Her delicious thoughts were interrupted when Jed turned to her and smiled. Every day that went by, that smile made her tummy feel funnier and funnier, like totally jumbled up. She could hardly think straight when he did that.
“I’ve been thinking about us, Jaz. About you and me.”
Jaz barely managed to hold in her delight, but she kept her cool and only said, “Yeah? And what have you been thinking, mister? I hope it’s nothing appropriate in front of kids.” Though she kept her face straight, she thought her eyes must be glowing from her lighting up so much at the thought.
He chuckled, a deep and warm sound that always made her feel like the world was okay, that everything would be like totally fine in the end. “Sort of. You see, I think it’s time I got to fish or cut bait. Time to get off the fence and jump in with both feet.”
“Definitely go fish, Jed. Jump right in, already!” This time, she couldn’t contain her grin and felt foolish, but she just didn’t care. Let the world see her act like a fool! It would be fine, so long as she had Jed with her.
“Yeah, well. You see, we’re gonna reach Cassy’s farm tomorrow, more ’n likely, and I think maybe we ought to have things sorted out before we get there. I think maybe it’d be good if the farm was a fresh start for everyone, not just from the war, but from each other, too. So, in the morning, I’ll talk to my wife and tell her what’s what, how I feel, how I think she feels, all of it. We’re going to figure out what we want to do, and then just move on from there. When the clan gets home tomorrow, I reckon we all ought to stay with who we want, not who we brought, and just call it good.”
Jaz thought her heart was going to burst through her throat, or pass out. It was hammering so hard… “Don’t tease a girl, Jed. That’s not nice. Tell me you mean it,” she said, and her voice cracked on the last part as she said it.
“No fooling. If you’ll have me, I want you to be with me. Let Amber have Ethan if she wants him. We haven’t been in love in years anyway. I just let my fool pride get in my way. Frank says I do that a lot, and I guess he’s right. So now it’s time for all of us to just be honest and say it like it is. Let the chips fall, and get on with our life. A brighter, happier life, I hope. It will be if you say yes. Jaz, after I talk to Amber, say you’ll be my girl. Tell me you want that, and I’ll swallow my pride. You’re worth it. The way I get to feeling, when I’m with you, is worth it.”
Jaz bounced on her toes a couple times and barely restrained herself from wrapping her arms around Jed right then and there, in front of God and everyone. She stopped, took some deep breaths. It totally didn’t help, she was still wound up so tight. “Yes, Jed. Yes!” she squeaked.
Jed looked down at Jaz, his eyes gazing into hers, and she felt like she was swimming in Jell-O. All slow, and totally like some dream. He smiled, and she knew it then. She felt it in her bones. Jed was her man, the one she’d been waiting for, and after tomorrow, nothing in her life would ever be the same again. Real life was about to start for her, not just getting by. Not just like, surviving. She was going to be the best wife a man ever had, she was totally sure of it.
Jaz had a hard time getting to sleep that night.
- 17 -
0400 HOURS - ZERO DAY +9
CAPTAIN TAGGART WAS eating a stack of fast-food burgers while watching TV, but when his home got invaded, he got quickly drawn into a firefight. He called the other soldiers in his unit to direct fire on the machine gun nest outside his living room, trying to pin the enemy, but his men were going down all around him until he heroically charged the enemy and destroyed their sniper nest with a grenade. As he stood around celebrating, however, the noise of gunfire didn’t go away. He looked around, confused, as the sounds grew louder. His surviving men didn’t seem to notice. And then Pvt. Eagan grabbed and shook him, shouting that the enemy was all around, which was odd because Eagan hadn’t even been there when he started eating burgers.
It dawned on him that he must be dreaming, and then like a light switch, his view jolted from his living room into the room he shared with Eagan, and the sounds of gunfire growing louder as Eagan shook him. He tried to focus on what the real Eagan was saying.
“Captain! Get the fuck up, sir! We’re under attack,” screamed Eagan.
