"Growing up on the reservation, I was obsessed with fighting and taking back our land. My land. My people's land. This land," he said, sweeping his arms wide to encompass Salmon Falls. "But I know all about the Civil War and all about the partisan conflict in the Revolution." He glared at Anse. "You have no idea what you will unleash upon your families—your children—if you start a war with Townsen. The violence will not stop at killing the bad man with the gun. Because that man's friends, Townsen's allies, will find out who did it and go to their house, and kill their family. Then it spirals out of control."
Denny shook his head. "I will not unleash that horror upon our town. When I die and it's my turn to be judged, I will stand proudly and admit what I did against the Russians. I did that out of necessity—if I'm to be punished for that, so be it. But I will not be a part of bringing that kind of destruction to innocent children and families. I can't." He looked down. "I won't."
"And what if Townsen brings it to us first?" asked Anse quietly.
Denny shook his head. "Well, if that–"
"Because it's already happening, brother." Anse stared around the other faces of the room. "Allen," Anse said, pointing at someone on the far side of the room. "You know what I'm talking about." He turned back to Denny. "When Townsen first took control, Allen was one of the few that stood up and said 'no'. They burned his house down. He lost his son in that fire."
Denny looked at the man Anse had singled out. He glowered at Denny, as if challenging him to dispute Anse's words.
"Whether you like it or not, Denny—whether you want to admit it or not—this is already a civil war. But we didn't start it. Barron started it in Washington and people like Townsen ain't gonna stop 'til this whole damn country is split apart or one side is dead."
Denny sighed. "If I agree to your idea, will you agree to mine?"
Anse looked confused. "What do you mean?"
Denny crossed his arms. "Whether this conflict will spill out into the streets—into open warfare—might be out of my control, I'll grant you that. But would it be so bad to try my methods first? Would it be so bad to take a chance on depriving Townsen of his supplies?"
"Come on, Denny, it's well past that now. You know that—it was past that point when Townsen burned your house down and killed your neighbors. There's no turning back now."
Denny nodded. "Maybe. But are you willing to throw out the possibility that he might end this peacefully? Would you be able to live with yourself in the wake of the aftermath if two thirds of the families in this town died—if all those kids we taught in school are murdered? I couldn't live that—how can you?"
"Because some men need killing."
Denny stared at Anse like a stranger. "What's happened to you, Anse?"
Anse looked down at his hands. "When the Russians came…" he began, eyes still locked on the floor. "I watched them drag my neighbor and his family out of their house. I saw the soldiers running in the street with their weapons and thought it was some National Guard drill or something…" He frowned.
"I didn't think…I never thought it was an actual invasion…not until I saw Fred and his family lined up in the street and shot like dogs." Anse looked up at Denny then, his eyes red. "When I saw the bodies of his kids twitching in the street," he said, his voice choked and strained, "something snapped inside me. The Russians killed Fred. When Townsen came to power," he continued, sniffing and wiping his face with rough hands. "I saw his men pull my other neighbor across the street out of his house. They didn't shoot anybody, but they held him and his wife at gunpoint while their friends took everything. My neighbor spoke up and got a rifle stock to the face for his trouble. They punched his wife in the stomach and left her gasping for air on the street. That's what happened, Denny. Townsen is one small step away from doing exactly what the Russians did. He may be the local troublemaker, but he's not stupid. He learned from them—he watched 'em."
"But it's time we learned, too," argued Denny. "We can learn from history. Anybody ever heard of Robin Hood?"
One man laughed derisively. "Really?"
Deputy Griswold stepped forward and all eyes in the room turned to him. "The whole 'rob from the rich and give to the poor' thing makes sense." Deputy Griswold turned and received a few nods from the crowd. "It's a good idea Denny, but I'm not sure how well it'll work. Townsen's pretty well entrenched. And we don't have a King Richard coming back from the Crusades to help us out on this one. We don't know who the hell is in Barron got shot. Nobody knows what the hell's going on in DC. The whole country might be in the middle of a civil war for all we know."
