She wandered up and down the platforms, entertaining thoughts of drowning Ariel in the East River or maybe burning the big fat one alive. The worst tortures she kept for Mary Beth. She had trusted the woman, treated her like an older sister. From the day she arrived in New York, she had spent every morning with her, trained with her. She thought she knew the woman, had wanted to be just like her. The betrayal hurt worse than the hole in her back.
She had wandered into one of the darkened side tunnels that they used for storage when the sound of boots echoing in the dark caused her hand to drift impulsively to her SIG. “Hey, Rowen, your dad’s looking for you,” said a tall, lean man, slowing as he approached her. He was one of the new people they had recruited over the winter. Blake was a prepper who claimed he saw the attack coming by following trading trends in the stock market, claiming the whole war was a ploy by the global elite to seize control. He was tall with salt-colored hair and light gray eyes, and he looked more like the bankers or politicians he hated than the paranoid prepper he was. He had spent months playing hide-and-seek with Russian soldiers, taking potshots at them from the shadows. He was organized and capable, and when he heard about their militia, he had arranged to bump into her on a scouting mission. Rowen was proud to have brought him in. Her father, upon meeting him, had told her that she was a good judge of character and that Blake was a great addition.
He had worked as a construction worker before the collapse, and he had been assigned to oversee the construction and reinforcement of their fragile defenses. Over the winter, they had expanded throughout Grand Central, secretly occupying the tunnels and platforms right under the enemy's nose. The flooding that a decade ago destroyed most of the existing infrastructure had receded, and the pumping system installed during those dark days was still hard at work keeping the rising waters at bay and the station dry, therefore, salvageable with a bit of work. Every new group of recruits did their best to do just that, adding livable areas, and because they were hiding from the enemy, defensible choke points bristling with every weapon they could find or print.
Her mind came back to Blake, who stood there waiting. Rowen berated herself for being so lost in thought she wandered the tunnels without a smart device.
“Yeah sure, what’s going on?”
“Your father wants everyone in the situation room. Since our attack on the park, lots of people have been wanting to join up, some of the gangs too. I guess human nature never changes,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s like all them folks who called me a nut job and wing nut for prepping came crawling for handouts when the end came, their bellies empty. Just goes to show, prove you can win a fight and suddenly everyone is on the damn bandwagon.”
“Ok, I’ll be there in a minute, thanks,” she said, giving him a polite nod, not wanting to let him get started. He had a tendency to rant. Watching Blake saunter off reminded her she needed to talk to someone. Keeping this to herself was making her jumpy. Gibbs, he was a good guy, and as much as he pissed her off, she knew she could trust him. At least warn him what was going on, and maybe together they could make sense of everything. With a sigh, she shrugged off her doubts and headed off.
***
In what had started as a joke between Gibbs and her father, the "situation room" was a supply maintenance area that her father had begun using as an office not long after those first days they were trapped in the city. Over time and out of necessity, he and Gibbs had built it into a communications hub. Over the winter months, they had scavenged enough to turn it into a real war room, with a full computer suite, the walls having been turned into modern active tactical display screens with passable real-time information transmitted from smart devices they had squirreled away across the city, most of them functional thanks to Timur’s codes. It was far more than they should have had, given the circumstances.
By the time she arrived, a crowd of anxious people had gathered at the door and were spilling out onto the subway platform from the situation room, forcing her to squeeze through the press of too many bodies, the smell of stale sweat filling her nostrils as she searched for Gibbs. Moving through the throng, Rowen wished for the millionth time she was taller. To her eternal irritation, people tended to not notice when someone small was underfoot, causing her to spit out curses continually as idiots "accidentally" pushed or shoved, choking back angry curses every time a moron stepped on her toe. She did her best to control her anger, but after someone stepped on her foot for the fourth time in as many minutes, she began "accidentally" punching or kicking her way through the teeming mass.
After what seemed an eternity of pressing and pushing, she spotted Gibbs. The blond-haired goof stood in a corner near the front of the room. Rowen groaned inwardly, noticing Mary Beth at his side, her arm draped across his shoulder. She had her ample bosom pressed casually against his arm, and the glowing smile plastered across his face told her all she needed to know. She had never seen him so happy, even when he had created some weird gizmo or solved a really complex problem.
She stared hard at the two of them, her mouth agape in disbelief. The dark-haired woman casually tossed her head back, laughing as Gibbs whispered something to her. With a smile, she cupped his cheeks and gently kissed him. “He’s not that funny,” she muttered to herself.
Balling her fists, she stomped away, not wanting to make a fool of herself by staring too long. Rubbing the scar on her face, she pushed Gibbs from her mind, hunting for a spot where she could be miserable by herself, or at least distract herself from this mess she was in.
Rowen jumped in her skin as she felt a cool hand laid casually on her back. She didn’t need to turn around, knowing Ariel by smell and touch alone, his putrid mix of tobacco and peppermint filling her nostrils and turning her stomach. “Why don’t you stand back here with me, Red, good a spot as any here.”