Taggart leapt from his makeshift bed and snatched his M4, which he always left leaning against the wall next to his bed. “SitRep, Private,” he shouted back as his head cleared.
“Multiple armed civilians, unknown number, bearing mil-grade weapons, approaching from the north. They’re shooting anything that moves, sir, and they’re coming this way like they knew we were here.”
“Where’s Mr. Black, and what are we doing about it?”
“Sir, he’s rallying his men and organizing points of defense, but they’re being forced back all over the place! If we don’t get out of here soon, we’ll have nowhere to go.” Eagan took a deep breath and all but yelled, “Sir, we got to go right now!” He was almost drowned out by the din of the battle outside.
“Get anyone else still here and rally them in the family room one mike, upstairs. Move it!”
Eagan sprinted out the door, rifle in hand, and Taggart began to stuff his rucksack with his gear and the few MREs he’d set aside. He had only a minute to get packed himself and get Eagan’s gear squared away as well. He finished the job haphazardly, hefted both packs in his left hand and ran out the door holding his rifle in his right, racing toward the family room.
When Taggart entered, he found Eagan there with three others, all Militia men, and spared a moment to thank God that they all had their backpacks with them. The “civilian Militia” guys were always ready to move out in only a few minutes, and though he didn’t know their battle readiness, at least they seemed well-trained.
Eagan said, “Sir, update. Black and his guerrillas have been forced back to a point south of our position and are trying to disengage. Militia says he has a rally point under a bridge one klick south. We are behind what passes for enemy lines, now. The OpFor are irregulars from a gang leader north—”
Taggart interrupted him. “Yes, north of us. A traitor and a slaver. But how the fuck did they get intel on our safe houses?”
“Do they have that, you think, sir?”
One of the Militia said with a tone full of contempt, “Of course, soldier. Else how would we be getting pushed back everywhere? That damn Spyder has to be getting intel from somewhere.”
Taggart nodded and said, “But irrelevant how. We need exfiltration ASAP before we get overrun.” He pointed at the Militia man who’d spoken up. “Is there a subway or something nearby that can get us closer to the rally point?”
The man grinned, his perfectly white teeth a stark contrast to his ebony features. “Yes, sir, we got a hidden door three blocks east, in unclaimed turf. The tunnel runs southwest. It’s old, not on the maps. I’m Alex, by the way.”
Taggart racked his M4, loading a round into the chamber. “Very good, Alex. We’ll avoid contact with the enemy if possible and follow your lead. Move out, mister.”
They rushed down the stairs in pairs with Taggart in the middle and Eagan in front with Alex, but before they had all descended Eagan and Alex stopped and turned to run back upstairs.
Eagan shouted, “Sir, out the window! There’s a half a dozen people approaching, and, and they ain’t ours.”
“Back to the family room! Hustle,” shouted Taggart, and turned to run back up the flight of stairs.
When Taggart reached the top, he turned and waved Alex and Eagan to move faster. Just as Alex reached the top of the stairs, there was the loud BANG of a shotgun followed by the thump of a foot on the front door, and it flew open. Taggart fired off two rounds through the doorway, and when a loud baritone scream rose from the other side, his blood sang with the joy of battle. Goddamn morons, he thought with joy, were learning the first lesson of breaching tactics—doorways are kill zones.
Even as his target screamed, Taggart was turning to sprint to the family room. “
Window! Go, go, go!”
Alex sprinted past the other two Militia and with arms raised in front of his face he leapt through the window. Glass shattered and seemed almost to explode as he went through. Taggart saw him fall a mere five or six feet to the roof of the carport, followed by Eagan.
Taggart crouched by the window and turned to motion the other two Militia through; both were guarding their rear in case more of the enemy came up the stairs.