"Much as I don't want more violence, I think Anse has it right—we need to strike now before Townsen gets too strong. I've had a few run-ins with his men and…" Griswold's eyes focused on the floor. He swallowed audibly, clenched his fists, and carried on. "I lost my family…" He looked up and stared at Denny. "By God, if I'm able to do something about it, I will not let Townsen and his brownshirts make anyone else suffer."
"Damn straight!" yelled someone.
"Somebody needs to make a stand!" The assembled men and women shouted over each other.
Denny raised his hands to regain order, but he could see he had already lost. Those who saw themselves as the protectors of Salmon Falls wanted blood. They needed satisfaction, vengeance. The town had been through too much in the last month and a half. They were at the breaking point.
An immense sadness settled over Denny's heart like a heavy cloak, wet with rain. He knew he'd lost. Perhaps it was best to throw in with them now and help bring an end to the conflict as quickly as possible rather than drag it out.
Denny was about to say so out loud when suddenly he was back in his classroom, on a sunny September day. The room was filled with bright minds, more than a few pranksters, but every one of them good kids in their hearts. How many of them had gotten sick from the flu—how many had died in the last month? How many had starved to death or been murdered by Russians? How many had survived Townsen's reign of terror thus far? In his mind's eye, Denny watched his class dwindle down to a handful.
Something needs to be done.
As the men argued and shouted, Denny turned to Deputy Griswold. The senior deputy was accompanied by only one of his fellow officers now. Denny glanced around the room, looking for the missing campaign hat. The third deputy was gone.
Denny's heart raced. "Where did the other deputy go?"
That single sentence cut through the shouts and conversations like a knife. The cabin fell silent again. All eyes in the room turned toward Deputy Griswold. The law man flushed and looked at his partner. "Where the hell did Evans go?"
The other officer looked behind him and turned back to Griswold. "I don't know, he was right here a second ago…"
"He said something about needing to go take a leak…" muttered one of the men near the door.
Denny shot a worried look at Anse. "He was one of the last ones to get here. We've only been inside for 20 minutes. Why would he need to go the bathroom now?"
"You in the house!"
The words shot through the wooden walls of the cabin like a missile. A few men pulled their pistols free of their belts. The ones in back turned and rushed to grab rifles. Denny raised his hand for quiet.
"Listen!" he hissed.
"I say again: you all in the cabin! Come out with your hands up and leave your weapons inside!"
The voice of authority was unmistakable, but it wasn't one that Denny recognized. He looked at Griswold, who shrugged. "That ain't Evans…"
"You have two minutes to comply! We have you surrounded! Any attempt to resist will be met with lethal force! Don't make me hurt anybody! I want this to end peaceably. So I say again, put down your weapons and come out with your hands up. You will be taken into Federal custody–"
"Oh, shit!" said Anse. He glared at Denny. "I knew this was a bad idea! That's the son of a bitch President Barron sent up here."
"He's the one that killed McDonnell!" barked a voice nea
r the door.
"I'm not going down without a fight!" somebody shouted.
"If George McDonnell can stand up to Townsen, so can we!" Shouts of agreement echoed around the room.
CHAPTER 31
Skye, Scotland.
Dunkeith Castle.
REGINALD PUT ON HIS most sincere smile for the camera. "I'm glad to hear you are well, my lady."
"Yes, thanks to your advice, my security forces got me clear of the riots. I owe you a great debt, Earl Dunkeith."
Reginald nodded. "Think nothing of it."
"Thank you," the sweet voice said in a soft, low tone. "Is it bad…where you are? In Austria things have gotten worse—far quicker than I'd expected."
This was exactly the opening he'd been hoping for. "My lady, if I may be so bold…" The way she tilted her head and raised her eyebrows encouraged him to continue. "This may seem forward, but have you considered moving from your current location?"
