Ben nodded. "Figured it was something like that."
"You and Daryl were friends, right?"
He nodded again.
"Did he talk to you about why he shut me out?"
He shrugged. "Not really. Saw him doing it though. A lot of us did. Figured he didn't want you taking over or something."
Jason shook his head. "For what it's worth? Trying to keep stuff tight to the vest so you're indispensible? Never works the way you want."
The other man chuckled. "Yeah, unless you're a medieval guild." Ben had been in college, studying history with hopes to get a PhD in medieval history. He never missed an opportunity to talk about the Middle Ages.
Jason shrugged. "Maybe, but they still shared it with plenty of folks. They just made sure everyone was vested in keeping quiet. One craftsman wasn't indespensible, because there were plenty of other craftsmen who knew the same stuff."
"That's fair," Ben said with a sad smile. He and Jason chatted about medieval history from time to time.
"I wonder what all we lost," Jason said, his eyes starting to look at the dense forest around him.
"You need numbers?"
Jason refocused on the other man. "No. I know those. Not what I meant though," he said, then let his eyes drift again. "I wonder what all we lost as far as knowledge. We're trying to piece a world back together. That's what New Eden's supposed to be about."
"Well, I know we lost Dave Jenkins." Jenkins was a tinsmith extraordinaire and not half bad with precious metals like gold and silver.
"Damn," Jason said, dropping his gaze to the ground by his feet. "I always like Dave."
"Everyone did. He was one of those guys."
** ** **
The battered troops staggered into town a week later. By that point, no one was riding unless there was absolutely no choice about it. Jason didn't know a lot about horses, but he knew they were living beings and that he could only push them so far.
As they passed the outlying farms, kids sprinted toward town, all hoping to be the first to announce the militia's return. Passing by the people of New Eden, people who had already experienced so much pain and privation, now looked on at friends and neighbors who'd just had a whole new taste. A defeated army has a very distinct look, and everyone picked it up.
A mass of bodies lined the road leading toward the town square by the time the militia got there. Sad eyes scanned the remnants, desperate for the sight of a loved one.
Jason did his best to hold his head up, to look people in the eye. Some of them had lost someone they cared about. Hell, most of them had. The least he owed them was to be acknowledged.
The militia finally wound its way through town and into the town square. Across the square, the council waited outside the council building.
"Dismissed," Jason called over his shoulder. The men had been through enough. There wasn't any reason to drag it out even further.
Jason made his way across the square, his eyes locked on the council.
When he finally got close enough, Cory Masters blurted, "What the hell happened?"
"Inside," was all that Jason said.
"I want to know what the hell happened! Answer me!"
Jason stepped closer toward the building, stopping just beside Masters. "I fucking said inside," he growled.
The councilman jumped at the tone, his eyes widening as he looked at his fellow council members for support.
Jason entered the council building, the council members filing in behind him. The click of the door was a signal. Jason spun and grabbed Cory Masters with both hands and slammed him against the door.
"What the hell!" the councilman yelped, his anxious eyes darting from side to side.
"You! You, you little fuck!" Jason growled, using all of his self control to not rip the council member into pieces.
"What are you talking about?" he asked Jason, then looked at the other council members. His allies stood in slack-jawed shock. Simon and Mitchell watched, arms crossed. "Aren't you all going to do something?"
"Of course they aren't. I'm willing to bet they're pretty interested to hear how you interfered with the militia."
Simon's arms dropped as he stepped forward. "That's pretty serious. Are you sure?"
Jason nodded. "Daryl didn't bother to talk to Holliman. Best intelligence we had, and he didn't come to ask him any questions. None."
Masters struggled at Jason's arms, doing his best to break the vice like grip. "That was his decision. I didn't have anything to do with that!"
"Yeah? Then how come he said he'd been told the intelligence wasn't reliable? Only my two guys and the people in this room knew about Holliman. That's it, and my guys believe him."
"You're nuts!"
"I just watched over four hundred of our people get slaughtered. You're damn right I am." Jason said, his eyes growing more wild with each word.
"Jason," Simon said. "You need to put him down."
"What I really need to do is take those four hundred dead out of his ass."
Master's eyes grew about four sizes as a puddle formed on the floor. "No…no…please…I didn't mean anything, really. I just-"
"Shut up!" Jason yelled, small drops of saliva sailing through the mere inches between the two men's faces.
"Put him down, Jason. I mean it."
Jason dropped the man, who immediately collapsed on the floor, oblivious to the fact he was sitting in his own urine.
"What happened?"
"McDaniel didn't talk to Holliman, so he didn't know what Somerton's capabilities were. Then he fucked up and didn't do any meaningful recon."
"Really?"
Jason nodded and took a deep breath. He forced the rage that consumed him down, but didn't dare even look at Cory Masters.
In as much detail as he could muster, he recounted the days leading up to the battle, and the battle itself. When he'd finished, the council members stood in various states of disbelief.
"I didn't…that's not what he was supposed to do," Masters said.
