She wandered down the timber stairs and was heading out to the communal latrines when Gert almost ran into her.
"Oh, Jessie. I was coming to see you."
"Have you heard from Devon?"
He shook his head. "No. I'm sorry. But it was Devon I wanted to talk about."
"Look, I know you two parted on bad terms, but he'll come around."
"Maybe, but that's not what I meant. I could do with some advice. I'm going after him."
Jessie looked into the haunted, black-ringed eyes of the Dutchman. He looked as though he was on the edge of a breakdown, but he was also the only person she'd want on Devon's trail. "Wait here, I gotta go to the bathroom. Then we can talk."
"Scriver will know," Jessie said.
"Yeah, I figured. But will he tell me?"
Jessie came to a halt beneath an oak tree that stood alone at the edge of a field bordering Adelie Creek. They had wandered to the north of the main settlement now, attracted by the fecund greenery of this corner of Springs. "I think you could probably persuade him."
"Problem is, it might not stop there," Gert said. "I am so … angry."
She gestured him to sit alongside her on one of the tree's great roots. Barely a trickle of water flowed along the river, but this was nevertheless an oasis in the middle of an arid landscape. "I know, I see it in you. You're scared you might not be able to control it."
"I shouldn't have killed her, Jessie. Lieve God."
"No, you shouldn't."
He swayed a little as he sat beside her, this strong man overcome with a vulnerability accrued from months in the front line. "I told myself she would reveal where we were heading."
"Isn't that true?"
"Maybe. But what of it? I'd bet that Mendoza knows about us one way or another."
Jessie swung around to him. "You mean Devon's told him?"
"No, I don't think he would, whatever they did to him. But Marianna is weak. And even if she doesn't crack, the chances are they know we're here and they only don't attack because they're consolidating in Hope. Soon enough, Mendoza will come."
Gert leaned forward as if he were about to curl into a ball and roll into the mud at the bottom of the bank. Then he wiped his face and stared ahead. "I will go after Devon. He is a good man."
He sat up again and turned to her, tears moistening the corners of his eyes. "It seems, perhaps, we both love him. Each in our own way."
Jessie smiled. "Yeah. And that's why I'm coming with you."
It was as if she'd shoved a firework up his butt. He leaped to his feet. "No! You will not come! You ... you're ..."
"A woman?" she said, her face hardening. "Don't disappoint me, Gert. I didn't see you as a sexist pig."
He shook his head. "No. It's not that. But you're pregnant."
"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed!" She stood and jabbed a finger at him. "Now, you listen to me. I am sick and tired of being left behind while the menfolk ride off into the sunset. Where exactly has that got us? Are we safe yet, Captain Caveman?"
Gert's mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged.
"Anyway, you can't go alone." Not least, Jessie thought, because someone has to keep you on your leash.
"Maybe that's true, but there are others I could take."
"Men?"
He shook his head. "People who aren't pregnant."
"Well, tough. I'm coming or neither of us is going."
Gert moaned and collapsed onto the tree root again. "It doesn't seem that I have a choice in the matter. Who will look after Dorothy?"
"Jade. She's a natural, to everyone's surprise."
"Perhaps she would be a better choice to accompany me. She is younger, fitter and knows how to handle weapons."
Jessie slumped down. "All of that is true, but you needn't think you can change my mind by insulting me. Devon's my responsibility and I'm coming. Period. Now, would you mind shutting up so we can enjoy a few minutes of peace before we go talk to Scriver?"
Jade had been even harder to persuade than Gert. She'd seemed absolutely terrified of being left alone to look after Dorothy and had only been mollified when Lynda Strickland wandered into earshot and agreed to act as backup. Jessie had a little sympathy. Nothing about Jade's past had prepared her to look after a child. But then, that was true for all of them.
Scriver, on the other hand, was keen to help. But he'd also insisted on coming as the price of revealing where Marianna and Devon were heading. His wounds had healed well enough, but his left arm was still strapped to his side.
Gert got into the front seat of the Land Rover and looked across at Jessie. "We make quite the rescue team, don't we? I bet if Devon knew his fate depended on a pregnant woman, a one-armed politician and a mad Dutchman he'd be counting his hens right now."
"Chickens. Counting his chickens," Jessie said with a smile. She was terrified of what was to come, but for the first time in months, she felt as though she was at least partly in control. Finally, she was an actor in the movie of her life and not merely an extra being catapulted from scene to scene with no lines to deliver, no actions to take.
Chapter 10: Scriver
Scriver leaned forward, his head between the two front seats as they approached the military camp at Brown. "Something's very wrong."
Gert nodded. "Yeah. Looks a mess."
"I've known Wayne Travis for many years. Not an imaginative man, but one of the most effective commanders I ever met. And he wouldn't let us get this close to the camp without being challenged."
Jessie rolled down the window as they stopped in front of the barrier. A guard wandered across, leaned down and looked inside. "What's your business here?"
Scriver called through from the back. "Who's in command here?"
The guard leaned inside, squinting in the shade of the car after the brightness outside. "Who's asking?"
"My name is Marshall Scriver, Chairman of the Sons of Solomon."
Jessie watched as the guard's head went still, as if he'd stuck his head into a wasps' nest and was hoping they hadn't noticed. He sucked air in between his teeth and said in a low voice, "I can put your voice to that name, Mr. Scriver, and I'm glad you survived the attack, but you gotta understand. Things are different around here."
One of the other guards moved forward. "What's going on, Reebus?"
The guard banged his head on the roof of the car as he turned. "Just checkin' what they got in here." Then he turned to the back and whispered, "Take my advice and turn around. Commander Travis is … gone. O'Connell's in charge."