"No…" she said, then sighed. "Although Hans, my chief of security, has advised me many times the old landgut is not so easily defended." The porcelain face turned away for a moment and she ran a well-manicured hand through her honey-blond hair. "It's just that…this has been my family home for generations. We lived in seclusion on the country estate. But here in the city…"
Reginald held up his hand. "You need say no more, Madame. I totally understand—it was to my family's estate I retreated when my chalet in the Alps came under attack. There's nothing like the safety of home."
Lady Brunner offered a weak smile, but it never reached her eyes. She was worried. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps it would be best if you…were to travel somewhere safer…"
Lady Brunner regarded him like a cat watching a mouse. "Did you have somewhere particular in mind, Earl Dunkeith?"
Reginald cleared his throat again and adjusted his shirt. "Why not my family estate here in Scotland? It's a proper castle, built for defense. This structure," he said with a sweep of his arm, indicating the communications room around him, "is built on a peninsula and surrounded by solid stone walls. I control the nearest town and my men patrol the forest surrounding the loch as well. At the moment, it's just me and my security forces." He looked down. "I've no family left—the castle is empty." He lifted his chin, affecting a formal air. "I would be most honored, if you would relocate to this facility…for your own safety."
She smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. "You are so considerate." The smile faded from her face. "I am hesitant to leave my family's ancestral home, however." She looked around the room in which she sat.
Behind her, Reginald saw gilded picture frames and oil portraits hung on silk damask papered walls. Lady Brunner lived in the lap of luxury. He glanced at his communications room and distastefully observed the largely unadorned plastered walls. It would be quite the change of scenery, but there was no mistaking the strength and security a medieval castle provided over a Victorian manor whose walls were likely more glass than stone.
"I shall take your offer under advisement—it is most generous, my lord," she said, staring into him. The corner of her blood-red lips ticked up for a split second. "Significant arrangements might need to be made."
Reginald nodded. "I understand. Please know that while I hold sway over a large swath of Western Scotland, and though this offer shall remain open indefinitely, I cannot guarantee your safe arrival much longer. Things are going poorly in Britain, now that the royal family has been infected. Should you need me, however, I shall remain your most humble and obedient servant, madame," he said with a bow.
This time the smile on her face reached her eyes. Reginald's heart ached. My God, she's radiant.
"I thank you, Earl Dunkeith. I shall be in touch."
"I hope so, Lady Brunner," Reginald said as he reluctantly ended the transmission.
Reginald stepped away from the computer and sighed. He looked at the map on the wall again, checking the daily updates of flu infections and deaths. The red global infection rates had skyrocketed in the past 24 hours. New worries had surfaced in Europe that the flu was mutating again.
The mortality rates were slightly more frightening. The shadow of death had fallen across much of the United States. In Europe, the west was more red with infection than black with death, but the tide was turning as the flu burned through dense population centers. China had only a few black dots, but they were spreading fast inside the red swath that seemed ready to consume the entire country.
"My lord?" buzzed Stefan.
Reginald rolled his eyes. "Yes, what is it?"
"You wished me to inform you when Mistress Svea awakened."
"Yes, of course. I take it she's ready to start the day?"
"She wishes to go for a run, sir."
Reginald laughed. Old habits die hard. He trained his operatives well—they never slacked off, never relaxed, never slipped out of training mode. To them, spare time was for honing skills and keeping bodies in top physical shape.
"That's fine, Stefan—she's family, remember? Let her do what she will and make sure the guards know not to follow her. She has free rein of the estate—let's see what she does with it."
"Shall I have her watched?"
Reginald paused for a moment. If she was up to something, tailing her with anyone less than a well-seasoned veteran operative would be futile and likely tip her off to his suspicions. "No, not just yet. Make sure she's not left unattended inside the castle, but under no circumstances is anyone to follow her outside. For now."
