by B. C. Tweedt
“Oh,” Greyson muttered, remembering that he was. “Yeah. A little.”
“Sydney’s leaving,” Jarryd explained. “I wanted to cheer him up. I couldn’t imagine what it’d be like if you left me.”
Greyson laughed under his breath. Jarryd’s flirtations were amusing to say the least. And he had to hand it to him – Avery was eating them up. Though they weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, Greyson was beginning to think that Jarryd actually had a chance – especially if Avery could shape him into the kind of boy she wanted.
Avery smiled her perfectly aligned white teeth and reached for the spoon sticking from the side of a scoop of strawberry. “Thanks, Jear-Bear. But I’m not goin’ anywh’ah.” She brought a spoonful to her red lips as Jarryd watched with interest. “The sold’ahs think Pluribus kidn’epped my parents for a reason. They told me to stay in m’oi room.”
She guided the spoon into her mouth and wrapped her lips around its curves.
“You, rebel, you,” Jarryd said, salivating.
“Accordin’ to Emory, we may all be r’ehbels, soon enough,” she remarked, gesturing to the group at the TV.
Jarryd squinted his brow. “What?”
“Emory made a nutty claim that the gov’ahment will attack states that vote for Fost’ah’s replacement – who we all know will be Reckhemm’ah. All the news channels are saying how ridiculous it is, but the Internet’s going crackers. Lots of people believe him, thinkin’ the gov’ahment’s like the worst thing ev’ah. Some people still believe Des Moines and the rest were set ups.”
It was the first the boys had heard of the claim, though Greyson connected the dots with the headline he’d seen in his HUD: {Emory Warns of Secret US End-Game}. “So, just to be clear – Emory said the government will attack states that vote against Reckhemmer?”
Avery nodded with a shrug. “It’s trendin’ on every netw’ook.”
Maybe it was the surge of sugar in his system, or maybe it was a sense of purpose, but some sort of energy swelled in Greyson’s chest. “Then we got to do something!”
“You believe him?” Jarryd asked. “The government’s not going to attack its own people.”
“Were you in Georgia?” Greyson asked.
Jarryd shrugged. “No, but…”
“We can’t trust anyone anymore. No one but each other. Let’s go!”
Jarryd and Avery glanced at each other before Jarryd interjected. “Well, the election’s, like, a year away. Maybe we could take a nap or something first?”
Greyson hesitated for a moment but pushed in his chair with renewed energy. “I’m not tired.”
“Then we can snowboard or play Spin the Bottle, or whatever. Where are you going?”
Greyson was walking away, but he turned to whisper. “To find Rubicon’s helicopter.”
Chapter 11
Sydney leaned back in her chair, her thoughts awash in anxious seas. As soon as the elevator had returned with Dan, Asher, SmokeStack, and Forge, the commotion in the underground war room had only amplified her worry.
War room was a more symbolic term than an accurate one. It was really just an unfinished banquet room with a large table in the center. There were desks toward one end of the room facing several flat screens attached to wheeled tripods. Paper maps were splayed on the table alongside a few laptops with cords running to the flat screens. There was a water cooler in a corner with a box of donuts on it, which Nick was eyeing. The soldiers sat at the table with a few other men as Dan lectured them on the newest developments in the effort against Pluribus.
“First, let me break it down simply for Sydney here. Big picture – there are players in this country who want war.”
He’d barely started and already Sydney was scared to death. She couldn’t believe it, but she dared not interrupt.
“We don’t know exactly who and why, but we know they’re powerful and hidden deep in every organization. Even though war’s far off, there are already two sides taking shape – the United States and the future American Republic of the Constitution – and they are both fighting for allegiances in preparation. The ARC Council claims that it does not support Pluribus, but Pluribus happens to be fighting on their behalf. Finally, someone hired StoneWater, a private security contracting company, to find and eliminate us so that we can’t stop the war.”
He clicked a mouse, showing a picture of a grizzled soldier with a nasty mustache and discolored nose. “They’ve tapped Roman Dresvynin to head the unit, boys.”
