Storm of Ghosts (Surviving the Dead Book 8)

by James Cook

  But the Springs was not Fort McCray. I had no fellow soldiers to hang out with, no drinking buddies, no camaraderie, and worst of all, no Miranda. I could have dealt with the boredom if she were around. But without her, and without the friends I missed far more than I thought I would, I was going stir crazy.

  On the second day, after deciding there was only so much entertainment to be found at the public library, I visited with Gabriel and company. They had moved into a house in the same district where Tyrel lived. The house was a newly-built four bedroom with a workshop in the backyard, a fireplace in each bedroom, a woodstove in the kitchen, two washrooms complete with stoves, buckets, and clawfoot tubs, and a privy next to each bedroom that emptied into the city’s sewer system. There were no electrical lights, but the walls and ceiling were lined with hooks for lanterns and sconces for candles. Gabe told me he planned to install solar panels and run wires so he could have LED lighting and a few small appliances.

  I found myself staring out one of the big windows that allowed light into the sitting room on the second floor. Gabe stood beside me, gazing down onto the bustling street in front of his house. The window was five feet tall and nearly four feet wide. There was a gentle breeze blowing through it, the swarming bugs outside kept at bay by a mesh screen.

  I thought about Miranda. I thought about where we would live when she moved out here. There was a small fortune in trade sitting in a storage building in Hollow Rock that I had accumulated over the year and a half I had been stationed there. I thought about how best to convert it into something small, valuable, and portable, and have it shipped to the Springs. I thought about Echo Company and how they would soon be rotating back to Fort Bragg. Hollow Rock wouldn’t be the same without them around. Not that I would be going back any time soon.

  “Something bothering you?” Gabe asked.

  I could hear Sabrina and Elizabeth downstairs. Sabrina had tested out of high school and was absently studying Gray’s Anatomy while sharpening her impressive arsenal of knives. Elizabeth was cutting vegetables and a pork shoulder. Dinner would be carnitas on flatbread with fresh vegetables. I doubted I would be staying for it.

  “Thinking about the future,” I said, realizing it was the most I had spoken all day.

  “Miranda?”

  I grunted in acknowledgment.

  “When’s she coming out here?” Gabe asked.

  “Not sure yet. Wants to wait until Eric gets back and hires some people.”

  “Eric’s just about done here. Probably be leaving in the next week or so.”

  “What’s he been up to?”

  “Not sure. You’d have to ask him.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be lucrative. He’s got a mind for business.”

  “That he does.”

  A farmer in homespun clothes pushing a cart full of vegetables turned onto the street in front of us and headed toward the nearby farmer’s market. It was Saturday morning, and the street had been shut down for three blocks, running right in front of Gabe’s house. The man with the cart was a latecomer. Elizabeth had already been shopping, as had most people who lived in the neighborhood. I wished the farmer luck.

  “I got a bad feeling,” Gabe said.

  I looked at him. “You too?”

  Gabe’s countenance was even more grim than usual. “Something isn’t adding up.”

  “Like how they plan to take out the ROC troops at the internment camps without getting the hostages killed?”

  The big man glanced at me. “Yes. I guess that’s one of those ‘particulars’ we’ll be briefed on when we get to Oregon.”

  “There’s also the matter of the visit to medical,” I said. “Did someone follow you to your appointment?”

  “Yep. Fella thought he was slick. Spotted him as soon as he started tailing me.”

  “He know you saw him?”

  “Nope. Took off as soon as I left the clinic. I’m guessing you were followed too.”

  “I was. Ran a detection route after I left to see if he was still tailing me.”

  “And?”

  “No dice. I went back to the hospital and asked if anyone had been there looking for me. Told the nurse I was supposed to meet a friend there. She said someone stopped by and shoved a black card in her face and asked if I had been given my inoculations. Lady seemed real sorry about it, kept apologizing for giving up information about a patient. I said it was no big deal but she probably shouldn’t talk about it, and left.”

  “Jacobs,” Gabe said.

  “Yep.”

  “Why? What’s so important about those inoculations?”

  “More importantly, what was in them?”

  “Tracking devices?”

  I shook my head. “Doubt it. Easier just to tell us up front. Why would we refuse?”

  Gabe stepped closer to the window, hands on his hips. “There’s something he’s not telling us. Something important to the mission.”

  I laughed quietly. “Why should this time be any different?”

  *****

  Day three.

  The Colorado Springs Chamber of Commerce Semi-Annual Job Fair took up close to half a mile of The Strip. There were tables and tents, and the smell of food cooking and charcoal burning was strong in the air. I got a pulled pork sandwich on honest-to-God bread that tasted remarkably close to sourdough. The beer I chased it down with was warm, but still good. A crowd of people, most of them men of varying ages recently discharged from the Army, wandered from tent to tent speaking with representatives of the city’s many employers.

  I found Eric near the food stalls. It was a good strategic location. He had rented a big tent and several plastic folding tables. A few signboards identified his company, the newly founded Great Hawk Private Security, LLC. A man I didn’t recognize stood next to Eric in front of a board proclaiming him the managing director of Delaney Bowyers, a subsidiary of G&R Transport and Salvage.

