With that, the council erupted in each person speaking at one time, the various sounds merging into a cacophony of chaos. Simon began slamming his gavel onto the piece of wood on the table, the loud crash echoing over the disquiet voices.
A moment after the gavel began its banging, the voices settled down. Simon twisted his head, as if trying to ring out the experience out of his mind. "Now, councilors, I will remind you that we cannot discuss anything with any meaning if we all speak at once."
Masters slapped the table and he pushed himself up. Looking down on Simon, he said, "You and your comments were out of line."
"No they weren't." All eyes shifted to the other end of the table, toward John Mitchell. "Truth is, you're looking for a reason to hand this family over to this Conklin fella. Before tonight, I might have agreed with ya. Ain't none of our business what they done or where they done it, but on the same token, it ain't our fight.
"If they done wrong, they should pay. Here's the thing about being old though, and you, Mr. Masters, might want to listen in case you ever make it there. Folks 'll talk to ya when they won't talk to most others."
The old man grinned slyly. Jason really didn't know John Mitchell, but something said he wasn't done talking.
"Well?" Masters said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Out with it. Just what did they tell you?"
"The same damn thing Jason's been tellin' ya. What are you? Stupid?" Mitchell asked furiously.
The laughter broke from Jason before he'd realized it. Struggling, he stifled further laughing at the councilor's expense. Simon maintained better self control, but not by much, his face straining from the effort.
Masters was beet red. His eyes darted to his two allies, neither of whom bothered to return his gaze.
"Mr. Chairman? If I may?" Jason said, hoping the act of speaking would refocus him on the task at hand.
Simon nodded.
"Councilors, we have three sources giving remarkably similar accounts. That doesn't happen by accident. Hell, I was a reporter before the war. I would interview multiple eye-witnesses to an event and often not get the same story from any two of them not necessarily the same. The fact that we're getting stories so similar tells you there's truth to them.
"Now, I can't tell you what to do, but I can tell you that there is ample reason to believe that Megan Hernandez is in grave danger if returned to Somerton. There is also ample reason to believe that they are candidates for asylum if nothing else. I simply ask that you think on this for a few days before you turn this family over to Conklin."
Heads nodded around the table, including Evans and Reid surprisingly.
"A hell of an idea," John Mitchell barked. Jason was beginning to regret not getting to know the councilor better.
It was agreed, even Masters grudgingly conceding to Mitchell's wisdom. The next several minutes consisted of some more mundane matters that didn't seem to really impact anything, including the agenda for their next public meeting. None of it really mattered to Jason, so he zoned out and thought about a conversation with Billy earlier.
Holliman had been right. Big shock. Thousands of troops camped right outside New Eden. The town's militia might not be bad, but they only had a few hundred men they could mobilize in town at any given time. At most, he had another two hundred out on various patrols or hunting expeditions. They couldn't win a straight up fight. He had some serious planning to do.
The shuffling of chairs pulled Jason's thoughts back to the here and now. The meeting was breaking up, so he stood and waited for Simon. John Mitchell nodded to him, which Jason gladly returned. The old man was a tough old bastard apparently, and Lord knows the town needed that these days.
The other councilors passed him by. Only Masters looked at him, the newest member firing daggers at Jason with his eyes. Jason simply smiled and nodded politely.
"You just love antagonizing people, don't you?" Simon asked as he walked up.
Jason shrugged. "Love it? Not sure. But it does come natural."
The chairman laughed. "At least it was Masters. You're lucky that Mitchell stepped in when he did."
He nodded. "Yeah, I am. It was almost too convenient."
Simon leaned in and whispered, "That's because he's full of shit."
Jason looked at the other man, puzzled.
"Mitchell didn't talk to a damn soul. He could see you were telling the truth, so he said something that would shut Masters up."
"That dirty, old bastard," Jason muttered as he grinned in admiration.
Simon shrugged. "I told you he was alright."
Smiling, Jason said, "He is at that."