"What the hell did you think was gonna happen, boy?" John Mitchell barked. "You're his buddy on the council. You say something like that, what the hell did you think he was gonna do? Ignore you? You son of a bitch. You might as well have put a gun to his head and pulled the damn trigger."
Jason nodded. "Yeah, he wasn't. But McDaniel should have reconned Somerton better. Should have tried to figure out what was going on there, capabilities, the works"
"Did he know that Conklin had over two thousand troops with him when he was here?"
Jason shrugged. "I offered to share my intel with him, but he passed. I assumed the council had briefed him."
"You!" Masters blurted. "You should have made sure he knew! Then you come in here, blaming it all on me?"
"Shut up!" Mildred Evans screamed. "I'm tired of you and your ridiculous notions. I'm absolutely sick of them."
Stunned eyes settled on the woman, normally so quiet and preferring to work behind the scenes to make things happen.
Evans continued, "I looked at every face that came back. Did you? Do you even care? One of the faces that left but didn't come back was my grandson. You, you sanctimonious piece of shit, tell a militia commander something like that, and they take it as gospel. You either knew that, in which case, you're responsible for all of those dead, or you didn't, in which case you're a complete idiot."
Evans turned her attention to Jason. There was no love lost between the two, mostly because Evans had this idea that all of her ideas of morality should be enforced as law, and Jason strongly disagreed. "As for you, Sheriff Calvin, do you honestly believe that Daryl McDaniel would have listened to you if you'd told him the reported troop strength?"
Jason shook his head. "No, ma'am, I don't."
"Are you still kicking yourself in the rear? If we need a scapegoat, I think Masters will do nicely, but I'd rather avoid that. The truth is, I voted for Daryl because of personal differences with the sheriff and not because I thought Daryl was the
best man for the job."
She held her hands up defensively, then continued, "Now, I thought he could do it, so I'm not saying I really didn't think he was capable. I'm just saying he wasn't the best."
Jason nodded. In fact, he'd thought McDaniel was capable as well. Truth was, had Masters kept his mouth shut, he might have done just fine. No one would ever know for certain, however.
"Jason?" Simon said. "Can you step outside? We've got some council business to discuss."
Jason nodded. Based on what had just happened, he knew what was going to happen. Cory Masters wasn't going to be much of a problem any longer.
He considered for a moment before nodding his head. That very thing had been in the back of his mind from the moment he'd been able to focus on something other than not being killed.
** ** **
Conklin picked his way carefully down the old staircase. The ancient town hall's basement had never been high on the list of priorities when time for remodeling came up. The rickety stairs, even less so. Not that Conklin was particularly picky. The fact was, the difficulty in getting down was more of a feature than a bug.
Rotted furniture, a thick blanket of dust covering them, created an obstacle course along the concrete floor. More dust floated through the air like a swarm of bugs in a summer meadow.
Conklin negotiated the course with the ease brought about by repetition.
A closed steel door with a small diamond shaped window brought him up short. Conklin peered through the glass, black lines crisscrossing the pane. The single bulb dangling in the hallway cast light too dim to penetrate the darkness on the other side of the door.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a key and unlocked the door. Stepping in, he flipped the switch by the door.
Another dim bulb hung just inches from the ceiling, too high to reach without a ladder. Despite the poor light, the room's occupant squinted. He wasn't surprised by that. In fact, he counted on it.
This was his domain. Megan Hernandez wasn't the first he'd put in this room. She wouldn't be the last, either. He had a pattern for the women he brought down here, and it served him well.
This time, things were different though. Rather than cowering in the corner, Megan Hernandez stood. Her arms were shackled and chained, so her mobility was next to nothing, but she still was standing.
"What are you going to do?" she said, her voice still strong.
Conklin felt the rage growing within. It's bad enough that she wasn't as terrified as she was supposed to be, but worse that she dared speak.
SLAM! The back of Conklin's hand connected with Megan's face, spinning the woman around.
That'll teach the little bitch, he thought, as a vicious smile crossed his face.
Megan turned to face him. Slowly. A murderous glint in her eye, she stood upright once again.
The rage grew within him. Didn't this stupid bitch know who he was? Of course she did. She'd run away from him, so she was scared. She had to be.
Still, this was definitely not fear he was looking at.
"Oh, you've got some fire? I like that. It makes breaking you even sweeter," he said, forcing his voice to remain calm despite the seething fury within him.
"You ain't seen shit yet," she said, drawing herself up a bit taller.
Conklin smiled malevolently. "You talk a big game for a bitch chained to the floor, you know that?"
"Yeah, well, it helps that you fucked with the wrong town. You really think they're going to let this stand?"
"Actually, I do," he said.
"If it'd just been us, maybe. But their own?"
Conklin laughed, then threw a right cross that connected with her cheek. "You stupid cunt," he said, no hint of humor left in his voice. "Oh, they tried. We've got the bodies burning outside of town right now. They tried, and they were slaughtered."
He threw another backhand, this time connecting with the other cheek. "Hell, coming for you girls might have killed their entire pathetic town."
"I don't believe you."
