Invasion (Best Laid Plans Book 3)

by Nathan Jones

  By that point the sun had set and the light was fading fast. Since Trev was out of options he returned to the last marker to set up camp, determined to try again in the morning when he was better rested and had cooled down.

  In spite of that determination and his leaden exhaustion it took him a long time to fall asleep, picturing his family being spotted on the road by an approaching Gold Bloc truck and getting rounded up before they could flee. He didn't know what happened to US citizens captured by the invading soldiers, but his imagination supplied plenty of answers fueled by his worst fears.

  What would he do if he couldn't find any signs of them tomorrow morning? It would be pure insanity to go searching for Gold Bloc camps, and even if he did he wouldn't be in a position to help anyone inside them. At best he'd have to abandon his efforts, at worst he'd also be captured and end up in the same situation.

  The alternative, returning the agonizingly long distance back to Aspen Hill by himself having failed to help his family, and probably chased by enemy soldiers across every mile, made him want to give up.

  He wasn't sure if it was exhaustion or his mind fleeing those despairing thoughts that finally pulled him into confused nightmares, but either way they didn't last long.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Light In The Darkness

  In his current physical and mental state, and given that he'd been hearing the rumble of engines off and on for a few days now, Trev was almost surprised that the approaching truck woke him out of his troubled sleep.

  In spite of his groggy state he wasted no time sitting up in his sleeping bag and turning to face the sound. After some intent listening he concluded it was coming from the direction of I-75, which wasn't a surprise. But unlike the other vehicles he'd heard driving along it this one wasn't driving past on the interstate, it was headed straight for him on the road he'd been following.

  Trev reacted immediately, slithering out of his sleeping bag and grabbing his shoes, belt and accompanying pouch and magazine holders, and his Mini-14 from where he'd placed them within easy reach. His next stop was the bike trailer to pick up his pack, awkwardly juggling everything, and then he left his camp behind and limped through the undergrowth deeper into the stand of trees.

  Just like the previous nights Trev had set up his camp well off the road, out of sight and in a secluded spot that wouldn't draw any attention. He'd bolted because it was better to be safe than sorry, but given his care concealing the camp he was confident this precaution was unnecessary.

  He couldn't have been more wrong.

  The passing military truck screeched to a halt on the road almost as close as possible to his camp, and soldiers quickly poured out and began spreading out in all directions. In the small amount of time he had while they were still disorganized Trev found the nearest source of cover and dropped to the ground as quietly as possible behind it. Just in time; he stopped breathing entirely as flashlight beams pierced the branches above him.

  This was uncanny. Did they have some sort of thermal imaging that had caught his heat signature? He knew the technology had advanced pretty far, to the point that drones and even satellites could detect people from extreme distances. So it was possible, but he had no idea why they'd go to the trouble of using those resources just to find him. Of course it probably wasn't personal, and they were using satellites to comb the entire state of Michigan for anyone who wasn't part of the invasion force.

  It turned out he was way overthinking things, which he realized as he peeked out from his impromptu hiding spot several hundred yards off the road and saw about half the soldiers gathered around the sign he'd decided to set up camp beside.

  Of course. They'd seen the trail of owls and were following it searching for anything suspicious. Trev should've realized that might happen and gotten well away from any owls before looking for a camping spot. Especially what was probably the last marker along the trail, where they'd search most carefully.

  He began putting on his shoes and belt as quietly as possible, giving his camp up for lost. It looked like he'd just have to flee on foot and hope he could find a bike somewhere, but if not his feet had taken him long distances before, if nowhere near 1,750 miles. He'd manage. The important thing was to get away before their search really got organized.

  As he worked he heard the soldiers spreading out into the woods, calling advice and updates to each other quietly enough that he couldn't catch the language they were using. By their uniforms and appearance he thought they were probably Russian. It wasn't a terribly difficult guess to make, but either way it was confirmed a few moments later when the nearest soldiers discovered his camp and began calling everyone to them, using words that even his limited vocabulary of foreign languages recognized as Russian.

  The soldiers converged on his camp from all directions and began poking around, making comments to each other. He wasn't sure if it was a debate or banter, since some of the soldiers were chuckling while others pointed insistently at the truck.

  Hopefully those ones wanted to just drive off, giving Trev a chance to pack up his camp and get out of there before they or some of their friends came back. And while they were at it maybe they'd leave him a hot dinner and some energy drinks with a little note wishing him luck on his journey.

  He buckled his belt and put on his pack, then held his rifle carefully in one hand as he used the other to leverage himself up into a crouch. He began easing through the woods away from the lights and voices, glad that his quick response in abandoning his camp had given him some distance. He'd be long gone before their search got this far.

  He'd only gone a few feet when one of the Gold Bloc troops abruptly shouted into the woods, speaking heavily accented but passable English. “We know you're out there, American. Your sleeping bag is still warm. And you seem to have left your weapons behind, which is probably a good thing for your sake. We wouldn't want to have to shoot you.”

