by Nathan Jones
Trev did his best to control his outrage at that. There were half a million US citizens packed into the internment camp, and their captors were comparing them to animals?
If his uncle was offended he didn't show it. “I spoke to Ivanov about it, he said it would be okay.”
“Ivanov isn't in charge of processing, I am,” the shorter man snapped. “You're a pencil pusher. Why do you want to personally escort a single prisoner to his tent?”
Lucas rested a hand on Trev's shoulder. “This is my nephew,” he said quietly. “I just want to see that he gets there safely.”
“Your nephew,” the officer replied, his tone flat.
His uncle's grip tightened. “I can't do much for him, but I can at least see that he's safe.” He lowered his voice slightly. “Please.”
The man in charge of processing looked them both over suspiciously, then shrugged. “Very well. Just remember where your loyalties lie, American pig.”
“I do. And I'll always be grateful to the Gold Bloc for the kindness you've shown my family and our friends in Norway.” Lucas steered Trev towards the gate, using the hand on his shoulder to push him ahead. Trev went along quietly, but he hadn't liked how that conversation went.
They went through a reinforced door into a small room with another reinforced door on the other side, which Lucas said led into the camp. His uncle pushed a call button by the door and spoke a few words in halting Russian, then they waited for the soldiers on the other side to verify who they were and that conditions in camp were safe for them to come out.
“American pig?” Trev asked quietly after they'd stood in silence for a few seconds.
“Dehumanizing language,” his uncle answered with a disapproving shake of his head. “I'm not its target.”
Trev's frown deepened. “It sure looked like you were.”
“No, they are.” Lucas gestured vaguely past the door as if to indicate all the prisoners in the camp. “Those trapped in the prison camp contemptuously known as the “Pig Pen”. A way for these soldiers and camp civilians to look at all the suffering the US citizens in their charge have gone through and not feel guilty about the way they're treating them.”
He supposed that made sense. But as was typical with his uncle, and with Lewis for that matter, Lucas felt the need to share further information. “It's easier to justify things if you believe the people you're mistreating deserve it. To most Gold Bloc soldiers and bureaucrats the people out there aren't desperate, starving human beings thrust into chaos and struggling to survive.”
His uncle waved again. “They're the comparatively small number of greedy people who used up a massively disproportionate amount of the world's resources right up until their irresponsibility and wastefulness collapsed everything right on their own heads. Not only ruining things for themselves but for the rest of the world too.”
“And that makes it fine for the Gold Bloc to invade the US,” Trev said sarcastically.
“Once they've gotten around to a few more justifications,” Lucas agreed. “These soldiers know they're here invading, but their leaders tell them and they tell themselves that they're here doing humanitarian work. Giving food to people who'd be dead soon without it, medical aid to people essentially living in third world conditions, and fuel to restore infrastructure and provide sorely missed amenities.
“And what do they get for it? Threats and accusations from the remaining US leaders, ingratitude from the citizens they've rounded up in this camp and others like it, where conditions are greatly improved from the starvation and chaos running rampant across the country. The Gold Bloc troops even face violent resistance and guerilla combat. So they view us as entitled pigs, vicious animals, and anything else that they find distasteful or evil.”
An uncomfortable silence fell after his uncle stopped talking. Finally Trev cleared his throat. “Is that just you getting into their heads and trying to understand their motivations?” he asked.
His uncle shot him an irritated look. “If you're asking if I approve of that kind of thinking or believe it myself the answer is a solid NO! They've invaded our country. They're kidnapping and even killing our fellow citizens. It's our job to resist them wherever possible, no matter-”
The reinforced door in front of them abruptly thumped open, and daylight flooded the dim room as Russian soldiers curtly motioned for them to come through. His uncle immediately fell silent on the off chance any of them spoke English, and once again took Trev by the shoulder to lead him into the camp. Trev followed, squinting and raising one arm to block the bright sunlight after being in the comparatively dim room.
After exchanging a few awkward Russian phrases with the guards his uncle made an annoyed sound and turned to him. “How about you go wait over there?” he asked, pointing at the closest row of tents. “You can start looking around to see if you recognize anyone while I find a way to bust through the language barrier and figure out where you're supposed to be staying.” He shook his head. “I should've done it before coming out here, with someone who actually spoke English.”
Trev nodded and started across the small area of cleared space around the entrance to stand beside one of the nearest tents, peering down the row through the crowd of people hoping to see the faces of his parents or siblings. At times like these he wished he had his uncle's height so he could see over heads, but he did the best he could.
* * * * *
A part of him had hoped that his family would be waiting right at the entrance, ready to welcome him if he showed up.
Not the most realistic hope, since they had no way of knowing Trev was even looking for them, and even if they had he doubted they would've wanted him to be caught along with them just to have a reunion. And there was still the faint hope that they hadn't been caught at all and were still out there somewhere, racing the Gold Bloc invasion to get to Aspen Hill and safety.
As it turned out he didn't see very many people at the entrance at all. He supposed nobody wanted to hang out right next to the most heavily guarded spot in camp, with the entrance bracketed by two guard towers overlooking even more guards on the ground covering the door, all packing serious weaponry. No nonlethal crowd control tools for these guys; anyone stupid or desperate enough to attack them would get massacred.