At Taggart’s command, they turned away from the family room doorway toward the window. A light at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He glanced toward the source, and saw, through the windows facing the street, the savage glow of an RPG lighting up the street outside. In the split second of light, he saw that the street outside swarmed with AK-armed men firing in all directions, some shooting kneeling civilians.
And then the RPG came screaming through the bay window. He didn’t have time to react before it exploded against the opposite wall, where the two Militia were seemingly moving in slow motion. The Militia men were engulfed in a terrible ball of fire and shattered wall; the flames and concussion struck Taggart like the Hammer of God, and he was flung backwards through the window, flames and debris chasing him out.
The heat seared his face, and the shrapnel pierced him in a dozen places. He flew past Eagan and Alex, beyond the span of the carport, fell ten feet and landed in a heap, skidding to a halt on his back. The light of the fire faded, and the blackness that replaced it was more than just the return of night. He felt hands under his arms, pulling him up, but then the abyss swallowed him, and Taggart’s vision faded as he lost consciousness.
* * *
0900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +9
Colonel Ree sat in the elegant chair in his “office,” one of three chambers in the large tent. Across the hand-carved desk were neat stacks of paper, folders, and photographs, along with his personal laptop. On the wall opposite the chair hung his “war map,” a laminated wall map of New York City. Various notes and marks were scribbled on it. He could have used his computer for that, but he felt it was easier to see the total picture in the vast sweep of a good old-fashioned map.
“Major Mohamed,” he said, and tuned out the drone of his translator. “Thank you for coming. I wish to congratulate you on the capture of the American agent of the so-called ‘20s.’ The information my men gleaned from him was most valuable.”
The Major frowned. Ree was disgusted at the sand-eaters’ lack of discipline. Ree kept his face carefully neutral. “Major, do you have a concern? I have congratulated you, yet you seem dissatisfied.”
The Major paused, then replied, “Colonel, it appears the intelligence you obtained was good. We have been able to strike at several resistance nests. And yet, many of them were not where the intelligence said they should be, or they were forewarned somehow. And this American gangster, “Spyder,” you have given him weapons and set him loose on his rival to the south. Not only did he find what appeared to be a resistance headquarters and slew many of them, but he also captured many months of supplies. Worse, the leader of that resistance cell fled with most of the American soldiers he was hiding, and dozens of his brothers in the Resistance. How did they know death was coming for them, and where are they now?”
Ree did not frown. He would never frown in front of this barbaric sand-eater, but Ree was infuriated by the insolence of the man. “If they were forewarned, it was because your men lack discipline. What was it the Americans said during World War II? ‘Loose lips sink ships,’ ” he recited in the original barbaric English tongue. “And yet, with my leadership we moved quickly and decisively. We have captured dozens of American rebels. We killed a dozen American soldiers. We have destroyed a resistance headquarters, gained hundreds of new workers who will now bask in the glory of Service to the People, and will be taught the power and majesty of the Great Leader before they die. And you question this?”
“I am certain it is as you say. But more escaped than were captured or killed, and they knew we were coming. Your tool, Spyder, now has a hundred men with military rifles and ammunition and, worse, we estimate that he seized months of supplies. What does your tool need from you now? Perhaps he warned his foe so that the Resistance would continue to be a thorn in your glorious side. With those fighters on the loose, perhaps he thinks you will not be strong enough to take back the weapons you gave him. Will he turn over to the People the supplies he seized? You know that he calls himself a king. Now he can be one in truth.”
“Indeed. But that would be folly. It occurs to me that perhaps we should relieve him of the weapons and supplies that rightfully belong to their conquerors as spoils of war, and to the People. But Major, you overestimate the danger posed by these rebels. The head has been cut off the snake, and though it may squirm for a while, it is no longer dangerous, and death comes for it soon. Already I have ordered your men to move in on dozens of their supply caches, which we learned of through the weak-minded agent of the 20s. In war, a single mistake can spell disaster as they will soon learn. By the end of this glorious day, the Resistance will be barely a memory of the past.”