Smokestack and Forge shared a look of disdain.
“When a national government with the largest military in the world hires a private army, you know something’s corrupt. And you guys don’t need to be told twice about StoneWater or Roman. Just be careful.”
He clicked a mouse, showing a map with a spattering of colored dots. “As for Rubicon, our assets are growing by the day. We have sixteen in the power grid, in twelve states; forty in airways, waterways, rail, and roads; two factory farms, three arms manufacturers, and eight Congressman. Sixty two police, thirty six national guard – 4 of senior ranking. And possibly one full General in the Air Force – General Overton. If we turn him, that’s huge. When crap hits the fan, we need someone like him.”
The next slide he showed was of Emory.
“We have some new developments. We have to take Emory’s threat seriously. Pluribus is planning something. Something big, nationwide. And our best guess is that they’re going to try to pin it on the government. Chatter keeps referring to an Operation Cicada. Whatever it is, they’ll be looking to cross the Rubicon with this one.”
He clicked to a blank screen, glancing at Sydney. She instantly felt the heat of the soldiers’ gazes.
“Finally, Sydney has initiated contact with a source inside Reckhemmer’s campaign. If the contact is received, the source could be of utmost importance. None of it leaves this room.”
Nick had taken Asher aside, talking to him in a quiet corner, away from the discussion of sensitive material. That was smart, Sydney thought. And kind. The information had even scared Sydney. Though Rubicon’s mission was to prevent war, they were preparing for it as if it were inevitable. If it did come, they were positioning themselves in every area – power, food, water, weapons, transportation, and politics. Most frightening, though, was knowing that Pluribus and the ARC were doing the same.
“Thanks to these kids,” Dan continued, jerking Sydney back from her daydream, “we know Pluribus kidnapped the married CEOs of Redmond Aerospace Defense and Redmond Robotics and have since returned them to their duties. We assume the Plurbs meant to use the Redmonds’ daughter, Avery, as blackmail to get them to do their bidding. But the Plurbs, and everyone but us for that matter, now believe she died on the cruise. Even so, we have discovered that Pluribus has convinced the Redmonds that Avery is in their possession in order to continue their blackmail. To what end, we don’t know.” He gestured to Sydney and Nick. “But these two will be vital in finding out.”
-------------------------------
Neeson led Cael inside a massive chamber, as big as a basketball court. He had to step over thick cables that snaked their way along the rock to banks of computers facing display screens nearly the size of a movie theater’s. Men and women bustled about, carrying tablets with urgency.
“This is a hub,” Neeson said, watching Cael’s flaccid reaction.
“Hub’a what?”
Chewing his lip with a strain in his forehead, the man turned to Cael. “The war’s already started, Cael. Though the Feds won’t say it, we’ve been fighting under the cover of secrecy for years. We’re jostling for control of key infrastructure: nuclear, electric grid, dams, servers, factories, railroads, airports. We’re testing the loyalties of anyone in uniform. We’re finding or creating dirt on anyone in power, giving us leverage for blackmail. You’ve heard it said that knowledge is power?”
Cael nodded, surveying a map with green dots scattered across North A
merica.
“It may be true, but only if it gives you power over people. People are currency in wars, and some are worth far more than others.”
Cael pointed at the map. “What are all the dots?”
“Factory farms. Crops grow completely indoors at an accelerated rate. We’ll need to feed our troops, with or without the Midwest’s breadbasket. And even if they burn our fields.”
Cael scowled. “This ain’t Pluribus.”
Laughing to himself, Neeson assured him, “Oh, it is. Just not the Pluribus we make ourselves out to be in public.”
“How’d you get all ‘dis?”
They exchanged a hard look before the man gave a cryptic response. “The same donors funding the ARC recognize the need for a group that is willing to fight for the same freedom using whatever methods necessary. We’re a small piece of fabric in a wide umbrella. But that’s enough for now. Follow me.”
He took him into a side room carved from the rock, made private by a sliding door. There were two men already sitting in the room; they stood at the sound of the door and looked him up and down.