Eventually he'd looked over everyone in sight without recognizing anyone, so he made his way over to a nice spot of sunlight where he'd still be in sight of his uncle talking to the gate guards and settled back to wait.
After about five minutes the reinforced entrance opened to admit about twenty people into the camp. Trev recognized a few people from the cell he'd briefly occupied, including the guy who'd tried to steal his breakfast. Unfortunately after the would-be thief had finished blinking in the bright sunlight his eyes settled on Trev, and after that the entire time the line of prisoners were organized and each handed a small sack the man glared at him.
His former assailant hadn't looked all that good in the dim confines of the cell, but out in direct sunlight it was easy to see exactly how unkempt and unwashed he was. Not to mention malnourished. But whatever the man had suffered, it was hard to pity him when he was looking at Trev with hate completely out of proportion to the offense of refusing to let himself be robbed.
Trev met his gaze calmly. He wasn't looking for trouble, but he wasn't the aggressor here and he wasn't about to back down.
Eventually the man looked away, then dropped to tie his shoe. About that time Lucas finished talking to the soldier and came over, giving Trev the same kind of sack the other prisoners had received. It turned out to contain a pair of shapeless coveralls that were roughly his size, a change of coarse grey socks, and some basic toiletry items.
“I've found out where you'll be staying,” his uncle said as Trev slung the sack over his shoulder. “It's a fairly quiet part of camp, which was a relief to hear.”
“That's good. How much time do we have before you have to get back?”
Lucas blinked. “I . . . actually
I'm not sure. I haven't done this before. I'll go see, and if it's not enough time try to convince them to give me more.” He looked around and lowered his voice slightly. “We've got some catching up to do, but more importantly we need to talk about searching for your family.”
Trev liked the sound of that. “All right. I guess I'll wait here a bit longer.”
His uncle clapped him on the shoulder, then casually guided him around the tent he was standing next to so he wasn't in view of the entrance. Trev understood the purpose: the Gold Bloc soldiers there didn't look all that friendly, and they'd already started giving Trev dark looks. Out of sight meant out of mind.
As they repositioned themselves Trev got back to the important subject. “Do they have some sort of records you can check? FETF kept pretty good tabs on everyone at the Antelope Island refugee camp.”
Lucas snorted. “What the chuckleheads running this place call “processing” is a joke. Their focus is on weeding out malcontents and making sure you know the rules, not getting your ID and tracking you for future reference. As far as they're concerned everyone in here is cattle, and they couldn't care less who you are. I've been searching for your family since I got here and haven't had any luck.” His uncle briefly paused to rest a hand on his shoulder. “But we'll keep looking until we find them.”
Trev glanced back at the prisoner who'd tried to steal his meal and found the man glaring at him again, hands clenched into fists at his sides. This camp was probably full of people like him. “Will they be safe til then? The refugee camps I've been to or heard about have all been violent and lawless. If my family's in here they could be in danger.”
“Rest easy there,” his uncle said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “The soldiers might not care who you are, but they definitely care what you do. They keep a close eye on the camp and come down hard on troublemakers. And I mean really hard.” He dropped his hand. “I'll be right back.”
Glancing around the tent to follow Lucas's progress Trev saw that the prisoners who'd been in the processing cell with him were headed his way, including his unkempt attacker. Now that they were coming in his direction the man refused to look at him, shuffling along at the back of the group with his fists still clenched at his sides.
As the line of prisoners passed Trev and continued on he stepped aside to make room for them, although the lane was narrow enough that they still had to brush by in single file. Just to be safe he kept his eye on his assailant as the man passed, in case he tried anything. But the thief kept his head down and his eyes averted.
Trev was so intent on the man's face that he barely caught the flash of movement from below out of the corner of his eye, and barely got his arm up in time to defend himself. A line of fire seared its way across his forearm and Trev staggered backwards, tripping over the tent stake behind him as the grimy man came after him with a snarl.
His assailant was holding some sort of shiv, what looked like a sharp bolt or thick screw sticking out between his index and middle fingers. Probably grabbed from his shoe while he was pretending to tie it. That was what had cut Trev's defending arm as the man tried to stab it into his neck, and now the grimy man punched at him again with it, aiming low at Trev's chest.
Trev's injured arm was still up, flailing as he tried to catch his balance, with his other hand stretched out to catch himself on the ground when he fell. He could only twist aside violently as the weapon lunged towards his heart.
The line of fire on his arm was joined by one across his sternum, and then Trev landed on his hand in a partial crouch. He could hear the other prisoners shouting as he kicked his free leg out at his attacker, hitting him solidly in the side of the knee.
The blow landed with a painful sounding crunch and his attacker's snarl became a shout of agony. He staggered and started to fall on top of Trev, but even reeling from his injury he still tried to stab down with his shiv again, the action fueled by pure spite.
Trev shoved aside the blow with his free arm and felt the slight tremor as the shiv dug into the ground at his feet, his attacker tumbling into him. He managed to hold the man's weight and pushed off from his crouch, bringing them both up as he rose.