The Major pinched his nose and then, possibly remembering who he was speaking to, he straightened up again. “And of course, Colonel, we will remove Spyder’s head as well, yes? That is another snake that needs killing.”
Ree waved his hand at the Major dismissively. “Of course, of course. Now go practice cutting heads off of infidels, or whatever you do when you aren’t being useful. I have planning to do.”
Major Mohamed stiffened, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, but then regained his composure. He saluted, spun crisply, and walked out of the tent.
Colonel Ree allowed himself to smile. Of course the Major would suffer insult without retribution. Not only was he weak, like all the sand-eaters, but without Korea’s and China’s military aid, and the American imperialistic arms manufacturers who sold to whoever had money, they would still be killing each other with swords in the desert, not carving up the rich carcass of America with their “allies.” The Glorious Leader was wise indeed to have made the so-called “Axis of Evil” a reality. Ree silently thanked the former President who gave the Leader that idea with his silly rhetoric, and the later President who made it so easy for all this to happen.
“When the evil of Capitalism seeks to appease the righteous wrath of the noble People, they only compound the interest they must pay in blood when their time of reckoning arrives. So says our Great Leader, praise his wisdom and courage.”
Ree then removed a bottle of Bourbon from his desk—one of several guilty pleasures—and poured a glass to celebrate the demise of the Resistance, and the glory he would receive as the instrument of their doom. Ree allowed himself to smile again. As always, it was no reflex, but the conscious decision of a disciplined mind. Still, a grin seemed appropriate, just now. He allowed his grin to broaden.
“I shouldn’t doubt our Great Leader will reward my ingenuity, but what to humbly suggest for that reward? Hmm. I hear Virginia is beautiful and lush…”
- 18 -
0900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +9
CASSY AND THE clan continued north of the airport for several hours after starting out just before dawn. Then, coming to the woody banks of Hammer Creek, they paused to decide how to proceed.
Cassy, with a faraway look in her eyes, said aloud, “I love this area. My husband and I used to come here often to fish, either at Speedwell Forge Lake or at Conestoga River, back past the airport. They drained the lake a couple years ago, but they refilled and restocked it with fish a few months ago. Fishing used to be good there. My husband always went for the Walleyes, and I went after the smallmouth bass. Usually, we had bass for dinner…”
Frank stood next to her, unusually quiet. Finally, he replied, “You’ve never spoken of your husband before.”
“Nor will I again,” replied Cassy with her jaw clenched.
Frank diplomatically changed the subject. “I doubt those fish are safe to eat now, and the water
’s probably bad, too. Damn invaders. Mary was right last night—that goo must have gotten into the water. And it’s probably poisoning the water table as well unless it breaks down on its own.”
Cassy rubbed her eyes with the thumb and index finger of her left hand. Goddamn invaders and that crap they sprayed. They all ought to rot in hell. The thought cheered her somewhat, and she said, “We’ll need water eventually, but I think we can make it until we get to my farm even if we run out of water. Ethan can try to figure out the sludge when we get there. It’s not too far now. So, what next, fearless leader?”
Cassy had said that last word with a forced smile. Frank was a good man, and he didn’t deserve to get burdened by her damn problems on top of all the other weight riding on his broad shoulders. Such nice shoulders, but of course a catch like Frank already had a woman. Mary was a great person, and they seemed happy together, so she buried the wistful thought.
“Now we have to get across the creek,” prodded Frank. “It’s not too deep this time of year, thankfully, but it’s still either wade across or find a bridge. I don’t think we should swim in it. Who knows what got sprayed upriver.”
“There’s a small bridge just north of us at Brunnerville Road. There’s nothing but light farming on the other side, so there’s lots of cover and not a lot of people. Then it’s a straight shot to my place, but we’ll go around and come in from the far side, hidden, so we don’t get seen, and we have cover if someone’s squatting.”
Dark New World (Book 2): EMP Exodus Page 11