  The soldier must've meant the pistol and assault rifle Trev had gotten off the highwayman a few days ago. If there hadn't been a dozen soldiers out there looking for him he might've gotten some advantage from the fact that they thought he was unarmed. As it was there was no way he was about to start a firefight even if he was discovered, as long as they were in the mood to take prisoners.

  Trev just hoped it wouldn't come to that and tried to go a bit faster without making any extra noise, cursing his bad luck. These guys were really going out of their way to chase one guy they'd found at the end of a trail of graffitied owls. Maybe his opinion was a bit biased, but it seemed like a waste of time.

  Since he was edging backwards he was able to watch the soldiers as well as making sure the way behind him was clear. Thanks to that he saw it when the Gold Bloc spokesman started towards the back of the boxy truck they'd come in, raising his voice as he went. “You should come out. If we find you the worst that happens is we take you to our humanitarian aid camp, where you can get a meal and sleep safely.”

  He wanted to laugh at that. Armed soldiers trying to detain him so they could take him to an “aid” camp. He didn't know how the guy could say that with a straight face.

  Trev's amusement vanished, however, when the spokesman yanked open the truck's single back door and reached inside. The soldier quickly withdrew his hand holding a pair of leashes, tugging them to urge two vicious looking German shepherds down to the ground.

  Dogs. Trying to escape without drawing the notice of a dozen soldiers had been challenging enough, but this made it impossible. And the option of hiding, which wouldn't have been terrible given that he'd managed to get a bit over a hundred yards away from his camp, was off the table as well now. Trev cursed silently.

  The spokesman led the dogs over to Trev's sleeping bag and let them sniff around it, calling out in a harsher tone. “Our friends might not be so good at catching you without hurting you! You should come out now before we set them loose to do their job.”

  Trev's weary mind searched for possible alternatives and couldn'
t find any. As it stood the only way he could he could avoid being found and savaged by the dogs was to shoot them when they were still a safe distance away, since if he tried his pepper spray there was a good chance he wouldn't be able to incapacitate both of them before they closed on him.

  Either way, no matter how Trev responded to the dogs it would give away his position and tick off the soldiers who wouldn't be far behind. He didn't see any good choices here.

  He just hoped the spokesman was telling the truth with his promise of a humanitarian aid camp, or whatever sort of internment camp it actually turned out to be. If he gave himself up and the soldiers decided to just shoot him there wasn't a whole lot he could do to stop them.

  With a sigh Trev set his Mini-14 down and slowly stood, stepping forward from the underbrush with his hands over his head. “What sort of meal?” he called.

  * * * * *

  They took all his stuff, which was hardly a surprise.

  It was painful to lose the Mini-14 he'd held onto for so long, and he'd gotten pretty attached to his captured Glock .45 while he'd had it. Losing the bike and trailer also hurt, as well as his carefully loaded backpack with all his necessities. And while it didn't have quite the same sort of survival value as the other stuff it was surprisingly painful to lose the rest of the candy bars.

  Although the soldiers were overjoyed when they discovered them, and immediately began handing them out.

  Trev would've been more ticked about once again being robbed if his captors weren't also taking him to an internment camp where he'd lose all his freedom if he was lucky, and if he was unlucky would starve, get sick, be tortured, or possibly even be summarily executed.

  They securely restrained his hands and feet, which was also hardly a surprise, if a discomfort. He was shoved into the back of the truck with several of the other soldiers, including the spokesman, who took the seat across from him.

  The two German shepherds were loaded in last, occupying the space nearest the door. Since he'd gone in first that thankfully kept him as far from them as possible, which he was absolutely fine with. They were probably well trained and very sweet for their handlers, but he wasn't interested in testing their tolerance for strangers.

  Almost as soon as the back door shut the truck's engine rumbled to life and they jounced into motion, turning a sharp U-turn that made him flop against the soldier beside him, unable to brace himself with his hands behind his back. The man shoved him back into place with what sounded like a Russian curse, then produced a bit of cord and tied his hands tightly to the strut behind him to keep him from flopping around any more.

  It also meant that every single jounce pulled his arms behind him painfully, but he doubted the soldiers would care if he complained.

  As they traveled the spokesman asked him about the owl and its significance. Trev did his best to play dumb, admitting he'd seen the graffiti on signs but had no idea what it meant; if there was the slightest chance his family was out there he didn't want to do anything to put them in danger. The man didn't seem to buy his story, but he didn't press the issue beyond those few questions.

  At least there was a very, very small silver lining to all of this. Trev had been worried that if his family had been captured he'd have no way of getting to them. But now that he was captured too he could possibly find them and they could all be prisoners together. Which wasn't actually all that great, but it was something to hold onto.

  “Where are we going?” he asked after they'd been traveling for a half hour or so. There was no answer other than warning glares for him to keep his mouth shut. Trev knew he probably should, but he didn't. “If you're taking me to a humanitarian aid camp like you said then you've got to have some sort guidelines for treating the people you came to help.” Still no answer. “If not then maybe you can just admit I'm a prisoner.”

