“Meaning?”
“Meaning we’re working against the clock. It’s probably only a matter of time before they officially declare themselves as independent nations, and we need to be ready when they do.”
“Which is why you’re here in Hollow Rock. To garner support. Help people form militias, arm them, get them on your side. And you’re doing the same kind of thing elsewhere?”
He nodded. “It’s not just about territory, it’s about numbers. The Midwest Alliance, all combined, is at least the equal of the loyalists in Colorado. We don’t know for sure what the numbers are out in California, but we know it’s a lot, and we know that they’re … expanding.”
“Expanding?”
“Taking over new territory. A few refugees have fled as far east as our outposts in Nevada and their reports are worrisome, to say the least.”
I was about to ask him to elaborate on that when a knock sounded from the door behind me. A look of irritation swept over the general’s face.
“Yes, what is it?”
The door opened a fraction, and one of Jacobs’s personal guards stuck his head in the door. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, crew-cut, and had eyes like a winter morning—blue, merciless, and cold.
“Captain McCray is here to see you, sir,” he said.
“Ah, outstanding. Tell him to wait outside and I’ll be with him in a minute. Thank you, Sergeant.”
The soldier nodded once, and then closed the door quietly.
“Do you need anything else from me, General? I have two wounded recruits expecting me to pay them a visit today.”
He put a hand under his chin and studied me again. Someone had put a new battery in the clock on the wall, and I heard a faint ticking as it counted down the seconds. Other than my own breathing, it was the only sound in the room as I waited for him to speak.
“You never did give me an answer, Mr. Garrett.”
“Actually, I thought I made myself pretty clear.”
He frowned. “So the answer is no?”
“Correct.”
“You don’t have any interest in being an officer in the most powerful military force in the country?”
“No, I don’t.”
“You don’t care about all the good you could do, all the lives you could save, all the people you could help? You just want to be selfish, and waste your abilities scraping in the dirt, or scavenging for a living? Is that it?”
My teeth clenched and my face began to heat up. “Don’t put words in my mouth, General. I did my time, I served my country, and I gave a hell of a lot more than I ever got back. You think you know me? You think you know anything about me? What I’ve been through, and what I’ve given up?”
I leaned forward and pointed a finger in his face. “You don’t know shit. You’re just like every other dumbfuck officer I’ve ever seen. You think you have all the answers because you sit behind your desk, and fly around in your helicopter, and send men to their deaths. You think you know what’s going on out there because you read after-action reports from men whose boots were on the ground doing your fighting for you. You never stop to question the decisions you make that cost them their lives. And none of it matters to you as long as you accomplish your mission. Let me ask you something, General, when was the last time you had your ass in the grass, huh? When was the last time you fired a fucking shot in anger? When was the last time you had to pick up a rifle and fight for your life because some West Point piece of shit with delusions of grandeur told you to? When was the last time you did anything except sit on your ass and ask better men than yourself to die for you? When General? Fucking when?”
My voice rose steadily as I spoke, and by the time I finished, I was nearly yelling in his face. The door opened behind me, and the same soldier from before stepped inside.
“Is everything all right in here, sir?”
Jacobs sat perfectly still for a few heartbeats before holding up a hand. “Everything’s fine, Sergeant. Please close the door.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door closed, and Jacobs let out a sigh as he reclined in his seat. He passed a hand over his jawline with a rasp of beard stubble. His eyes stared into a dark middle distance for a few seconds, and his façade of authority faded, leaving him looking old, tired, and rundown.
“Please don’t mistake my intentions here, Mr. Garrett,” he said, weariness grating in his voice. “I’m not evil, I’m not heartless, and I’m not a monster. I’m just desperate. We’re stretched thin. I’ve got too few people trying to do too many things over too big a territory, and I need all the help I can get. I need people who can lead, and individuals with your … unique skill set are a rare thing to find. I won’t press you anymore on it today, but if you reconsider—and I sincerely hope you do—come find me or Captain McCray, and we’ll get things moving for you. Fair enough?”
My temper has always been a quick thing, to the point where it is almost an understatement to call me short-fused. But I have lots of fuses, and the anger I had felt a moment ago, intense as it was, left me in a rush. Jacobs should have been angry that I had insulted him, but he had taken it in stride. Probably nothing that he hadn’t heard a hundred times from any number of pissed off survivors still holding a grudge. Insults didn’t bother him, but my refusal to sign on and help him did. That said a lot about the man.
“Listen, I appreciate the offer, Phil. I really do. And I’m not unsympathetic to your predicament. I’m just tired. Tired of fighting, tired of killing, and tired of people looking to me for answers. I know what I am, I know what I’m capable of, and I can see why people want me working for them. The problem is, no one ever bothers to take a second to consider what I might want.”
Jacobs nodded silently at that, stood up, and reached out a hand. “I appreciate your time, Mr. Garrett, and I want to thank you for what you did yesterday. If you were still in the service, I’d put you in for a Silver Star. That was damn fine work.”