  Out-of-work veterans crowded in front of Eric while he stood on a small platform and explained the hiring process, expectations, pay, and benefits of Great Hawk Private Security. A schedule printed on a small sign said this briefing would be given every two hours. Since it was noon, Eric was giving it for the third time. When he finished, a dozen or so men signed their names on a sheet and Eric gave them a small brochure. I could only imagine how much he’d paid to have brochures printed. Such things were not cheap anymore.

  When Eric finished, it was the bowyer’s turn. He was a short, muscular fellow with graying red hair, a thick beard, and hairy arms burned red by the sun. His face was pinched and wrinkled from too much squinting, and a pair of shrewd, gray-green eyes peered out from narrow slits. He spoke plainly with a Mid-Western accent (Wisconsin I was guessing), and identified himself as Arlo Delaney. He said he’d run Delaney Bowyers as a small sole proprietorship until Eric Riordan, investor and entrepreneur, approached him with the idea of scaling up his operations. I had seen Eric make sales pitches before. His confidence, charisma, and the sheer palpable force of his will made him a difficult man to say no to.

  Delaney said he wasn’t looking for men with carpentry experience, but it wouldn’t hurt anyone’s prospects of getting hired. What he needed were men willing to work hard, learn a task, do it properly, and be comfortable with the idea of repeating that task over and over again. Anyone who could not overcome tedium would not last long at Delaney Bowyers.

  When asked why, he said Delaney Bowyers was going to become the first mass production bowyer since the Outbreak. Which meant assembly line work, and lots of it. Someone asked him what a bowyer was. He said it was people who made bows and crossbows. Someone else asked him what about arrows. He said they would make those too, and bolts for the crossbows. There were more questions, but I did not stick around to listen. Eric had finished with the most recent batch of applicants and was walking toward the food stalls. I caught up with him on the way.

  “Nice pitch,” I said. “Looks like you’ve generated some interest.”
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br />   “Yeah. Saw you lurking around in the back of the crowd. What gives?”

  Eric got in line with people waiting for chicken sandwiches. I waited with him.

  “Lurking is a strong word,” I said.

  “Whatever. If you’re here about the mission, the answer is still no.”

  “Not here for that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Gabe says you’re leaving town soon.”

  A nod. “That’s the plan.”

  “How went the business pursuits?”

  The line moved. We both took a couple of steps forward. “Better than I expected. Got plenty of recruits for the security company. Hired some contractors to build training facilities out in Kansas.”

  “What about trainers?”

  “Pilfered some guys from the Blackthorns, signed a few Special Forces types. Once I free up Great Hawk’s schedule, he’ll be out here to oversee things.”

  “Blackthorns aren’t going to like that.”

  “Fuck ‘em.”

  “They have clout around here.”

  “Fuck ‘em harder.”

  I shook my head. Tyrel Jennings was a formidable man, but if there was anyone who could find a way around him, it was Eric. The thought of my two friends locking horns was not a pleasant one. Chances were good I’d get drawn into it sooner or later.

  Problem for another day.

  “What about the bowyer thing?”

  “Shouldn’t be much trouble getting Delaney’s factory up and running.”

  “Delaney’s factory?”

  “He’ll be in charge, along with a guy used to be an automotive engineer.”

  “An automotive engineer.”

  “Yep.”

  “To build a factory for bows and arrows.”

  “Crossbows and bolts too.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Why?”

  “Knows all about mass production. Me and Arlo gave him a basic outline of what we wanted, and in two days he was writing schematics. Had some great ideas. Impressed the hell out of me, so I hired him to design the factory and help Arlo run it.”

  “And where do you fit in all this?”

  “I’ll be providing the venture capital. Got a damn good lawyer drawing up the partnership agreement right now.”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Yep.”

  “Thought she specialized in criminal law.”

  “Her father worked in contract law, let her help out at his firm for a while. She’s no dunce on the subject.”

  The line shifted again. We were tantalizingly close to the girl taking sandwich orders. The pulled pork I’d had was good, but I am a big eater. A chicken sandwich or two was looking, and smelling, like a capital idea.

  “So,” Eric said. “You’re not big on social visits. I assume you went through the trouble of tracking me down for a reason.”

  “I did.”

  “So what’s the reason?”

  I looked at him. “You ever notice how many sentences you start with the word ‘so’?”

  “So fuck you. How about that?”

  I laughed a little. Eric wasn’t smiling, but I could tell he had amused himself. “So I need to ask you for a favor.”

  “So what is it?”

  “You can stop that now.”

  “We both should. It’s annoying.”

  I took a small envelope out of my hip pocket. “Give this to Miranda for me.”

  Eric glanced at the envelope, then took it and examined it. “Mind if I ask what it says? Not the details, just the gist of it.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because if it’s something that’s going to upset her, I’d like to know ahead of time.”

  “I don’t think she’ll be upset.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  The line advanced again. There was now only one person ahead of us. “Mostly it just asks her to wait until I send word before leaving town, and that I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. If I don’t come back, she should stick with you and Great Hawk. You’ll take care of her. That and the usual lovey-dovey stuff we say to each other.”