"So what's next?"
"Got to go see Milton."
"Really?"
Jason nodded. "Not really any way around it. He's the only one wired in anymore."
Simon chuckled. "That's one way to put it."
Holding his hands out, palms up, Jason asked, "What? Why does everyone think he's that bad?"
Chapter 6
Conklin sat on the folding chair. It was a lovely design that looked like a regular chair but could collapse for easy travel. The craftsman who made it swore the design dated back to the American Revolution. Conklin didn't give a damn. He just liked having nice things around. Not surprising for a man who'd grown up with nothing.
The trooper entered the tent and saluted. Conklin wasn't about to get up for a mere private. Instead, he nodded, which told the trooper he had permission to drop the salute. His men were disciplined. A lot more so than the rabble Calvin commanded. His "troops" were just militia.
"Report," Conklin barked.
"Sir," the trooper said as he held out the note in his hand. The paper had been folded in three and sealed with wax. It was an old technique, but it worked well enough to see if a note had been read without permission.
Conklin nodded again. The trooper threw up a quick salute, then spun and exited the tent.
Taking a knife from his belt sheath, he pried the seal open to read the contents. As his eyes drank in the words, the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile.
So close now. Oh so close.
** ** **
Milton Thompson was probably the last of the Dot Com millionaires. After he had cashed out of Silicon Valley, he'd packed up his wife and moved to the mountains of Tennessee. Despite the piles of money he'd made with technology, he'd felt that man was losing touch with what had made mankind thrive. That, and he figured it would be easier to pay the mountain cops to look the other way when it came to what he called his "special garden".
The house wasn't particularly large, but was a decent size ranch style house. Dark brown with trim running vertically on the house every couple of feet, kept it from looking like the millions of other ranch houses. Behind the house was a Quonset style greenhouse about the size of a football field, which was the most unique thing about the house.
"Why did I have to come," Hector asked, his voice reminding Jason more of Ricky before the war than an experienced fighter.
"I needed someone to watch my back on the trip and Billy's wife got sick," Jason said. In reality, the three day trip was mostly through New Eden territory, and therefore relatively safe. Unfortunately, relatively safe didn't mean a whole lot in the grand scheme of things. Luckily, it had been uneventful.
"Yeah, that's why he was laughing at me after he told you," he muttered.
"That's true, but seniority has its perks." Jason was enjoying his deputy's discomfort as he pulled up short on the horses outside the front door. Jason knew from experience that Milton knew they were there already. Walking up to the door and knocking, Jason pondered what kind of mood the strange man would be in.
Milton swung the door open, his eyes wild. Jason looked at the older man but barely recognized him. While Milton was normally fairly clean cut, he now sported a scraggly beard, though fairly short. Jason shot a look at Hector in askance. Hector shrugged.
"Milton?" Jason asked, unsure of what the answer would be.
&
nbsp; The scruffy man's eyes widened, a smile cracking through the bird's nest of a beard. "Jason! So good to see you, my boy!"
Jason smiled. "Good to see you too. You remember Hector?" he asked.
Milton nodded. "Yes, oh yes, I remember. I remember him well. Very well indeed. I hope he has his green card on him, oh indeed I do."
Hector sighed.
"Please," Milton continued, "come on in, boys, come on in. You don't want to be outside too long. They'll see you, oh yes they will. They'll see, and they'll know."
Jason knew Milton was weird. Hell, Milton knew that Milton was weird. It wasn't breaking news, but something wasn't quite right. Regardless, he and Hector entered the house after tying off their horses to the front porch railing.
The interior of the house was only spectacular in that it hadn't changed much since the war; sheetrock walls painted warm colors faded slightly over the years, photographs of now long dead friends and family. It looked almost like any other house before the war would have. More than a decade later, however, it was a time capsule of a nearly forgotten era.
"Sit, sit, go ahead and sit. We can talk then, oh yes, we can talk," Milton said, pointing to the slightly worn couch. Hector looked at Jason, who just nodded his head. Their host acted more bizarrely than usual.
