Storm Gathering

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Wonderful. That was just great. But maybe he had enough knowledge that Lynne and her team could expand on it.

  But Moe had her own expertise. “At the Reno lab, do you have seeds? Is there a collection?”

  Barter shrugged. “Not that I know of. But there is a Bunker that's devoted solely to food production and development. It's not the Reno Bunker.”

  Moe stepped closer to the bars. “What Bunker? Where is it?”

  Barter rocked back on his heels. “It seems as if I have a lot to trade here. This cell isn't worthy of me, and I want out.”

  Moe glanced at Lynne.

  Lynne's gaze hardened, and she reached for the steel door and shut it.

  Barter rushed the bars and yelled.

  Moe stepped back.

  Lynne put her arm through Moe's and turned her, walking toward the stairwell. “We have to wait until Jax gets back to let Barter into the lab, and I'd say the nut job needs to stew in a cell for a little while. Let's leave him for now and go see how Sami's doing.”

  Maureen nodded. “There has to be a link between the Bunkers buried in that system somewhere. If Barter knows about other ones, the information is in there. Sami needs to find it.”

  “She will,” Lynne said, her mouth grim. “There isn't another option.”

  Moe concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other up the stairs. Where was Greyson? Were he and Raze safe?

  They had to be. At least they were working together.

  Finally.

  * * *

  The feeling of the sniper rifle in his hands felt like coming home. Most people wouldn't understand, and Greyson was okay with that. But as with any mission, he felt the rightness of the orders. The certainty of what he had to do.

  He stepped as lightly as he could, following a barely discernible trail through the thick underbrush. It was almost noon, which meant no shadow.

  His favorite time, actually.

  He paused, studied the brush, and took three full steps to the north. Then he continued on, making sure the trail continued. Finally, he reached the tree line he wanted.

  Footsteps sounded behind him. Shit. Somebody coughed.

  He jumped across a couple of yards and ducked behind a huge blue spruce.

  “Yeah, well, I don't care what he says. I can date who I want,” came a young male voice, maybe about twenty. “What's the point of surviving Scorpius if we don't get women?”

  “I know, but just cool your jets,” came an older male voice, raspy enough that the guy had probably smoked for decades. “We're still getting organized. Soon we'll start rebuilding civilization.”

  The duo kept walking past Greyson's position, talking quietly, obviously not expecting to find anybody at the edge of the forest. He shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree trunk, mentally tracking their movements.

  Once they were out of earshot, he slung the rifle over his shoulder, turned, and scaled the tree.

  Branches and needles cut into him, but he kept moving, not feeling anything. Finally, he reached a good position and settled himself. Finding the right prop for the rifle took a few minutes, and then he was looking through the scope at the president's office.

  Perfect.

  He slowed his heart rate and breathing, stretched out the best he could, and waited.

  Waiting was part of the job. Patience was the first thing he'd learned and honed, and it was why so many people couldn't make it in sniper school.

  The office was empty. The sun sparkled off the lake to the right, and the wind was coming in slightly from the north. He calculated wind speed and distance, adding in heat. What he wouldn't give for a suit that matched the tree. One time, he'd been in the field and had blended in so well with the brush that Ferris couldn't find him. Of course, it had been during training. During combat, Ferris had known where he was at all times.

  Now Greyson had Jax and Tace waiting to move in on his order.

  Four months ago, he'd have bet his last breath that this situation would never happen. Mercs and Vanguard working together against the President of the United States. Or that Grey was about to take a kill shot against his Commander in Chief.

  Movement caught his eye inside the mansion, and President Atherton escorted a tall blonde into his office. He sat, while she reached over and picked up a pile of dishes. Then she walked gracefully on four-inch heels out of the room.

  Atherton sat behind his desk and drew a map in front of him.

  “Target acquired,” Greyson whispered into his two-way radio, the window giving him a clear shot.

  “Copy that,” Jax whispered. “I'm at the depot we took out last time. Trucks are missing. Several.”

  “Affirmative,” Tace whispered, his voice a low rasp. “I'm at surveillance point three, ready to go. There are fewer patrols and guards right now.”

