.”

  “What are the United States like?” she asked.

  “Well, they’re a lot like this,” he said, “more cities, but with fewer people. The farming mostly happens right on the other side of the Appalachians, in Pennsylvania, Virginia, Maryland, the Carolinas. We have electricity some nights. It’s not a lot, but it allows us to be productive more hours of the day. We’re learning how to rebuild things from old blueprints on the computers. There’s so much opportunity, sometimes I wish there were three of me just to have enough time to do everything.”

  “What would all three of you do?” she laughed.

  “Well, one of me would be a scientist…did you know we used to be able to send people up into space? I’d take us back to the moon, or even up to Mars. Another one of me would work in the library, so I could learn everything in the books and teach everyone what to do and how to do it.”

  “And the third one of you, would he still be a soldier?”

  A glimmer of his seriousness returned.

  “Of course,” he said, “we’re always going to have to fight for what’s right.”

  “Even with three of you, it doesn’t sound like you’d ever have time for a wife or a family…”

  George let out a small smile and then slipped his hand into Jenny’s.

  “Everyone has time for a wife and family Jenny.”

  Just hearing this gave Jenny chills. She squeezed tighter on George’s hand, trying to conceal her smile.

  The ground was leveling out as they entered the valley. More and more underbrush slowed their progress, and George went ahead of her and stomped a trail through the thicket.

  “Why did your family all come together?” she asked him.

  “We fight how we train. There aren’t enough people in the U.S. to raise a full time army like the New States, so each family is expected to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice. When I have children, it will be my responsibility to teach them what’s right and wrong, how to fight, and what the United States stands for.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Freedom and opportunity,” he said.

  The words startled her. They were exactly what the New States preached, what the assemblyman had roared from the stage, what she heard in school, but now she knew that those ideals had been twisted. She understood the damage lies could do.

  “George, what if the Texans react and hurt the people in town? What if they hurt my grandfather?”

  What was happening down below in the only town she’d ever known was becoming more real with each step toward the river.

  George stepped closer to her, his voice growing serious.

  “We won’t let anything happen to him, I promise.”

  “Thank you George. You make me feel…so much better.”

  He smiled, and she quickened her pace before he could see her blush. Before long, she heard the river in front of them.

  “We’re getting close,” she said.

  Aiden gripped her shoulder, then stood beside George.

  “Jenny, let us do some scouting. We’ll be right back for you.”

  She nodded and watched Aiden and George disappear into the trees. They ran soundless, agile through the underbrush while she found a log and sat. She admired their skill and training, how they pushed themselves, how they’d come so far and risked their lives to help people like her grandfather who they hadn’t even known.

  And as they moved like lethal shadows through the forest, she prayed nothing would happen to them.

  ***

  The longer Jenny waited for George and Aiden, the more she worried. The thought that more people might be hurt because of what they were about to do weighed heavily on her. She tried to push these negative thoughts from her head and focus on the task at hand, which was getting back to the ranch so they could use her grandfather’s technology to call for help.

  A twig snapped in front of her. Startled, she jumped up and fumbled with the pistol Lenora had given her and pointed it at the rustling bushes. George emerged, scratched and sweaty, but smiling.

  “All clear,” he said, “follow me.”

  She took off behind him, her excitement growing in measure with her nervousness. Crossing over the river on the pre-war footbridge and setting foot back on her grandfather’s land, her heart rose.

  “Where’s Aiden?” she asked.

  “He’s staying hidden, just in case we missed anything.”

  The knowledge and expertise of George and Aiden gave Jenny comfort. If they did have to fight, George and Aiden would know what to do.

  Breaking into the open expanse of the southern field she’d thundered across days ago on Zeus, Jenny was startled to see people working the herds and tending the buildings. One figure near the house turned and waved. As she neared, she could see it was Manuel and she ran and threw her arms around him.

  “Jenny! Where have you been?” he asked. “Who is this?”

  “It’s a long story Manuel. I can’t tell you everything right now.”

  “The Texans searched our houses Jenny. They took your grandfather. They would not listen to us…”

  “I know Manuel, I know…”

  “Jenny,” George said, “we have to hurry.”

  His eyes were scanning up the road, and then the fields behind the house. He was desperately nervous.

  “Manuel, come with us and I’ll explain everything.”