  The spokesman gave him a dangerous look. “There are no guidelines for treatment, so you have the choice of shutting up or spending the rest of the trip with a broken jaw so we don't have to listen to you.”

  Trev shut up.

  By his best guess the truck was going about 50 miles per hour. Although it was hard to measure time in the dark surrounded by silent soldiers, most probably doing their best to sleep, he guessed they traveled for at least two hours.

  Near the end of the drive the soldiers opened reinforced shutters to uncover two windows in the back of the truck, letting in early morning light. That meant he must've slept for longer than he thought before the truck woke him up, although he didn't feel like he'd got much sleep. Either way he was grateful to have something to look at as they drove.

  From the direction of the sun they were going north, which he'd guessed. If they'd traveled for more than two hours they must be getting close to the top of the Lower Peninsula, although he was pretty sure they hadn't crossed Mackinac Bridge to the Upper Peninsula yet. Were they going to take him all the way to some internment camp in Canada?

  It sure looked that way when they reached the Mackinac Bridge and started across, passing other Gold Bloc trucks going south and following behind even more northwards. But he didn't think they'd gone as far as Sault Ste. Marie when they began passing what had to be the internment camp off to the left of the road.

  Trev could hardly believe his first sight of it.

  The refugee camp at Antelope Island had been almost unbelievably large in scope, with over a hundred thousand people packed into a relatively small area that still managed to sprawl thanks to the sheer mass of humanity.

  This camp was maybe twice the size, an endless row of tents that filled the entire stretch of land to the left for miles ahead, surrounded by two rows of hastily but effectively erected fences of chain link topped by coils of razor wire. Between the fences spindly aluminum guard towers had been raised every 200 yards or so, manned by two soldiers with one inspecting the camp with binoculars and the other situated behind a mounted .50 cal.

  That sort of firepower suggested they took the threat of possible riots or breakouts in the camp very seriously. So much for his captors' claim that he was being taken to a “humanitarian aid camp”.

  As they got closer he saw that the soldiers probably had good reason to fear riots. He'd noticed that the tents in camp were more closely spaced than they'd been in the Antelope Island camp, with narrower lanes between them, but as they started up a hill where the Interstate overlooked the camp he was able to see beyond the first row of tents.

  The space between the tents was packed with people, as if too many had been assigned to each tent and they'd overflowed out into the lanes. There didn't seem to be anywhere he could look that wasn't filled with either canvas or massed bodies, aside from scattered latrine trenches overflowing with sewage that were being expanded even as he watched, and a few massive buildings made of hastily cobbled together sheet metal with canvas roofs that could've been showers or mess tents.

  The open areas around these facilities were closely guarded by more soldiers in full riot gear carrying serious weapons, who looked like they were ready to use them at the slightest provocation. And yet even there the press forced the prisoners to crowd closer to the guards than they'd like, edging warily around them as if avoiding chained dogs.

  Trev panned his eyes from one side of the camp to the other, feeling almost numb. If the Antelope Island camp had held a hundred thousand people this one had to hold closer to half a million. Any hope he'd had of his capture leading to being reunited with his family was dashed by the sight of that endless sea of humanity. He could look for weeks, months even, and not come close to searching the entire place. Assuming he was even allowed to.

  Just off the east end of the internment camp another camp had been raised in and around a small town built along I-75, much smaller in comparison to the sprawling mess beside it and far better organized, but still large enough to house tens of thousands of people.

  His captors took the exit off the Interstate and started down the street that led through the middle of thi
s military camp, which finally ended at the single heavily fortified entrance through the razor wire-topped fences to enter the internment camp itself.

  Gold Bloc troops moved purposefully through the military camp, some drilling in fields just beyond the lines of tents in square blocks of as many as a hundred soldiers, others moving among the tents or along the streets of the occupied town. Trev also saw a surprising number of civilians, not wearing uniforms but all dressed similarly in drab, functional clothing.

  Their presence suggested this was a more permanent camp, certainly to keep guard over the internment camp but possibly a command post as well. That sort of camp needed more than soldiers: it needed mechanics to maintenance the vehicles and equipment, administrators and their staff to oversee field operations, and the myriad of laundry workers, cooks, and cleaners that any large group of people needed to maintain some semblance of hygiene and order.

  And the camp certainly seemed to appreciate order. The tents were carefully organized and in good repair, the soldiers all well groomed with disciplined movements and gear in good shape, and even the civilians who were out and about in town didn't loiter.

  If the squad who'd captured Trev had caught more people than just him, they might've driven the truck right to the entrance into the internment camp. But with just him along instead they drove it to a separate (and surprisingly well fortified) motor pool surrounded by more razor wire fencing near the southern edge of the camp. There all the soldiers but the driver unloaded, starting with the German shepherds, then hauled Trev down to the ground.

  As the vehicle pulled in to be parked the group's officer barked an order and led most of the squad and the two dogs off in the direction of the rows of tents. That left the two soldiers nearest Trev to hustle him through the occupied town towards the large building that led to the entrance to the internment camp.