  “Something about you being a warrior-poet?”

  “Her words, not mine.”

  “But you don’t hate it.”

  I let myself smile. “Been called worse things.”

  Eric put the envelope in a shirt pocket. “Consider it done.”

  “What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. This one’s a freebie.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. And I mean that literally. Word gets out, people will come out of the woodwork asking me to do shit for them.”

  “Understood.”

  The chicken sandwiches were served on plastic plates with an admonishment from the clerk to put food waste in the compost bin and return the plates at the other window. We promised obedience. I paid for both meals with my diminishing stock of federal credits and we retired to Eric’s tent. Arlo was sitting at the front desk speaking with job applicants. Eric put a sandwich on the table next to him, and the two of us sat down in a pair of folding chairs.

  “On a lighter note,” I said, “how do you plan to get home?”

  “Got a flight leaving next week.”

  “A flight? On what?”

  “C-130.”

  “How’d you swing that?”

  “The usual method.”

  I scowled. “Bribes.”

  “Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.”

  There was much I could have said on that subject, but it would have been a waste of time. The military does not always attract the best and brightest. A certain amount of corruption in such a large and powerful organization is unavoidable.

  I said, “Where’s the flight taking you? Wichita?”

  A nod. “Be hitching a ride with your buddies’ replacements from there. Should be home before the end of the month.”

  I finished my first sandwich, drank some water Eric gave me, and started on the second one. “What are you going to do when Captain Harlow leaves? With the First Recon back at Bragg, you won’t have anyone left to bribe.”

  “I’ll cut a deal with the next guy. Harlow already set up a meeting.”

  “Awfully nice of him, considering he hates you.”

  “Feeling’s mutual. But he’s a pragmatist, and he knows how hard I could have made his life if he hadn’t played ball. Same applies to his replacement.”

  “Even with the new mayor?”

  “What’s he got to do with anything?”

  “I’m not stupid, Eric. Elizabeth helped you more than you like to let on.”

  He gave a shrug. “The new mayor won’t be a problem.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  The left corner of his mouth twitched. “Who do you think paid for his campaign?”

  I paused. Eric looked smug. “You supported Will Laurel over Sarah Glover?”

  “Actually, no. I contributed to both campaigns.”

  I stared hard at him. Typical Eric. “So no matter who won, you had a mayor in your pocket.”

  “Politics is a dirty business.”

  “On that,” I said, “we agree.”

  FOURTEEN

  Day five came and went. Our orders were to stand by.

  Tyrel and Gabe were given rooms in the BOQ down the hall from where I slept. They said it was a step down from the Blackthorns’ standard accommodations. I decided when I was done with the Army, private security might not be such a bad idea.

  We were free to go off base as long as we left word with Jacobs’ secretary where to find us. I thought this was redundant being we all had satellite phones, but complied anyway. The general’s offices were on the way to the main gate, so it was no trouble to stop by.

  Gabe stayed on base for the most part, having already said goodbye to his family. He’d set them up with plenty of trade and had signed over a letter of credit and power of attorney to Elizabeth from G&R Transport and Salvage. It was worth about half his
fortune still in storage in Hollow Rock, along with any future distributions commensurate with his remaining twenty-percent stake in the company. Meaning if he didn’t come back, it would be a century or so before his wife and daughter would have to worry about going hungry.

  A runner found us on the seventh day and we met Eric at the big airstrip on the western side of Peterson AAB. He informed Gabriel he had gotten his business expansions up and running and hired people to oversee them. Further, he had appointed Elizabeth as regional director of operations, meaning if she said jump, everyone in the chain of command would be compelled to ask how high. Gabe agreed Elizabeth would ensure their mutual interests in the region were well looked after.

  “You’re not going to be around for a while,” Eric said. “The mission and all.”

  Gabe shrugged. “Jacobs held up his end. I got to hold up mine.”

  Eric nodded and looked down the runway. Behind him, a C-130 was loading troops and equipment and preparing for takeoff. Eric had a large duffel bag, a much smaller assault pack, and was strapped down with weapons. I could only imagine how much it had cost him to book passage on a military transport flight.

  “Somewhere in Colorado Springs,” I said, “a senior officer is greedily counting how many credits he can get for whatever you paid him.”

  Eric noticed me looking at the C-130. “I miss my wife and son,” he said. “The faster I’m home, the happier I’ll be.”

  “Couldn’t have been cheap,” Gabe said.

  “It was worth it.”

  I reached out a hand. Eric shook it. “Probably won’t see you again for a while,” I said. “Take care of yourself, amigo.”

  “You do the same. And watch out for this guy.” He hooked a thumb at Gabe. “He’s nothing but trouble.”

  Gabe snorted. “Pot, kettle, black.”

  The two men clasped hands and slapped each other on the back a couple of times. Eric looked at both of us, cast a glance around at the city of Colorado Springs and the mountains and plains beyond, and said, “Not a bad place. I think you’ll be all right here.”

  And with that he gathered his gear and headed toward the transport plane. Before walking up the ramp he gave a final wave. Gabe and I returned it. Eric walked on and disappeared from view.