I held his stare for a few seconds, thinking about those two kids’ families as they sat huddled and weeping in the funeral home. I released his hand, turned around, and walked out the door without another word.
As I left, I saw Captain McCray sitting at a small table in the main hall talking with one of the soldiers on General Jacobs’s security detail. He was back to wearing nondescript fatigues, brown combat boots, and the only weapon he had on him—at first glance at least—was a military-issue Beretta M9. It was odd seeing him without his ever-present tactical vest and tricked out M-14 rifle. He looked up and nodded to me as I walked by. I acknowledged him, and left through the front door.
I paused for a moment outside the hall, blinking to allow my eyes to adjust to the light, and without being too obvious about it, looking around for witnesses. Seeing no one, I put my hands in my pockets and began walking along the sidewalk to where it led around to the service entrance in the back.
The VFW hall was a squat cinderblock structure with a large banquet room in the front, a kitchen behind that, a bar along one wall, a storeroom, and two small offices tucked into the corner. If my estimation was correct, Jacobs’s office was two windows down from the edge of the building to the far right. As I rounded the corner, I saw that the ground at the rear of the hall sloped sharply downward, and that the window in question was several feet off the ground. Perfect.
A glance to my right showed me a broad, overgrown field of chest-high grass stretching off for maybe three hundred yards before terminating at a narrow road. A cluster of trees and small houses stood on the other side. I could only see their roofs, which meant that from that distance, unless they had a telescope and a ladder, there was no way they could see me.
I squatted down, kept my head below the sill of the first window, and walked along the edges of my feet until I was standing beneath the window directly behind Jacobs’s chair. A conversation was already in progress, and by pressing my head close to the wall just below the bottom edge, I could make out what they were saying.
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br /> “… Riordan’s on board, sir. I’ll need a couple of weeks to get him ready, but we should still be able to stick to the new timetable.”
A sigh. “That’s the first good news I’ve had all day. Assuming he really is up to the task.”
A short pause. I could almost see Steve nodding in his patient way. “If anyone in this town is, sir, it’s him.”
“Fine. You’ve done a good job so far, Captain. I trust you’ll continue to do so. Have you taken Riordan’s statement about the incident yesterday?”
Incident? Christ’s sake, is that all they think of it?
“Not yet. I’m going to pay him another visit this afternoon. I was hoping you would come along and hear it for yourself.”
The general’s tone was impatient when he answered. “Captain, we already have several viable candidates for the program, and they all have exemplary service records. I fail to see what a civilian with no formal training would have to offer that they can’t.”
“You see, sir, that’s the problem,” Steve said. “They’re all military and law-enforcement types. They stick to the strictures of their training. The situations that these new operators are going be facing are highly unconventional, and adhere not in the least to the rules and tactics that were effective for these kinds of things before the Outbreak. Riordan doesn’t suffer from that handicap. As much as I hate to use this phrase, in this case it applies—he thinks outside the box. He’s quick-minded, resourceful, personable, and highly adaptive to his environment. Rather than solely counting on his training, he uses whatever is around him, be it people or materials, to find clever solutions to difficult problems. Beyond that, he has a sense of presence that tends to inspire trust, and in terms of combat skills, he’s on the scale of an Army Ranger with combat experience and high-level marksmanship. He might not have formal training, but his abilities are nonetheless quite remarkable.”
Jacobs was quiet for a long moment. I heard a creak that told me he was leaning back in his chair. “Captain McCray, you know I lean heavily on your advice, but on this one, I must admit I have my doubts.”
“Which is why I want you to be there when I speak with him,” Steve said quickly. “From what the others who were there yesterday have told me, his performance under fire was impressive. And having seen him in action myself, I don’t doubt the validity of their statements.”
“All right, fine. I’ll go with you and hear the man out. But I’m not making any promises, understood?”
“Perfectly.”
There were a few seconds of silence, then a scrape of plastic on wood. “Here’s Garrett’s statement,” Jacobs said. “Go ahead and get reports from Grabovsky and anyone else you think might know anything, and compile a report to send back to Command. Great Hawk and Marshall are working on getting generators up and running, so you should have a 3G connection available before the end of the day.”
McCray said, “Secure connection?”
“As best we can manage, yes. It’ll have to do.”
“Understood, sir.” In a lower voice, he asked, “Speaking of electricity, is Command still going to be sending us a facilitator?”
“As of now, yes, but not until we deal with the insurgency here. Facilitators are too valuable to risk sending into hot zones. The sooner you take care of this so-called Free Legion, the sooner you can help these people get the lights back on.”
A few seconds pause. Again, I could almost see McCray nodding, his yellow eyes narrowed in thought.
“Sir, there’s something else you should know about. Something Grabovsky found yesterday after the skirmish.”
Jacobs said, “And what’s that?”
“The weapons that the Legion were using, the AK-47s. They all matched the descriptions of the weapons recovered in Nevada. Same manufacturer, same ammo. Near as we can tell, anyway.”
Jacobs was silent for a few seconds. “How many did you recover?”