  Holy fuck. Damn it. “They're out on a raid.” And who was weak right now? Both the Mercs and Vanguard. Which one was being attacked? Grey's body vibrated, and he took a deep breath. He had to get Damon, and then they'd head south.

  “Stay on mission,” Jax whispered, obviously thinking along the same lines. “Let's get this done.”

  The president kept reading, having no idea that a rifle was pointed at his chest. Grey shook his head. He'd vowed to protect the president. But that was different, and those times were over. This guy was a sociopath who'd probably started the fires to remove Merc territory, who'd destroyed an organic farm full of people just trying to survive, and he had Damon held captive somewhere. It was time to move on. Grey's affiliation was to his family, the Mercs, and now Vanguard.

  “Shot in ten seconds,” he said into the shortwave radio. Then he tucked it away and leaned down to aim after calculating wind, distance, trajectory and everything he used to discuss with Ferris. His aim was for Atherton's upper left quad. Seven. Eight. Nine.

  Greyson squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet impacted the glass and shattered it, spreading damage across the entire window but not getting through.

  Atherton jumped up, eyes wide, and ran for the interior door.

  “Damn it.” Greyson jumped down from the tree, landing and rolling to his feet. “Shot failed, shot failed,” he snapped into his radio, running in a zigzag pattern for the mansion.

  An alarm blared high and loud in the bright day from the mansion.

  “What the hell?” Jax bellowed, the sound of movement coming through.

  “Bulletproof glass,” Greyson yelled, shoving the radio back into his pocket.

  Soldiers poured from the front of the mansion.

  Greyson dropped to his knees, pointed, and started firing. One down. Two down. Four ducked for cover.

  Jax's truck careened wildly from the road, with him shooting at guards on the way.

  Two explosions at the rear of the mansion rocked the ground.

  Greyson dropped the sniper rifle, grabbed his handgun, and started running full bore for the front door. He fired as he went.

  The guards returned fire, and pain slashed into his arm. His gun flew out of his hand. He dropped to his knees, taking cover. Shit. They had him.

  One guy stood from behind a mini-wall, his gun out and pointed at Greyson's head.

  Grey went for the gun in his boot just as a motorcycle, quiet and deadly, all but flew over his head. Raze rode it, firing toward the guards and landing inside the vestibule of the house.

  Jax's truck reached the side at the same time, and three more explosives detonated around the rear. Tace loved a good explosion, apparently.

  Greyson kept low but ran forward, shooting two men and sliding into the house on his knees. His arm hurt, but it wasn’t a fatal wound. He’d worry about it later.

  Raze picked him up by the lapels. “I'm going to kill you.” He clapped a hand over Grey’s bleeding arm. “How bad is it?”

  “Not bad,” Grey said, his arm on fire but nothing really damaged. “Just sliced into me.”

  Jax ran in behind them. “Hurry. We h
ave no idea where reinforcements are or how close.”

  Men rushed out of the surrounding land, heading for the house, guns out.

  “Fuck.” Raze slammed the door and shoved a table in front of it. “Find Damon. I'll hold them off.”

  Grey nodded and ran through the house and across a kitchen. He shoved open a door to find three women, all crying, looking terrified. “Where would they keep a prisoner?” he shouted, keeping his gun down but very much visible.

  The blonde with the stilettos wiped her nose. “Downstairs. There are locked rooms downstairs. On the other side of the laundry room.”

  “Where's Atherton?” Jax asked.

  “I don't know,” the blonde said.

  Grey nodded. “Get down and stay in here.” The women jumped to the floor, and he shut the door. “Where the fuck is Atherton?”

  A volley of shots echoed from the rear of the house.

  Jax paused.

  Grey shoved him. “Go cover Tace. I'll find the downstairs.”

  Jax nodded and hurried off toward the kitchen.

  Grey stalked through the house, ignoring the raging pain in his arm. He checked room after room and finally found the laundry room. A door was on the far side. He inched close and nudged it open, seeing a wooden set of stairs.

  The firefight continued all around him, volleys of shots being fired, and more explosives going off. He dodged down the stairs, his senses alert, and reached a wooden cellar. A quick glance around saw only a locked wooden door.