She turned on her heel, resting her hand comfortably on her weapon, glaring at him. Rowen wanted nothing more than to empty every round into him, then beat his skull to a pulp with her empty weapon. Ariel was short for a man but still stood a full head taller than her, and he used that height to try to intimidate her, his stocky frame purposefully invading her space. She stood her ground, not willing to give him the satisfaction. Being this close to him, she could see he looked healthier than he had this morning, his eyes clear, skin flush and pink. “So is this what it’s going to be, you stalking me, keeping tabs on my friends?” said Rowen, tossing her head at Gibbs and Mary Beth, her eyes never leaving his.
“You’re a smart one, ain’t ya? That sounds about right to me,” he said, crossing his arms, smiling at the happy couple. A smile seemed out of place on him; his face was better suited to frowning. Displeasure his natural temperament.
“You can’t watch me all the time. It would be too weird. People would notice,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“We don’t need to, Red. We just gotta be close to your little buddy over there, and my big sis has that one covered. Just look at the way he’s fallin’ for her.”
Looking at the couple, she could see Mary Beth’s hand running across his thin chest. His clear blue eyes went wide, his pale skin flushing a deep shade of red. Rowen shrugged. “Do you really think I care about him? Shoot him. I don’t give a shit,” said Rowen, trying to keep her face a mask.
Ariel stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. He began to giggle, shaking from head to toe and slapping his knee. Rowen’s nostrils flared as she took a calming breath. His laugh was a cruel thing, a hyena’s bark. “Red, you stood bodily in front of that fuckwit while I pointed a gun at him. You didn’t know me, didn’t know what the hell I was capable of, but you risked your life to protect him and his tiny pecker, so yeah, I think you care if we fuck him up.”
“Fuck you, asshole!” she said in a harsh whisper, clenching and unclenching her jaw.
Ariel’s odd smile deepened as he bent down, moving in so close their noses almost touched, his fetid breath making her gag. “Nope, fuck you and your little bu
ddy. Mary Beth likes young meat, and by the looks of things he’s the only one who is gonna get fucked today. We got bets on if he’s a virgin or not. You want in?” he said, his bark of a laugh cutting through the din as he stood to his full height, walking away from her.
Rowen could only seethe as she watched him take his place against the wall, watching her. She had to figure this out. No one would get hurt because of her, she would make sure of that. Turning her attention back to the happy couple, she could see Gibbs stammering and stuttering as always, but from her angle she could barely make them out through the crowd. She had to know what she was telling him. Rowen wondered if he was really stupid enough to fall for her. Why would he think a woman like her would be interested in him all of a sudden?
“Ok, people, settle in,” said her father, making his way to the front of the room, the loud din of the room quickly fading to a quiet murmur. The wall behind him glowed brightly with an overview of Central Park. “As you all know, since our attack, we have had full access to most of the enemy communications system. This changes things. Our victory has changed things. Our scout teams report that there are large contingents of folks who want to join us, including some of the gangs that had been hostile over the winter.” Her father looked around the room, nodding as he saw agreement from those assembled. “This city has been hit pretty hard, knocked off its feet, but I can tell you as of right now, we get to hit back. We’re going to make our enemy bleed, and it starts right now, with everyone in this room!”
Pointing at the screen behind him, he began outlining a plan, a long-term strategy that would hopefully leave the enemy beaten and bloody. As her father went through his plan of attack, Rowen’s thoughts drifted. She could not resolve the situation with Mary Beth and her brothers in a single battle. They had put her in a corner, an invisible cage of their making. Because they had outmaneuvered her, planned for her actions and reactions, she had to do the same; plan for a war that would expose them. By the way they looked at her, she was sure they would come for her again. They needed her for the fluid in her back. Her first step would be to know her enemy, their goals and objectives, understand what they needed the liquid for, but first she needed allies and a way to communicate with them. She looked up to see her father standing in front of a room with dozens of men and women following his purpose. He had started with almost nothing, no war room, no troops. Rowen would follow his example. She would make something from nothing, and then she would make her enemies bleed.
Her first priority, though, was to protect the people they were threatening, Gibbs and her father. Both were vulnerable, and if anything happened to them because of her, she would never forgive herself. Looking around the crowded room, she found Ariel’s dead gaze, his eyes never leaving her. In that moment she understood he would always be there, watching. She would have to communicate in plain sight, speak in code without him understanding. As her attention came back to the meeting, she saw Blake push his way to the front to deliver a message to her father. They would never let her be a runner like Blake, but she might be able to get away with joining one of the construction teams building fortifications in the tunnels. She could move somewhat freely, making her difficult to follow. That would give her room to maneuver, plant traps. Her first visit would be to the armory. She was sure they still had what she needed—as far as she knew, she and Gibbs were the only ones who knew they existed.
