Fall Back

by Riley Flynn

  “Shut up,” another hissed, pulling him along. They almost tripped over their own feet as they retreated.

  That left Long Hair and his jerry can. He was still glaring at Jax.

  “What about you, chuckles?” Maggie asked. “You think we’re bluffing, then you don’t know what happened a few days ago at Palmer High.”

  “Oh, I know about it,” the kid said quietly.

  “Then you know what happens if you don’t drop that can.”

  The kid stood there for a full thirty seconds, until Jax was almost certain he would have to order one of the snipers behind the garbage bin to shoot the can out of his hand.

  Finally, the kid leaned down and put the can on the ground. His eyes never left the alley.

  “No problem here,” he said to Maggie as he stood up. “Sorry for the trouble, Sheriff. It was stupid of us to go after this place. Won’t happen again.”

  He kept his gaze on the alley as he turned to walk away. Finally, he started looking where he was going and kept on in that direction. Maggie kept her eyes on him until he disappeared a block later.

  Jax left the alley and joined her in the street, Ruben at his side. Grant, Price and Skolnik followed.

  “Looks like we’re getting better at this,” Ruben said.

  Skolnik’s eyes were wide. “I don’t believe it. I thought for sure I was going to die.”

  “Jesus,” Price grumbled.

  “Nice work,” Jax said to Maggie.

  “Thanks. And thanks for giving me the option.”

  He thought for a moment, then said: “Are you—attached? I mean, do you have anyone at home?”

  Her cheeks flushed, and suddenly Jax realized what he’d just said.

  “I didn’t mean—It’s just that, if you don’t have anyone to, you know, go home to, you could join us.”

  “I—I don’t know,” she said.

  “Things are just going to get worse out here. Cheyenne Mountain has running water, power, heat. The resort isn’t quite as self-sufficient, but it’s better than out here.”

  She bit her lip. “Can I think about it?”

  Jax nodded. “Chances are you’re going to end up drafted anyway,” he said. “Might as well beat the rush.”

  He gave her a radio and showed her how to use it to contact him at Cheyenne.

  “Drafted,” she said quietly. “Yeah. I guess I have to think about that.”

  ***

  In an alley two blocks away, Malcolm Austin stopped and propped an arm against a ramshackle fence that barely held his weight. He pulled out his member and urinated on the crabgrass that had taken over the fence line where it met the gravel.

  “Stupid to go after that place,” he muttered to himself. His long hair draped down across his face as he leaned against the fence. “Want to get somethin’ done, we need to go after people.”

  He gave himself a shake and zipped up his jeans before shuffling back into the late afternoon heat.

  Chapter 18

  “Your liberating skills aren’t up to Smith’s,” Ruben said as he glanced at the brown liquid in the cup.

  Jax shrugged. “I had to go with what was at hand. Unfortunately, 7-11 isn’t known for its selection of top-shelf whiskey.”

  He’d stopped the transport on their way back to Cheyenne and given the men orders to grab whatever they wanted. The food had been pretty much picked through—convenience stores were the hardest hit by looting since the majority of their wares were so highly processed they’d still be good years from now. But there was still lots of booze left. It just wasn’t quite up to the level they’d reached with their last bottle.

  Now they were in the mess, celebrating the fact that no one had been killed that afternoon. A report from a routine patrol said the fire was close to burning itself out. Subsequent patrols would monitor it overnight.

  Ruben took a swig and grimaced. “Smooth,” he gasped.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Jax knocked back some of his own and found himself slapping the table. He swallowed hard. “Okay, point taken.”

  It was the first time Jax could remember feeling relaxed since they’d arrived at Cheyenne. He didn’t know if he was building up a spiritual callous to the situation, or if it was just the satisfaction of a successful mission, but he was actually in a good mood.

  “How was Hayley’s first day of school?” Ruben asked.

  “I don’t know if you’d call it school, exactly,” Jax said. He noticed Ruben was sipping a little more easily now. “But I think it was good for her. She said they spent the day playing games. The older kids were the leaders.”

  “That’s better than nothing, I guess.”

  “The teacher said her orders are to keep the kids occupied, and to answer their questions honestly. That’s about all we can expect right now.”

  Ruben refilled his cup. Apparently he was as eager to drink as Jax.

  “How are things with you and Hayley?”

  Jax nodded. “Better, I think. You know me, man. I don’t know what I’m doing with all this. I’m used to shouting orders, not talking to kids.”

  “Nobody knows what they’re doing at first. You learn as you go.” He drank. “Not that I know any more than you do.”

  “I guess. We hung out for a while after school, just shooting the breeze. Had supper together.”

  Ruben grinned and raised his cup. “All right! That’s something, my friend.”

  Beside Jax, three other Echoes who had been drinking together suddenly lurched to their feet and saluted. He glanced to his left and saw Archer walking toward their table just as Ruben did. The two of them followed suit even more awkwardly.

  “At ease,” the general barked. “Jesus, men, don’t put yourself in a cast just to salute me. We need every able body we can get.”

  They sat back down and Archer took the seat next to Jax. He nodded at Ruben across the table.

  “Congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant,” he said. “Well deserved.”