  Anybody guarding the area had run upstairs to protect the president.

  Grey lunged for the padlock and scrambled around for a key. Nothing. He aimed his gun, turned his head, and fired.

  Metal pinged, and a piece sliced across his forearm. He pulled the remainder of the lock off and burned his fingers, dropping it to the dirt floor. His gun out, he yanked open the door and swept the room. “Damon,” he breathed.

  His friend lay on the floor, a bruised mess, his chest not moving.

  Grey rushed forward and yanked him up, shaking him.

  Damon's head lolled and blood bubbled from his mouth. His normally dark skin was sallow, and his lips looked blue.

  “Wake the fuck up,” Grey said, shaking him.

  Damon's eyes slowly lifted. “What the hell?”

  “Let's go.” Grey shoved his shoulder beneath Damon's arm, and his friend sagged, going out again. “Okay, I've got you.” He ducked and tugged Damon over his shoulder, gun still out, and ran for the stairs.

  Jax met him at the top. “We're going to have to shoot our way out to the truck. Soldiers are coming from every direction. Atherton took off in an armored truck.”

  Grey nodded just as Tace and Raze rounded the corner. “Let's get him in the back, and then I'll start shooting. You guys provide cover.”

  “Wait a sec.” Tace grasped a detonator. “Um. Everyone run. Now.”

  They leaped out of the front, everyone firing and running for the truck.

  The ground shifted and rumbled. Then the mansion blew up behind them.

  Heat flashed, and Grey shoved Damon into the truck. “Go, go, go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The president may have ruined one food source, but I'll find another. He won't win this time.

  —Maureen Shadow, Notes

  In the Bunker's upstairs control room, Maureen pored over the maps Sami had given her, outlining organic farms, or former organic farms from Santa Barbara up to Seattle. She incorporated all of Northern California, Oregon, Washington, and Idaho.

  Sami worked on one of the two large computers in the hidden room, once in a while swearing loudly enough to make Maureen chuckle.

  Vinnie sat down at the table and pushed a cup of tea toward Moe.

  Maureen looked up, her gaze focusing. “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome.” Vinnie sipped on her own cup. “I can't stop thinking about the guys taking on the president and the Elite Force, and Lynne told me to bring you tea so I'd stop bugging her.”

  Maureen took the fragrant blueberry tea and sipped, enjoying the sweet taste. “I've been trying to bury myself in work.” She pointed to the map. “Where's Lynne?”

  “She's going through all of her data, mumbling to herself, and every once in a while swearing a little bit.” Vinnie bit her lip. “She's about to plan an attack on the Reno Bunker, even without Jax. It'd be fun to see his reaction to that.”

  Moe snorted. “They do always have tension surrounding them.”

  “Yeah, but now I'm bored.” Vinnie nodded. “Sami is still hunting through the computer, Lynne is busy, the soldiers are on high alert, and you're in here diagramming what looks like a Battleship game. I'm a criminal psychologist. I profile people or talk to them. There's nobody to talk to.”

  Moe sipped some more. “Profile Zach Barter.”

  “He's shit-assed crazy,” Vinnie said slowly.

  Moe coughed and nearly spilled her drink. “I didn't know shrinks used that word.”

  “I'm not really a shrink.” Vinnie grinned. “I heard that you asked Barter about seeds. Aren't seeds supposed to be stored all over the world?”

  “Yeah, but nobody, at least no one still alive, knows where,” Moe said, blowing steam off her cup.

  Vinnie pursed her lips and looked through the windows into the cafeteria. “It's crucial, right? I mean, with all the genetically modified crops since they don't reproduce, we're screwed if we don't have more seeds.”

  Moe shook her head. “No. That's actually a myth.”

  Vinnie's eyebrows rose. “What's a myth?”

  “That GMOs don't reproduce. They do, like any other plants.” Maureen sipped thoughtfully. “Now with hybrids, like corn, you get an inferior next crop if you don't use new seeds. But GMOs are fine and do reproduce.”

  “Then why do farmers, or rather why did farmers, always buy new seeds? I saw a news report on it,” Vinnie said, her forehead creasing.