“Meet the other Wolves in Wolf Team Eight. We’re a five-man team,” Neeson told Cael, gesturing at the other two. “This is Buzz.” Cael had met Buzz by punching him in the face and taking his gun. Buzz, whose face was just as ugly before the punch as after, had punched Cael’s face a minute later. It hadn’t been the best first impression.
After no greeting from Buzz, Neeson gestured at the large man next to him. “And this is Jerry Humphrey, but we call him Humpy.”
Cael had a permanent squint above his eye’s dark circles, but he had to squint further to make sense of this choice. Humpy was a wide man, wearing cloth shorts and a XXXL shirt pockmarked with grease stains. He had a comb-over and large-framed glasses, but kind eyes and a goofy smile. The man added a snorted hello and a shrug to his heavy breathing.
“You said five, not four and a half,” Cael noted.
Humpy glared at Cael, but Neeson continued. “The fifth is on his way.”
“Who’s the squirt?” Humpy asked.
“Cael,” Cael replied, still squinting.
“You’s remind me of my nephew,” Humpy said with a lively chuckle. “Eats more tobacc’uh than a kid should, ‘specially with prostate problems.”
The four men eyed each other past awkward until Cael finally broke the silence. “This is the sorriest lookin’ team if I’ve ever seen one. No offense.”
Humpy snorted.
Buzz pumped his chin. “A piece of teenaged trailer trash doesn’t help nothin’.”
Cael let the hate breathe out his nostrils. He was in no shape for a fight. There’d be time for that later. He could wait.
“You were all chosen for a reason. An unlikely group. Less predictable. Less visible. You’ll blend in, passed right over by those looking for wolves.”
“Wolves in sheep’s clothing,” Buzz said.
“More like a fat suit,” Cael chided.
Buzz chuckled as Humpy shrugged it off. “You’s were chosen, too. Because you suck in your own special way.”
Neeson waved them off. “You weren’t only chosen because of your looks. I also think each one of you will do what needs to get done.”
“And what’s that? Operation Cicada?” Buzz asked with a cock to his head.
From the doorway came a frightening voice with a deep, clacking vibrato, like a serpent-like monster hidden within a man. “Ssss-sabotage.”
The group’s attention turned to the figure who had entered their cave-office. Orion’s dark hair was short and spiked, his black crossdraw-vest tight, with a high collared undershirt. But the collar only covered half of the odd, metallic device that protruded from his chest, over his Adam’s apple, and into his chin like a metallic cobra had slithered in and out of his body. His black epaulettes displayed his high ranking, but his face displayed it better.
He needed no introduction.
“Sabotage? Sabotage what?” Buzz probed.
Orion smiled and sneered at the same time. Cael wondered if the grimace was his natural smile. And then he spoke.
“We ssss-sabotage peace. To pave the way for Cicada.”
Cael let the thought resonate. They were to sabotage peace? No matter what? Even if the government gave in to their demands? “But we want peace, don’t we? Let’s sabotage the government. Why peace?”
Orion gave Neeson a condescending side look before replying. “Because wolves change a river’s course.”
Not intimidated by Orion’s metallic neck, Cael sneered at his nonsense. “Your snake throat thing givin’ you lead poisonin’ or somethin’?”
“The VSA,” Orion said, ignoring Cael, “is meant to capture wolves – men like us. But they don’t understand our value.” He walked to an office chair and sat, spinning slowly. “A valley in Yellowstone National Park was suffering. It was nearly a wasteland. Wildlife was dying or relocating. Even the rivers had withered away with eroding soil. The reason – the elk were overpopulated. Sure, they wanted peace. But peace only preserves the status quo – a wasteland.”