  A half dozen of the other hands followed as they ran for the tool shed. It made her proud that they were still doing their jobs, still carrying on her grandfather’s legacy. Her grandfather had always treated them well and they were returning his kindness. One day she hoped to do the same.

  She stopped at the tool shed and lifted the door latch. Her heart was thudding with excitement, but just as she pulled open the door, she heard a loud noise in the distance. Startled, she spun to see Manuel clutching at his chest. His eyes had gone big, and blood seeped through his hand.

  “Jenny…” he said.

  “Down!” George screamed. “Get down!”

  George ran to Jenny and pushed her into the grass, then drew his rifle and scanned the river. Jenny saw a field hand sprinting through the grass beside her until another large boom went off, and the field hand stumbled to the ground. How could anyone do this Jenny questioned to herself as tears poured from her eyes.

  “I’ve got no target,” George cried. “Jenny, we need to get into the shed.”

  She scrambled inside and lifted the floor. George was about to follow until a cry from a copse of trees at the northern end of the clearing froze him.

  “Move George!” Aiden screamed. “Hurry!”

  “Dad!” George called. He started to run toward the sound of a struggle but Jenny grabbed his leg. He looked down, startled.

  “This is our only chance,” Jenny said.

  George’s face seemed to break apart,
anger warring with tenderness. Another shot sounded near where Aiden’s voice had been, followed by a scream of rage.

  “Please,” she said. “I can’t do this without you.”

  He stared at her, the rifle in his hands. Then he threw it aside and sprinted down into the darkness. Jenny extended her arms to feel her way through the darkness. She was sick with fear, hoping Aiden could give them enough time.

  ***

  A woman in loose-fitting overalls popped up from the grass and ran, swaying toward one of the outbuildings. Dillon squeezed the trigger and she fell, clutching at her thigh. A bad shot.

  He kept the scope trained on the area around the shed for a moment longer, then started scanning. The boy with the rifle, the same one he’d seen five days ago on the bridge, was pinned down behind the shed. The girl, the only target he needed alive, was with him, but Dillon didn’t want to be surprised again, so he was taking his precautions and eliminating every potential point of resistance. A few field hands at extreme range ran downhill to their houses. The cattle were shifting farther down the fields, reacting more to the smell of fear on the people than the gunshots.

  A shoulder moved through the grass, one of the field hands trying to crawl toward the ranch house. Dillon squeezed the trigger and the shoulder gushed with blood and stopped moving. A good shot.

  He’d picked an excellent overlook position after the search of the hills turned up nothing, and ever since he’d been waiting for this moment. The firing positions he’d constructed from the small copse of trees and rock would keep them from seeing him until it was too late. He was in total tactical control.

  An older man, still clutching a shovel, popped up from behind a stump. Dillon sighted, exhaled.

  “Don’t even think about it,” a voice said as cold metal pressed against Dillon’s neck. “Take your hands off the weapon.”

  Lying on his stomach, Dillon raised his hands out and to his sides.

  “That’s it, easy does it. Now keep your head down.”

  Dillon did as ordered.

  “Move George!” the man yelled. “Hurry!”

  Dillon heard the man holster his weapon, then the man seized his right wrist and pulled it across his back to try and handcuff him, but Dillon was smarter. He used the man’s momentum to spin onto his back, catching the man’s legs with his own and scissoring the man onto the ground. Dillon could see the camouflaged face’s eyes go wide with surprise as the man fell against a boulder. His opponent had one arm tied in a sling, and tried to draw his pistol with the other. Dillon sprung to his feet, kicking the man’s gun hand once, twice. A shot went off, ricocheting past him, and Dillon kicked again. This time a bone cracked and the weapon fell from the man’s hand. From the corner of his eye, Dillon saw a combat knife flash in the man’s bad hand and backed away. He grinned as he drew his own knife.

  “You’re one of the ones I missed on the bridge,” he said. “Is that arm bothering you?”

  “You couldn’t kill me before; you’re not going to kill me now.”

  The man slipped his arm from the sling, but had little strength in the limb. His knife fluttered, and the man was grimacing at the effort. He feinted forward, then swung his blade back toward Dillon’s thigh but the sniper was ready. He caught the man’s momentum, and again, used it to pull the soldier off balance. As the man stumbled past him, Dillon stabbed at his back, just barely missing. The other man steadied himself, his eyes burning into Dillon. Good, Dillon thought, anger will cloud his judgment. The man would stop looking for openings, and start looking for more brutal strikes. Fighting without anger was something his Japanese instructor had taught him a long time ago, and he felt calmness flood him.