  “Hybrids outperform inbreds, so it was more economical for many farmers to just buy new seeds, use hybrids, and get more of a crop. It was for financial reasons,” Moe said, her mind returning to the walnut problem. She sighed, sadness swamping her.

  Vinnie reached out and patted her hand. “I meant to tell you. Congratulations on the pregnancy. I'm happy for you.”

  “Thanks,” Maureen said softly. “I can't believe I fell for a soldier.” What he was doing right now was crazy. “It's so weird to think that Greyson is going to shoot the president, but it's the right thing to do. How can that be the right thing?” The world they were living in truly sucked right now.

  “I don't know, but it is,” Vinnie murmured.

  Moe nodded. “Have you heard anything about the fires toward Santa Barbara? I haven't been to the roof in hours.”

  “Bad winds, bad color to the sky,” Vinnie said, her blue eyes sober. “I'm sorry, but it doesn't look good.”

  Something banged in the other room, and Sami stormed in, her eyes a wild brown. “We just had a call over the HAM radio from a group up north that keeps us informed but had trouble getting through all day. Apparently the Elite Force sent a large contingent out about ten hours ago, but I don't know where they went.”

  Vinnie drew in a breath. “The scouts haven't called in?”

  “Nope.” Sami took her gun from the back of her waist.

  Who would the president attack first? “They're either heading to Merc territory, to Vanguard, or here,” Maureen said, her heart beating more rapidly. “All three places are weakened. Vanguard is still rebuilding, Merc territory is under siege by fire, and we're low on personnel because of those two reasons.”

  Sami headed for the door in a whirlwind. “I'm going to suit up just in case, and I'll call in the patrolling guards. We need everybody here and ready to shoot in case it's us.” She disappeared down the stairs, already calling out orders.

  Vinnie reached into her boot and brought out a small pistol. “Are you packing?”

  Moe slowly shook her head. �
�I have a gun, but it's in my room right now.”

  Vinnie pulled her to stand. “Let's go get it. Not being armed is a seriously bad idea.”

  Moe nodded, her heart racing. Were they about to get in a fight with Elite soldiers without Greyson, Jax, Raze, Tace, and Damon? “Shit. This is a disaster.”

  “You're not kidding, sister,” Vinnie said, hurrying her step. “Let's go by the armory and get more guns. We might need them.”

  * * *

  Grey bent over Damon in the back of the truck as Jax fishtailed away from Lake Tahoe, shooting over the edge of the truck bed and ducking when possible. Raze shot from the passenger seat, and Tace shot from the opposite side of Grey, covering Damon at the same time.

  They reached the edge of the property and kept going.

  The men chasing them stopped.

  “What are they doing?” Tace snarled.

  Grey paused. “Their jobs. The president went the other way. The Elite Force is the new Secret Service. They'll stay to cover him.” The damn president had gotten away again. “Who fucking knew there'd be bulletproof glass on the window,” he muttered.

  “Not me,” Tace said, dropping to his butt. “How is he?”

  Grey gently pushed Damon onto his back. “Bruised and battered but breathing.”

  Tace moved closer and opened Damon's shirt, whistling at the bruising. “Let me check him out.”

  Grey sat back, his mind spinning as the medic examined Damon from head to toe.

  Tace finally lifted Damon's closed eyelids to study his pupils. Damon lifted a hand and swiped him away. “Knock it off.”

  Grey pressed in, his heart thundering. “D? You okay?”

  Damon, flat on his back, looked up at the cloudless sky and then turned his head slightly. “Why are the trees flying by me?”

  Grey grinned. “Jax is driving. Probably too fast. How are you?”

  “Fine.” Damon grunted and tried to shove himself up.

  Greyson grabbed one arm, Tace the other, and they pulled the ex-cop to a seated position. “Seriously. How are you?”

  Damon sighed. “Ask the medic.”

  Tace studied the injured man. “I'd say three bruised ribs, a concussion, multiple contusions, including a fairly bad knot on your knee, and probably some damaged knuckles from fighting back.” Tace shook out his left hand, which looked oddly swollen. “You need stitches in four places, and I think your left shoulder is out of its socket. I'd like to get you back to the infirmary at the Bunker before we try to fix anything.”