"Very good, sir," replied Stefan without emotion. Not surprising—Stefan had always preferred Jayne.
Reginald stared at the intercom for a moment.
Even without the guards, I have enough hidden cameras on the grounds to know her every move. I'll know soon if she's truly loyal or not…
CHAPTER 32
Washington, D.C.
USMC Forward Operations Center.
COOPER TRACED BRENDA'S PICTURE with his finger. He closed his eyes and remembered what it felt like to run his hands through her auburn hair, to feel the silky smoothness slip over his rough fingers. He remembered the way she had smiled at him, exhausted after they had trashed her lab. He sighed and opened his eyes.
Brenda's dead.
He glanced at the screen in front of him. There was no sense in putting it off any longer. He hit the connect button and waited for the computer to cycle through the security protocols and establish a connection with the medical facility in the Underground.
A man's face appeared on the screen. He looked tired and old—though Cooper knew he was only 35; he looked ten years older. Sunken cheeks, bags under his eyes, dull hair—clearly a man who'd beaten death, but was worn out by the battle.
Cooper clenched his hands into fists when he met the man's eyes. Despite his haggard looks, Derek Alston bore a striking resemblance to his sister. He saw Brenda in the man's face staring back at him on the screen. The shape of Derek's nose was a larger, more masculine version of his sister's. His chest tightened, and he felt every thud of his heart.
"So you're the SEAL that rescued my sister?" the Ranger asked. His voice sounded strong and healthy despite his appearance. Those eyes bored straight into Cooper's.
"And you're the big brother she fought to save."
The Ranger clenched his jaw. Cooper watched the muscles working underneath the tightly stretched skin.
"How are you doing?" Cooper asked.
Derek Alston sighed. "I feel like shit." He glanced over his shoulder at a passing technician and leaned conspiratorially into the computer. "They all treat me like I'm going to relapse any second… They won't let me do anything on my own." He leaned back in his chair. "Not like I'm strong enough to do much yet anyway—I feel weak as a kitten."
"Don't be too hard on yourself," said Cooper, "not many people have been through what you have and survived. If you guys hadn't rescued the Source…there'd be no vaccine. And one of my men would be in the ground right now. Thank you."
Derek causally waved a hand. "I was just doing my job. You would've done the same thing."
Cooper cracked a crooked grin. He immediately liked Brenda's brother. "You know…I see a lot of her in you. I'm really glad you made it," Cooper said.
Derek's face softened, and he looked down at his hands. "I never got a chance to tell her goodbye."
"She checked in on you every day," Cooper said. "She worried about you constantly." Cooper laughed. "You should hear some of the stories the nurses told me—she oversaw every detail of your treatment and God forbid her orders weren't followed to the letter."
Derek smiled. "Yeah," he said sadly, "I've heard that. They were trying to cheer me up when I first woke…it didn't do any good then, but now…I really appreciate it."
"Look…" Cooper began. "I know this is awkward for both of us. This isn't exactly how I'd planned to meet you…"
Derek smiled. "At least you wanted to meet me. I wanted to kill you."
Cooper blinked.
"Yeah—it's not exactly how I planned to meet you either," the Ranger continued, not missing a beat, a grin plastered on his face. "I didn't get the chance to beat the shit out of you for dating my little sister."
Cooper cocked his head at the screen. "The way you look, I don't think you could take down my lunch order."
The two men shared a laugh across a thousand miles of fiber optic cable. "Yeah, well, give me a week or two," Derek allowed.
Cooper laughed.
Derek shook his head as he spoke. "Brenda would've tried to kick my ass if I'd hurt you form what I hear!"
It was Copper's turn to grin. "Yeah, she probably would have tried." He remembered how strong Brenda had been, how she'd fought to come up with a solution to the flu. She was never one to be intimidated easily. Her indomitable spirit was what he'd admired so much about her. Cooper blinked and looked away.
Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga Page 23