  Dillon jumped a step forward, faking a rush. The other man stepped back to receive his charge, and in that moment, lost the fight. The man stumbled back into a group of rocks and lost his footing. Dillon pounced, pinning the man’s arms against the ground with his knees and driving his knife deep into the man’s chest. Blood bubbled from the man’s mouth. His eyes flashed a desperate understanding, then faded into a peaceful nothingness. It was a good kill.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Linden closed his trailer door, then sat down to massage his temples. The mayor was becoming a liability, and tiptoeing around the civilians was taking too much of his time when the larger plan was at such a delicate stage. He’d need to think of what to do. Perhaps the Johnson boy would come in handy, or another disaffected citizen. These people were just too nice. They wouldn’t talk bad about a neighbor or do anything to jeopardize their community. He was starting to wonder if this was the right town from which to start a war after all.

  A fist pounded the door, startling him. He nodded to one of his aides and the man drew his pistol, checked the peephole, then opened the door. Dillon pushed past the man and into the reception area. Dust and sweat covered the scout, but a weasel smile plastered the man’s face.

  “What are you so proud of?” Linden asked.

  Dillon reached into a vest pocket, pulled out a bloody glob of fabric, and tossed it onto Linden’s worktable.

  “Now what in the hell do you….”

  “That’s machine-stitched fabric,” Dillon said, “computerized camouflage pattern.”

  Linden’s mood changed in an instant. This was what he’d been waiting for, evidence of U.S. provocation that he could take to the people.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “The Two Star Ranch. I played a hunch, and the boy came back with his dad and the girl. They were looking for these...” He unzipped his pack and lifted out a small device that he handed to Linden. “Your men’s search of that ranch wasn’t as thorough as you thought.”

  “Is it operable?”

  “Absolutely. The old man had a whole library down there, and a generator to boot. I don’t know how much the girl knows, but the boy will probably know enough and…”

  “Where are they?”

  “They got away.”

  “THEY GOT AWAY?” Linden shouted. “What miserable excuse do you have this time? Was the sun too high in the goddamn sky Dillon?” He took a threatening step toward the dirty tracker, but Dillon gave no ground.

  “Have you ever watched a man die against the business end of your hunting knife Assemblyman? You ever slit a man’s throat in his sleep? Or do you just scream when the pieces on your game board don’t do what you want them to?”

  His aide reached for their sidearm, but Linden forced himself calm. Dillon had brought him a great triumph, and in spite of his distaste for the man, he needed him.

  “You know Dillon, that was wrong of me to raise my voice. I’ve been dealing with the god-awful mayor of this town asking questions that are getting in the way of some important tactical decisions, and I let the pressure get to me. My apologies…”

  Dillon let out a crooked smile.

  “That girl and her boyfriend aren’t your problem,” he said. “You and I both know the United States doesn’t have any type of force in position to keep your little army from taking Rockfish Gap and marching all the way to Front Royal if you wanted.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m not stupid Assemblyman, in spite of what you might think. I came right to you because the man I killed, the dad, was the same one I hit square in the shoulder five nights ago on the bridge. But this morning when I stripped him down, I found a nice neat line of sutures where my bullet got him. He was well fed and had access to medical care.”

  “The townspeople…”

  “They aren’t all on your side,” Dillon said. “Whatever you wanted to start here, you’re damn well doing it. And if I was you, I’d kick your plan to win hearts and minds into high gear.”

  ***

  Sheriff Dickson sat across his kitchen table from Mayor Trestle. The candle he’d lit when the exhausted mayor had woken him had burned down to a nub.

  “If we do this there’s no turning back,” he said.

  The mayor rubbed at his shin, yawning.
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  “I know, but people need stories Pete,” Mayor Trestle said.

  “And you really think this is what they need to hear?”

  “It’ll show them things aren’t right. They won’t take kindly to being lied to.”

  “Then you can count…”

  Someone battered the sheriff’s door. Both men started in their chairs, and then the sheriff rose to answer.

  “I’m coming!” he called. He looked through his door’s peephole, and then turned back to the mayor.