***
She signed up to work on the construction crews later that day. Being a newbie, she was put in heavy rotation, running from site to site essentially working as a gopher. To her luck, and much to the annoyance of Augusta, he drew the short straw to watch her that day. The big man quickly fell behind, unable to keep up with her as she jogged from delivery to delivery. From far behind her, she heard him scream that he would be with Gibbs for the rest of the day if she got any ideas. Her time spent running back and forth through the tunnels was tiring but fruitful. She would be ready.
The next morning arrived for training, and she decided it would be smart to return to her normal routine. She had a firm grasp on the training regimen and was sure she could manage it on her own. She was surprised, then, to find Mary Beth there, waiting as though nothing had changed. With a casual nod, she dismissed Ariel, who had been on her heels like a hound. With a shrug, Rowen decided to go along with it, not really caring one way or another if she was there. The older woman did her best to make things feel normal, but everything felt awkward and they devolved to only simple instructions and one-word answers. Nothing would ever rebuild the bridge between them, the bond that had been broken. Mary Beth began to teach her to shoot, and it was an odd lesson, the older woman using a holoprojector to create targets for her that were in constant motion, appearing and vanishing at random. She herself was forced to move constantly, barreling through the obstacle course at full speed while shooting the targets, never standing still. It was exhausting, but she understood. If they had started this before she had begun to weight train, before she started dancing, it would have been impossible instead of almost impossible. After they had been at it for a few hours, Mary Beth motioned for her to sit, handing her a bottle of cool water. They sat cross-legged facing one another, not saying a word, Rowen fighting to catch her breath.
“Listen good; this is important. The most important element of this training is to be always in motion, knowing exactly where your enemy is and what they want to do. To anticipate everything they can or will do. If you understand where they’re going to be before they do, they’re already dead, ’cause you’ve put a bullet in their head and moved on to the next target.”
“How do I know where they’re going to be? That doesn’t make any sense,” said Rowen, scrunching up her face in confusion.
“From now on, when you walk into a room, I want you to make a picture of it in your mind, every crack on the wall, every speck of dirt on the floor. You get me?”
Rowen could only nod as the older woman continued to speak.
“Once you have your terrain, I want you to ask yourself, where would you be if you had to attack or defend? That's the ideal point to move to. The trick is there’re only so many ways to do something, and if you know which way you’d do it, it's most likely the bad guys are gonna do the same thing. You gotta become your enemy.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It ain’t easy, but the more you practice, the easier it’ll become. Real natural, like dancing.”
Rowen frowned. The more she heard, the more she understood. There were only so many ways to attack. The terrain was always different, but once you knew it, the rules were the same. If you knew where your enemy would be, what they had to do, the fight was already won.
Sitting across from Mary Beth, her thoughts wound down a dark path. “Why are you still teaching me? You could have just left me to figure things out myself, or ignored me. No one would have known.”
Mary Beth stood and stretched like a cat, pushing out her chest. Rowen marveled at the size of her breasts. Smoothing down the front of her shirt, she wished something, anything, would grow for her.
“I keep my word; that's all you need to know,” said Mary Beth, giving her a sidelong glance.
Rowen cocked her head, thinking back to the day they had met in the park. “You never gave me your word. You said we would try it for a few days, and if it didn't work out you would toss me back like old catfish, you said.”
Mary Beth looked away, not able to meet her gaze. “Well shit, maybe. I don’t really remember. Look, Rowen, I ain’t none too happy about what went down, not my style, but you’ll learn as you get older, people do shit they don’t wanna do—”
“Well, maybe you’re just an asshole,” said Rowen, looking away, subtly clicking off the safety on her SIG.
“Watch your mouth, little girl. My pa would smack me on the mouth for less. I ain’t above showing how he did it.”
“Then why the hell!” shouted Rowen, leaping to her feet, coming inches from her face. “Y
ou’re supposed to be protecting people. You’re supposed to be better than that. What the hell is wrong with you!”
Mary Beth’s fury matched her own. Rowen could feel her hot breath as they stood nose to nose, her dark eyes full of murder. “You’re over the line, sweetie. You don’t know—” she shouted back, spittle flying from clenched teeth. “You don’t know the whole story. Ahh, hell, I’m so tired of this shit. Just calm down, and I’ll try to explain.”
The older woman’s shoulders slumped, her bravado vanishing as she looked away. Putting her hands on her hips, she sighed deeply before turning back to face her.
“Oh shit!” shouted Mary Beth suddenly. Without warning, she lunged for her, lifting Rowen bodily over her head like she was a rag doll: effortlessly hurling her across the training area. Rowen found herself airborne, staring down at the grimy subway floor. Reflex took over, and she tucked her legs beneath her, stretching out her arms to protect her head. With a grunt, she landed in a clumsy roll, trying to absorb some of the momentum. Breathing hard, she shot to her feet, adrenaline pumping through her veins. In a single smooth motion, she pulled out her SIG and turned back to see what the hell was going on.
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