Milton seemed oblivious to their concern as he looked over his shoulder. Jason followed the other man's eyes with his own. Two young women, probably in their early twenties, if that, walked into the room. Both were stunning, one blonde and the other a redhead, with all the right curves. Unlike a lot of women post-war, they clearly hadn't gone without food, which made sure they had those curves. "Ah, ladies, meet my friends, oh yes, please do meet my friends. This is Jason, Jason Calvin, and that is Hector. I forget Hector's last name, but his first is Hector."
"Martinez", Hector volunteered.
"Oh, that's right. Hector, Hector Martinez, that's his name." He turned his attention to the two young ladies and put his arm around both. "This is Debbie and Marti. They're new, oh yes, they're oh so new. They're here now, hopefully be here awhile, but who knows how the world will shake out in the grand scheme of things?"
Jason leaned forward, sitting just on the edge of the couch with his forearms resting on his knees. "Milton? What happened to Connie?" Connie was Milton's wife. She was usually the one who kept Milton settled down. Truth was, she handled most any interaction that happened outside of the house, and most inside as well.
"Oh, Connie? Connie went buh-bye," he said, his hand waving at nothing. "She went buh-bye, oh yes, she did. Will she come home? Maybe, maybe not. But I've got Debbie and Marti here with me now, oh yes, Debbie and Marti are here with me now."
The two women watched Jason and Hector, seeming more predator than ally. "Ladies," Jason said, nodding to the two women. Both smiled back but said nothing.
"So, my friends, my very good friends, what can I do for you? Oh yes, what can I do for you today?" Milton asked.
"I'm curious what you're hearing out of the Somerton area? Anything?"
"Somerton? Not much, oh no, no much at all. Why worry about Somerton anyways? It's all the way over in Somerton, after all."
Jason had a very bad feeling. Milton could be odd, to say the least, but he was raving like a mad man. This wasn't even close to normal. Not even for Milton.
"Are you alright?" Jason asked.
"Oh, I'm fine, oh so fine. We've just got to keep away from them, oh they are out there, waiting and watching. They started the whole war, you know. It was all them, all them. The Freemasons, you know, they did it all!"
Jason rolled up his sleeve, revealing the tattoo. "Milton, it's not the Freemasons. See?" he asked pointing to the tattoo. "I am one. We didn't do it, alright?"
Milton's eyes widened in surprise. "So you know! You know all about it. No wonder you made it, no wonder you survived. They made sure you made it, didn't they?"
Jason shook his head. "No, they didn't. I got lucky. Just like a lot of people." Hector groaned softly enough that only Jason could hear it.
"Oh? They didn't warn you?"
Jason shook his head. "No. No one warned me."
"They screwed you over? That's awful! But don't you worry, my boy, because we're in this together, oh yes we are. All in this together…" The older man trailed off, a bit of the wildness drained from his eyes. His two companions kept their focus on the two visitors.
"So, you've got nothing on Somerton?" Jason asked, already knowing the answer.
"Nope. Not a thing, nothing at all, but that's all the way over in Somerton, so no need to fret none on that count, don't you know?"
"Alright. Thanks, Milton. I appreciate your time. I guess Hector and I need to be running. Got a few other stops to make on the way home."
Milton nodded. "Okay, okay, my boy, you run on if you must, oh if you must. You'll come back some other time in the oh so near future?"
"Of course we will," Jason said with a smile.
Milton smiled as the two lawmen walked through the door.
After a few quick goodbyes, the door closed. The two men mounted their horses and began the trip back toward New Eden.
"That guy gets more fucked up every time I see him," Hector said after half an hour.
"Maybe when you see him, but that was different, even for him."
"How so?"
"He and his wife, Connie? They've been absolutely nuts for one another for ages. Ever since I met them, it's been like Gomez and Morticia Adams. Weird, but also kind of cute, you know? But now she just up and left? Really?"