Orion paced the room. “So, Mr. Park Ranger says he’s bringing in a pack of wolves. People question his ssss-sanity. That would be the last thing many would add to what was already a wasteland. But lo and behold, the wolves kill a few elk and sss-scare the rest to higher ground. The grass grows back and the trees. Birds come back to nest and beavers to eat the wood. Beaver dams create pools for the repopulation of fish, otters, reptiles, et cetera. The wolves even clear away some coyotes, bringing back rabbits and mice and then hawks, foxes, and badgers in turn. And greatest of all, the ssss-soil around the rivers no longer gives way to erosion. It gives the river ssss-strength and direction, and ssss-stability, allowing the habitat to flourish once again.”
Cael took in a deep breath, knowing where he was going with the story.
“No one likes wolves. But it took wolves to disrupt the elks’ peace, and it was for the greater good. We are the wolves.”
Chapter 12
The energy in Greyson’s chest faded with his pain medication. His shoulder started to ache as they hiked the meandering dirt road that Jarryd claimed to be the same one they had taken from their secretive landing spot. Greyson’s hand began to throb next, so hot that he felt he should dunk it in the snow bank. But he knew better. He needed his bandage fresh and sterile as possible.
Jarryd and Avery were so chipper and excited, Greyson could imagine them on the cruise ship where they had met. Though Avery was several inches taller and several more feet out of Jarryd’s league, there was an odd sort of chemistry between the two. Jarryd flirted, praised her, and then pelted her with a snowball. Avery snatched his hat, put snow in it, and placed it on his head, making sure it was at the right angle for his face. It was natural somehow.
But Greyson marched despite his wincing, determined to find the chopper before Rubicon could escape with Sydney. He didn’t know exactly what his plan was, but he knew it started with the heli. Perhaps he would try to fly it away, or hide the keys (if it had any) in order to bribe them to leave Sydney or take them all. Or maybe he would sabotage it so they would have to stay a little longer. He even considered taking the helicopter back to Iowa where his mom was buried. A part of him wanted to talk to her, alone. To share what he thought about Dad. But a tiny, fiery part of him wanted to take it and hunt down Pluribus. He wanted to tear them apart. Every last one of them – even if one of them was his dad.
Kit heard the vehicle first. Then a red, flashing dot appeared on his mini-map to the south.
“Hide!”
They shuffled down the steep ditches, digging their feet into the snow. But only a few seconds after they had lowered themselves, a truck churned around a curve and skidded to a stop above them.
“Get in,” SmokeStack commanded from the open passenger door.
Just like that, his plan was finished.
There was no hi
ding from them. They had known right where he was. But how? And then it struck him. The goggles. Another locator. A leash.
Before long the kids had piled into the soldiers’ vehicle. Grover, the gruff elder of the group was driving. Avery crowded next to Diablo, who stared at her through the eyeholes in his full-face mask, black except for a painted white skeleton with sharp, spider-like bones.
“What were you trying to accomplish?” Forge asked as they bounced along the road in the same direction as they had been going.
Are they not going to take us back?
Before Greyson picked his words, Jarryd jumped to his defense. “We want to see Sydney off before she leaves, okay? Wouldn’t you guys want the same for your ladies?”
Forge eyed the boy in the rear-view mirror.
“Huh?” Jarryd prodded. “Or do you even have ladies? That’s it. They don’t understand, G.”
“Oh, we understand,” SmokeStack countered. “But ladies – full term ladies – are a distraction for men like us. If you fall for them, they just hold you back, mix up your priorities. No offense, girl.”
Avery’s face registered offense, but she kept silent.
“So, none of you have a girlfriend or a wife or a something else?” Jarryd gasped.
“No. ‘Cept Diablo,” Smokestack joked. “He’s a real family man.”
The soldiers laughed – all except Diablo. He was watching the tree line.
“Joking aside,” Forge said after the laugh, “Dan is the only one who had a girl. And he left his unit ‘cuz of her.”
The conversation faded and Greyson took a hard inward look. The soldiers’ perspective matched what he had been realizing since he had jumped off the moving truck in Des Moines to save Sydney, letting go of his last chance to stop the nuclear attack. The soldiers never would have given up the mission for a girl – for anyone. Their mission was their only priority. Everything else was a distant second.