  “Thank you, sir, I appreciate it. Same to you.”

  “They couldn’t have picked a better man for the job, sir,” said Jax.

  “All right, holster those lips, my ass is chapped enough as it is.” Archer picked the bottle off the table and scowled. “Where do you men shop for whiskey, 7-11? You know this stuff is just lying around, right?”

  They looked at each other, embarrassed.

  “I don’t have much time,” he said. “This fucking job is going to kill me. I just wanted you to know I read your report, Captain. Nice work out there today. I don’t know if I would have had the patience for that kind of reaction myself.”

  Jax nodded. “Sir. I’m just glad we’re making some progress.”

  Archer leaned in. “What are your first impressions of Smith?”

  Jax chose his words carefully. He knew Archer valued his opinion, but he also had to keep working for Smith.

  “The colonel doesn’t mince words,” he said. “That’s a plus in our situation, I think.”

  “Mm. I was hoping you’d say that. He comes highly recommended.”

  Ruben nodded. “What’s his background, sir? if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Jax glared at him. Subtle, that look said. Ruben ignored him.

  “Classified,” said Archer. “I know that’s not what you want to hear.” He sighed. “Everything in this new job is classified, it seems.”

  Jax thought the old man’s expression was oddly wistful. He didn’t know how to interpret it, but these days everyone seemed to be experiencing a whole gamut of new emotions, himself included.

  “Anyway, Smith knows what he’s doing,” the general said. “Follow his orders just as you always followed mine.”

  That made Jax wonder what Smith thought of his actions that afternoon. His orders had almost sounded like he was telling Jax to go in and mow down the protestors, but he could have been wrong. The fact that he handled it another way hadn’t resulted in any official rebuke from Smith—yet.

  Archer ro
se. “All right, I need to get a move on. Meeting the president at HQ.”

  “Sir, before you go,” Jax said. “I had occasion today to consider drafting the acting sheriff of El Paso County into our little unit. She’s been an asset to us twice.”

  He nodded. “I read the report. We can use every good soldier we can get. Run it past Smith first, but make it happen.”

  “Sir.”

  Archer gave a cursory salute and marched out before the rest of Echo even realized he was gone. Ruben poured himself another shot of whiskey, then topped up Jax’s cup.

  “What do you think the old man meant by ‘everything is classified’?” he asked.

  Jax shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

  “Seems to me there’s no point in classifying anything anymore. I mean, what’s worse than what we already know? You can’t hide what’s going on from anyone. It’s as in-your-face as you can get.”

  “I suppose they need to keep their plans quiet. There are some tough decisions ahead, especially with winter coming. A lot of sacrifices that’ll have to be made. And we still don’t know how the whole relationship with civilians is going to roll out.”

  Ruben sighed. “Yeah, all right, I hear you. I just can’t help thinking about this old song that keeps going through my head. Remember the Jason Bourne movies when we were kids?”

  “Yeah. Could sure use him right about now.”

  “Ain’t that the truth. Anyway, that song that used to play at the end credits?”

  Jax nodded. “Yeah, synthesizer. I remember.”

  “It’s called Extreme Ways. There’s a line in it about so many dirty things you couldn’t even believe. I can’t get it out of my head.”

  Jax finished his whiskey and poured more. He was starting to feel a warm blanket wrapping around his brain and blocking out the bullshit.

  “How about we stop talking about this?” he said. “You’re killing my buzz.”

  Ruben tipped back his own cup and emptied it. “I’m on board with that. I’m killing my own damn buzz.”

  By the time they both stumbled back to their bunks later that night, they’d finished that bottle and half of another.

  Chapter 19

  Malcolm Austin had realized his fatal mistake and was telling everyone in the park who would listen.

  The area had become a gathering place in the wake of the ill-fated attack on the strip mall two days earlier. A lot of people from outlying areas, like Rob Taylor, had gravitated downtown to spend their days commiserating with other survivors and scavenging for whatever they could find.

  “We shouldn’t have done it drunk,” Austin told a group that included Rob, Steve, and a couple of others who had turned tail when the sheriff offered them amnesty that afternoon. Others around them talked amongst themselves; several of them were drinking.

  “No shit,” said Steve. “That was the first mistake. The other was not knowing what the fuck we were doing.”

  Rob nodded, vaguely agreeing. He wasn’t sure why he’d bothered to get involved that day, but part of it was definitely the beer. Another factor was that it was something to do, and firing off some rounds was wicked fun.

  Austin shook his head. “I knew what I was doing,” he said. “I was protesting. I was demonstrating that we got rights.”

  “Yeah, and what did it get us?” Steve asked. “Nothing, that’s what. We’re lucky we didn’t get shot like your old man.”

  “That’s another thing we’re doing,” Austin said, pointing a finger at his companion. “We’re fucking protesting that they killed my dad.”

  “I want to protest that we don’t have any electricity!” Rob interjected, suddenly angry. “I’m sick of using that camp lantern. And using bottled water to wash my hands.”

  A few people around them who had been silent started nodding.

  “He’s right,” said Steve. “I can’t even take a shower. I reek, man.”