“A lot, I don’t have an exact number yet. Grabovsky is out there with a work crew today gathering them up and collecting the corpses. Great Hawk is going out there later to see what he can find out.”
“If anybody can make some sense out of this, it’ll be the tracker,” Jacobs replied.
“Do you think this has anything to do with the ROC?” Steve said.
“Could be,” Jacobs replied. “The flotilla pulls into Humboldt Bay, secures the waterfront, offloads their ships, and a couple of months later, the ROC is suddenly a major player. Can’t be a coincidence.”
“But if they’re making arms shipments to the Legion, who else are they supplying?” Steve asked.
“That’s the million-dollar question, Captain. I think we both know the answer to that.”
There was a creak and a rustle as one of them stood up. It was faint, so I figured it was Steve.
“One last thing, sir.”
“Hmm?”
“How did things go with Garrett? I thought I heard raised voices.”
Jacobs chuckled, but it was mirthless. “Once again, you get to say I told you so.”
“He refused?”
“I think at one point he actually called me a dumbfuck. I’m not sure, I was too busy being scared shitless the big fucker was gonna jump over the desk and snap me like a twig before Sergeant Krymeier could do anything about it.”
There was a smile in McCray’s voice. “Yes, he has that effect on people.”
I smirked. Nice to know I still had the old magic.
“There anything else you need, Captain? Anything you want me to have sent out to you?”
“Not right now, no. I should have everything I need for the time being.”
“All right then. I’ll be in meetings until about sixteen-hundred. Come by and get me after that, and we’ll go see about this Riordan character.”
“Will do, sir.”
The door opened and shut again. I crept to the end of the building and listened as McCray’s footsteps marched off toward the north side of town, growing fainter and fainter until they were out of earshot. Risking a quick peek around the corner, I saw that no one else was around, and set off toward town hall as quickly as I could without running.
Liz was going to be very interested to hear about this.
Chapter 11
Breach of Confidence
By the time Steve returned with General Jacobs that afternoon, my hangover had mostly faded.
Not all the way, but enough that I could eat without throwing up, and I could move my head without a hammer pounding away at the interior of my skull. Mike’s hooch was quality stuff, but it would be a long time before I let myself drink that much of it again.
Feeling less shaky, I spent the latter part of the day cleaning and working on small projects around the house until, at about a quarter after four, a pair of footsteps stopped at the front door. I opened it before Steve had a chance to knock, and he stood startled for a moment with his knuckles poised in the air.
“Come on in, gentlemen.” I made a gesture with my arm, waited as they stepped by, and shut the door behind them.
“Have a seat,” I said. “I’ll be right with you.”
While the two soldiers made themselves comfortable on the couch, I put a kettle on the stove and popped two more painkillers. It wouldn’t do to spend the conversation with teeth my gritted and wincing every time I turned my head. I had an idea where this meeting was about to go, and it would behoove me to stay sharp.
“Here you go fellas.” I placed a large silver try on the coffee table.
“Is that real sugar?” Steve asked.
“Yep.” I smirked. “Scavenging is risky business, but for the brave, the rewards are many.”
I poured a cup for each of the men, one for myself, and sat back in my chair. Steve was hesitant as he spooned a small amount of sugar into his cup, as though not quite sure how much propriety allowed him to take.
“Take all you want,” I said, gesturing to the small bowl. “I’ve got plenty.”
Steve glanc
ed at me. “You know how much this stuff is worth, right?”
I nodded.
“Well, hell,” Jacobs chimed in. “If you’re offering, I’m not too proud to take it. I can’t remember the last time I had sugar.”
They dug in again, more generously this time, and practically moaned as they sipped the hot tea.
“My God,” Steve said. “You know, you go so long without having this stuff, you forget how good it is. Can’t believe I ever took it for granted.”
Jacobs chuckled. “I find myself feeling that way about a great many things these days.”
“Amen to that,” I said.
We were quiet for a while after that, to the point where it began to grow awkward. Finally, Steve cleared his throat and set his cup down on the table.
“I appreciate the hospitality, but we do have some business to take care of this afternoon.” He reached into a pocket, took out a digital recorder and pressed a button on it. “Test, test.” He clicked another button, played his voice back, then cleared it and handed it to me.
“We need to get a statement from you about what happened yesterday. I’m putting together a report to send back to Central Command, and hopefully if we can show them how bad things are getting out here, we can convince them to send us more troops.”
“That would be nice,” I said.
“Anything you can remember will help us, Eric, anything at all. Just start from the beginning, and tell us as much as you can remember.”
I tapped my fingers on the recorder, hesitating. “You know, everything happened really fast, it’s kind of a blur. I’m not sure if I can remember all of it.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just do the best you can. I’ll ask questions along the way to help jog your memory.”
I took a deep breath and turned on the recorder. It took me the better part of an hour to tell all of it, and when I was done, a few things stood out, and one minor mystery was solved.
Surviving the Dead 03: Warrior Within Page 13