"Maybe the weird was getting to her?"
Jason shook his head. "No, I don't think so. There's something else going on. If nothing else, the guy is loaded down with food and he does most of the work. That greenhouse? He works it, he cooks the food, he cans it, the works."
"That is weird. Hell, I could put up with a lot of crazy if for the easy life these days."
"Exactly. Most would. Why in the hell would she leave?"
The big man shrugged. "No clue, boss."
"Me neither."
** ** **
The horses were exhausted as they whipped through the woods at speeds no sane person would chance during a trip filled with tree limbs, holes, and any number of other things. The Jason, Hector, and the two militiamen who had met up with them on the trip back were far from sane at this moment.
All the two men had said was that there was some kind of an attack. They weren't sure who was responsible. Jason didn't care just now. The two messengers didn't know if either his or Hector's family were hurt or not. They needed speed to find out.
Small branches whipped against Jason's face, stinging his cheeks as the branch tips dug into his skin. He ignored it. His mind filled with visions of his family massacred, his home burned to the ground, and the town in complete disarray.
The smell of smoke invaded his nostrils, fueling his imagination as they got close. Each heartbeat brought new terrors from deep in his psyche.
As the town came into view, some of those visions seem all too real. Several homes had been torched, leaving nothing but smoldering ruins. Slaughtered livestock littered the ground.
They slowed. People ran with little heed for anything else, their tasks occupying every corner of their minds.
The four riders guided their horses through the chaos. Jason didn't give a damn about the town right then. Hector peeled off as they got close to his home. Jason barely noticed, his eyes scanning the casualties, lined up near the church in the town square, for his family. He saw none of them. It was just the wounded. His loved ones' absence did nothing to alleviate his anxiety.
The three remaining riders turned the corner, bringing Jason's house into view. For the first time in two days, he felt himself relax just a bit. The house looked unscathed.
When they got outside the house, he dropped from his mount and ran for the door, throwing it open. "Jess?"
His wife sat on a chair turned backwards, her legs straddling the s
eatback. Ricky stood beside her, Jason's Mossberg 500 shotgun in his hand. Both turned their heads toward him.
In another chair, sitting in the middle of the room, was a man in a black Somerton uniform. His arms tied behind him, his mouth gagged, he'd been beaten pretty badly in the recent past.
"Welcome home, dear. I've got a present for you," Jess said, her voice seductive but her eyes holding a glint of violence.
Jason stood in the doorway, stunned. "What the…?"
She smiled. "This asshole figured that a woman would be easy prey."
"Talk about your backfires, huh?"
Jason turned to the two militiamen beside him. "Let Billy know I'm here and that there's a prisoner. Can you let him know I need him when he gets a chance?"
The two men nodded, then left.
He turned his attention back to the man tied to a chair. "So, what did this 'gentleman' have in mind?"
Jess looked the man in the eye. "Well, Rusty here was just about to tell me all about that."
The man turned away, unable to meet her eye to eye.
"Answer her," Jason growled, his tone one he thought he'd lost over the last decade.
"Conklin…he told us to scare folks…smack them around…and…um…" Rusty stammered.
"And have your way with the women? Is that it?" Jason finished for the black shirted man.
He looked away before nodding.
"And your dumb ass picked Jess, huh?
Again, he nodded.
Jason shook his head and laughed.
The distinctive crack of gunfire came from outside. Jason's head jerked toward the still open door.
Ricky was already moving toward the door, shotgun at the ready. "Bastards keep coming back. Four times now."
Jason bolted for the door. He'd left his AK strapped to his horse. More gunfire echoed through the valley as four men in black uniforms - he'd started thinking of them as blackshirts - burst through the tree line about forty yards away. There was no way he'd get the rifle unstrapped in time, so he pulled his pistol. The CZ-75B was a personal favorite of his, but it hadn't left the holster for some time.
Bloody Eden (Soldiers of New Eden Book 2) Page 5