  Rob nodded. He’d moved to a motel nearby because the smell in the condo he had been staying in had gotten to be too much. There must have been people who died in the other units. He chose his new quarters based on the belief that nobody went to a motel to die. A few others here in the park had followed his lead and were now his neighbors.

  “I met a woman in another suite who looks like she hadn’t eaten in a week,” he said. “I think she’s kind of gone soft in the head, too. All she does is sit there chain-smoking and asking me if I know where to get oranges. She needs help.”

  Nods and agreement all around. “Lots of people like that,” someone in the crowd said.

  “That’s why we need to make a plan,” Austin said loudly. “So let’s do it!”

  “Okay,” said Rob. “You go first, seeing as how you’re so smart.”

  More murmurs of agreement. Apparently Rob wasn’t the only one who was tired of the guy’s constant moaning. Either do something or shut up about it.

  Malcolm shot him a defiant look. “All right, I say we go right into that base at Cheyenne Mountain and storm the place. They’ve got a huge supply of fresh water, and a power plant. I bet there’s a shitload of food in there, too.”

  The comment elicited stunned silence from the group for a handful of seconds. Then they broke into peals of laughter.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Steve hooted. “I went on a field trip to that place when I was in school. The front door is, like, three feet thick. And it’s full of soldiers, you moron! Yeah, we got guns, but they’ve got better ones, and they’re trained!”

  Rob shook his head. “Are you even from here?”

  A sullen scowl was Austin’s only reply.

  “We need to face facts,” said Steve. “We have to do what the army tells us. Either that or head into the woods to live, and I’m not ready to do that. It’s gonna get Christly cold here in a couple of months, and I don’t feel like living in a tent and eating rabbit over an open fire all winter.”

  “You’d rather live here as a slave, then?”

  Rob turned in the direction of the person who spoke. It was a guy who looked to be in his late forties who’d been hanging around at the back of the group for the past several hours. Rob thought he’d seen him around a couple times in the past few days, too. He always wore plain T-shirts that showed off his muscular frame, and his close-cropped hair was starting to creep toward silver.

  “What are you talking about?” Steve asked. “I’m not anybody’s slave, man. Forget that right now.”

  “That’s what they want you to be,” the man said, stepping forward. As he did, Rob noticed a pair of military issue boots on the guy’s feet. “They need slaves, and you people are it.”

  “That’s crazy,” Steve scoffed. “Paranoia. We have rights. It’s in the Constitution. We just need to fight for them.”

  “With rifles?” the man asked. “Jerry cans full of gasoline? How’d that work out for you the last time?”

  Malcolm Austin finally rejoined the conversation. “It’s more than you did,” he said. “You weren’t even there.”

  “I was watching from a distance. Didn’t want to be caught up when the army decided to crack down on you, which I knew they would.”

  “Fuck you, man,” Austin grumbled. “Least we did something.”

  “I’m all for doing something,” said the man. “I just prefer to do it right. Have a plan. Be prepared. Hit them where it hurts.”

  Austin perked up at that; this guy was speaking his language. Rob himself was curious now, too.

  “What’re you talking about?” Rob asked.

  “If you want to have a real effect, you’re going to need a real plan. One that can maximize your strengths and exploit your enemy’s weaknesses. Then you need real weapons. Ones that can match those that you’ll be going up against.”

  “Like what?” Steve asked, clearly intrigued.

  “Rocket launchers, .50-caliber machine guns, grenades. That kind of thing.”

  Austin scoffed. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “We’ll just head over to
Walmart and grab that shit, then we’ll come back here and you can make your plan.”

  A chuckle ran through the crowd. The man waited patiently for it to die down before he continued.

  “We’ll make the plan first,” he said. “As for the weapons, I know where to get my hands on everything we need. I just need your help.”

  Rob’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

  The man offered his outstretched hand. “Nick Roth,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Chapter 20

  “So if I sign up, do I get to live here?” Maggie asked as they took their seats at the conference table.

  Carly Grant shook her head. “The hotel’s not as great as you might think.”

  “It beats my shitty apartment. At the very least, the beds have got to be better than my futon.”

  “You do know you can pretty much move in anywhere in the city,” Jax said, taking his own seat opposite Maggie and beside Carly. “Squatters’ rights.”

  “Yeah,” said Ruben. “Except for, you know—previous tenants, if you get my drift.”

  “We get it,” Jax said with a snide grin. “Thanks for the image, by the way.”

  Carly and Maggie both tried to hide a giggle and couldn’t. Maybe there was hope for this thing yet.

  “Moving along,” Jax said. “We’re just waiting on a couple of folks from logistics. Then we can get down to business.”

  As if on cue, the door opened and a middle-aged woman hobbled into the room, followed closely by a young Asian man with a clipboard.

  “Pardon our tardiness,” said the woman. “It’s not easy to get around this place on a bad hip. I’m Capt. Jill Beckett, this is Lt. Carey Fujita.”

  Jax made the rest of the introductions as the new arrivals took their seats.

  “Sorry to hear about your hip,” he said to Beckett. “That must be difficult for you in these new circumstances.”

  She smiled. “I like that. ‘New circumstances’. You should be in politics.”