Conklin shrugged, the rage growing exponentially. It was harder to feign calm. "That's alright. We're arranging a little surprise that should do a fine job of driving the point home that they'd best leave well enough alone."
It was her turn to laugh, the melodious sound fueling the rage even more. "I talked to a lot of folks about those people. You really think Jason Calvin listens to messages?"
He smiled, this time it was genuine. "He'll get this one."
** ** **
Al Hollimon sat across the table from Jason. The last two days had been spent with memorial services. Reverend Hardesty had been busy, but so had Jason. Memorial services for over four hundred people, and funerals for three of the wounded that hadn't made it tended to draw on your time.
The room wasn't anything special. Whitewashed walls amplified what little light leaked in through barred windows. The desk was basic in design, as were the chairs. An oil lamp sat on the desk between the two men.
"Alright, tell me everything," he said to the Somerton man.
The other man raised a single eyebrow. "Um, where do I start?"
"Start with Conklin. Give me his story."
Holliman nodded. "Conklin came to town right after the war. He was in command of an Army unit that showed up about three months after everything went to shit."
Jason nodded. "Deserters?"
"From what I understand, lots."
Jason remembered the stories. After the war, the military effectively didn't exist. No government left to call the shots meant no one to give the military orders.
Some units did what they could, while others went raider. The raider units tended to have high desertion rates, since most people really didn't want to kill innocent people just over some food.
"Then?"
"To start with, he seemed like a decent enough sort. Offered to help protect the town in exchange for some food. We'd been holding out, but the raiders were getting stronger so we weren’t sure how long we could keep doing that, so we took him up on it."
Jason nodded. It wasn't unusual, even for the "good" units to make similar offers to small towns. A few of them made homes a bit further up the valley, as a matter of fact.
"I've got to ask you a question though," Holliman said.
Jason raised an eyebrow in response.
"You going back?"
He nodded. "Waiting on the official go ahead. They're 'discussing' it at the moment."
"And if you don't get it?"
"Then I'm going anyways, but I'm probably out of a job when I get back."
Holliman smiled. "A man after my own heart."
"I'm glad you think so, because you're going to come with me."
"Oh?"
Holliman had been holed up in the jail most of the time since Somerton's raid, so Jason filled him in on the failed rescue. Holliman shook his head.
"That's a damn shame," the resistance member said. "We could have helped. We'd have loved to have helped."
"You'll get your chance."
Holliman nodded. "Good."
Jason was about to speak when a knock on the door interrupted him.
He got up and opened the door. Billy stood outside. "Boss, we've got something outside. You need to see it."
Jason nodded, then turned to Holliman. "You stay here." He didn't wait for a response before following his friend out the room.
Billy sprinted down the rough stairs, his long, powerful legs eating up the ground beneath him. Jason's shorter legs meant he had to sprint even harder just to keep pace.
As he exited the building, a mass of people were moving toward the town square, as was Billy.
Jason wove his way through the growing throng until he finally saw what the commotion was all about.
In the middle of the square stood a horse. While Jason didn't know much about horses, he knew this thing would barely qualify for any description like "old nag" and not even come close for anything better. The horse pulled a worn cart. The
cart had some kind of load, a load covered by a thick brown tarp.
The council, minus Cory Masters, stood near the back of the cart, John Mitchell standing with an arm around a sobbing Mildred Evans.
Simon turned as Jason approached.
"What's up?" Jason asked.
The chairman simply nodded toward the cart.
Jason peered at Simon quizzically, then turned his attention toward the cart. He stepped forward and pulled up the tarp.
Beneath it were the heads of the New Eden dead. Several he recognized, but just barely, including Daryl McDaniel.
Bile rose in his throat as he fought the urge to vomit. He'd seen a decapitated head before. Hell, he'd decapitated a man himself, almost a decade earlier. It wasn't a new experience.
This was different.
Jason turned to a townsman, one he knew had a way with animals. "Get this out of here, will you?"
The man nodded, then stepped forward to take the horse.
Jason directed him to a place just outside of town and asked him to hold it there for a little while.
He then turned to the council. "We need a work party. They deserve a proper burial, but we just don't have the time to dig all those graves."
Simon nodded. He began to speak when an odd whistling sound pierced through the air.
Joe Campbell, who'd done several tours in Iraq, started screaming. "Everyone, down!" a second before a loud explosion rocked the south end of town.
Another whistle, another explosion. This was to the north. Jason knew they were being bracketed.
The only weapon he had was the CZ in his holster, which wouldn't be enough to deal with Somerton troops, but he had to do something.
He wasn't an expert on mortars, but had read a handful of things about them. One thing he knew was that they fired at a very high angle. That meant they used a clearing, and one not too far away.
Only one place fit the bill as far as he could tell.
As he ran, he screamed, "Get to the shelters!"
The town had dozens of deep storm shelters. Joe had helped design them to withstand artillery to some extent, figuring that if it could take near misses by massive cannons, then a tornado wouldn't be too devastating.
Bloody Eden (Soldiers of New Eden Book 2) Page 9