The moment Trev got both feet beneath him and managed to regain a bit of his balance he snapped his left hand out in a swift jab at the grimy man's nose, and as the prisoner's head snapped back Trev followed up with a straight cross that knocked him flat on his back. He couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the winter he'd spent with Lewis practicing boxing and grappling, partly for exercise but mostly for self defense in just these sorts of situations.
Then the soldiers arrived, yelling in Russian between barking terse, simple orders in English. One of those orders was for Trev to not move, and he was only too happy to comply.
His uncle rushed up, jabbering in broken Russian as he pointed at Trev, and after a while one of the soldiers silenced him with a curt gesture and demanded to know what had happened. His question wasn't aimed at Trev or the groggy prisoner on the ground but at the other prisoners in the line.
To Trev's relief those prisoners were fairly honest in describing what they'd seen. Most hadn't caught the beginning of the fight so they didn't know who started it, but all had seen their companion trying to stab Trev with the shiv as he fell.
The soldiers disarmed his assailant, and it turned out the shiv was some sort of plastic grip that could be held in the fist with the metal spike poking out between the first two fingers. It didn't look like a corkscrew or anything else Trev could recognize, and it seemed to have been made specifically for stabbing into people.
Lucas came to stand beside him as the soldiers got to the bottom of things, and he spoke quietly. “Haven't seen one of those in years.” At Trev's questioning look he shrugged. “It's used for repairing tire punctures, if it's what I think it is.”
“Looks more like it's used for puncturing tires,” Trev muttered, rubbing at the cut on his arm with his elbow pressed against the fiery pain along his sternum. “The tip was sharp.”
Lucas nodded. “You put the patch and sealant around the spike, then punch it through where the tire's punctured. As you pull it back the patch covers the puncture and detaches.” He shrugged. “At least as far as I remember. I bought one for my first car decades ago but never used it. I suppose it takes the wrong kind of mind to see it as a weapon.”
Trev wondered what he would've thought of the tool if he'd seen it when it wasn't being stabbed at him. It really did look a lot like a weapon. But then again everything had gotten a lot more violent since the Gulf refineries attack, and he saw things differently than he would've half a year ago.
They were interrupted by a soldier coming to get Trev's side of things. In his account Trev made sure to mention that the man had tried to steal his soup in the holding cell and Trev had been willing to defend himself before the jailor broke it up. The other prisoners had been drawing a blank on motive for why the guy was trying to stab some random bystander with a shiv, and Trev wanted to make sure the soldiers had a clear picture of things.
He only hoped they believed him.
It seemed as if they did, thanks in part to the prisoners' testimonies but likely more because of his uncle speaking on his behalf. The uniformed men tersely ordered the prisoners on their way as they grabbed the would-be killer and dragged him back towards the camp's entrance, likely to some permanent cell.
Once everyone was gone and they were alone Lucas rested a hand on his shoulder. Trev noticed it was shaking slightly: his uncle had been more worried for him than he'd let on. “Well done,” he said quietly. “You always did have good reflexes. Shame you never went into sports.”
Trev chuckled, trying to calm his jittery nerves now that the crisis was over. “I was never tall enough for basketball, the main sport I would've been interested in.”
“Right. You and Lew used to play with Matt Larson, but he was the one who made the team.” Lucas motioned and they started down the lane together. “I wonder wh
at happened to him?”
Now Trev's smile was genuine. “Funny you should ask, we've actually spent a lot of time together since the Gulf refineries attack and even live in the shelter with his family. He's in charge of Aspen Hill's defenses and got married over the winter.”
“Did he? I'll need to congratulate him once we get back home.” His uncle leaned forward eagerly. “What else has been going in Aspen Hill? Tell me about Lewis and what you two have been up to.”
“There's a plenty to tell, a lot of it bad.” As they continued through the massive camp Trev hurriedly filled Lucas in on everything that had happened over the fall, winter, and spring, not only for him and Lewis but also in Aspen Hill.
His uncle stopped in alarm when hearing about the raiders, and only got more worried when Trev described their equipment. Trev had a hard time explaining his reasoning for leaving the town like that, and from Lucas's blank expression he was afraid his uncle didn't approve of the decision he'd made.
He hurriedly continued on to his trip to Michigan and everything he went through on the way, finishing up with reaching Greenbush and finding his family's house empty. He described the note his dad had left, as well as following the trail of owls until it ended not far past I-75, and finally his capture by the Gold Bloc squad.
Lucas listened patiently, and when Trev finished he shook his head. “I was never able to get clearance to go check Greenbush myself to look for Clair and the others or any message they'd left,” he said grimly. “It can't have been last Monday, since Greenbush was swept before then. Probably the Monday before.”
“That's a long time,” Trev said, heart sinking.
His uncle nodded. “I won't sugar coat it, this is going to be very hard and we might not succeed. But in a way it's good that you're here now, since you can search inside the camp while I do my best on the outside to find your family.”
“And get us out?” Trev asked.
There was an uncomfortable pause, Lucas not quite looking at him. “We'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”