"Two of our friends came here a few days ago," Jessie said. "Where are they?"
"Ms. DeMille and a black fella?"
But, before he could say any more, the second guard had pulled the first out of the window and replaced him. His gaze took in Jessie first, then his eyes narrowed as he spotted Gert scowling alongside her. Finally, he picked out Scriver on the back seat. "Do I know you?"
"I am Chairman Scriver, here to see your commander."
The guard gasped. "Then you'd better come inside. O'Connell will be glad to welcome you, I'm sure."
As he straightened up, the guard's gaze settled on Jessie with unmistakable hunger. But she gripped the steering wheel and drove the car through the now-open barrier, following Reebus as he led them to park in the same place that, days before, Devon and Marianna's car had occupied.
Reebus opened the door, keeping his carbine trained on them as the other guard strode back to the barrier. Jessie got out and looked around. The place looked like more like a shantytown than a military camp. Garbage was piled into heaps behind the assortment of tents and ramshackle farm buildings centered on the barn that functioned as a headquarters.
Jessie just caught Reebus's whisper as he fell in behind Scriver. "I don't advise going in there. If you make a run for it, I'll create a diversion."
Scriver shook his head slowly and Reebus shrugged as a figure emerged into the sunlight.
"You must be O'Connell," Scriver said. "My n
ame is Marshall Scriver. You and your men pledged loyalty to me. I am here to collect on your promise."
For a moment, O'Connell's face stiffened as his mind raced. Then, coming to its conclusion, he smiled. "Well, come on inside, Chairman. But you'll find things have changed recently."
Jessie smiled at Reebus as she passed him, but he simply made a sign that probably meant "I did my best." As she passed inside, she became aware that Gert wasn't behind her.
O'Connell led them inside, dim compared to the bright light outside. He waved Scriver into a chair beside a large wooden table and settled into one opposite. Then he seemed to notice Jessie for the first time, blinked for a moment and then casually pointed to another chair. But he had no time for her—his attention was all on Scriver.
"Maybe you haven't been appraised of the latest situation, Mr. Scriver."
"Oh, I suspect I know most of what's happened. But perhaps you can tell me what role you played in the assassination of Commander Travis."
O'Connell's jaw fell open. "Me? I didn't do nothin'. I liked Wayne. He was a decent officer. Knew where you stood with him. But he was stubborn as a mule and he wouldn't come around to the way things were."
"You mean, he stayed loyal to his oath, unlike you?"
"Don't you talk to me like that! There was a half-dozen of them with M4s pointed at us." O'Connell slammed his fist on the table.
Scriver leaned across the table and jabbed a finger at O'Connell. "Six against how many? A hundred?"
"No! There was just the commander and a handful of us. They could have cut us down in a second. We had no choice!"
"Travis made his."
O'Connell flushed at that. "And look what good it did him."
"He died with his honor intact."
"Yeah, but he died. Now, enough of this. Things have changed and this company's now pledged to General Mendoza."
"The usurper?"
O'Connell shook his head. "He's our leader now. And he's gonna be mighty pleased to know we've got you under lock and key. I never thought he could be so happy as he would be to find DeMille here with Myers, but I reckon seeing you might just top it. Mind, you may have to wait a while to find out."
"Why?"
"He's gone east. Told me he's gonna bring all the cells together into the biggest army to fight on native soil since the Civil War. Then he's gonna sweep away everyone who don't want to be part of his new country. For now, you're goin' to the jail in Hope. You shouldn't have come here, Scriver. You should have run for it and stayed alive a few more months before our army caught up with you. Now, get up!"
Scriver simply shook his head. "I will not. You do not command here."
"Oh, and I suppose you do?" O'Connell laughed, getting up and drawing the sidearm from its holster.
"You and your comrades pledged yourselves to me."
O'Connell pointed the pistol at Scriver. "And now we're pledged to Mendoza." He looked past Scriver and called. "Hodge, Cruz, come in here!"
Two soldiers appeared at the door.
"Throw this man in the lockup. Leave the woman here. I want to have a little chat to her."
The soldiers marched in. One grabbed Scriver by his right arm and the other, unable to get a grip on his bandaged left arm, took him by the shoulder.
"No!" Scriver snapped. "I am Chairman Scriver and you will follow my orders. Arrest that man." He nodded at O'Connell, but the two guards simply took one look across at their leader and laughed out loud.
Jessie watched this with an increasing sense of horror. Scriver was obviously at best deluded and at worst insane. Sure, he'd been a politician, but even that particular species contained a self-preservation gene, surely?
O'Connell pressed the pistol against Scriver's temple. "Either go with them or I'll put a bullet through your skull."
"I don't think you will," Scriver said calmly. "And perhaps there is no hope for you, O'Connell, but I ask you two," he said swiveling his eyes to look at each of the guards in turn, "to consider what you are doing. This is your last opportunity to make the right choice. I'm afraid I cannot be held responsible for the consequences if you don't."
"That's enough!" O'Connell roared. "Take him away."
The guards yanked Scriver from the seat and marched him to the door as O'Connell turned to Jessie.
Then one of the guards called out, "Hey! Who are you?"
Jessie spun around to see Gert marching in as Reebus and three others disarmed the guards, freeing Scriver.
O'Connell snapped out of his shock just in time to bring his pistol around, but he wasn't quick enough. Gert grabbed his shooting arm then pressed his weapon under O'Connell's chin. "Make a move and I'll blow your head off."
"Well done, Reebus," Scriver said, shaking him by the hand.
Reebus nodded at Gert. "It was his doin'. I reckon almost everyone's on our side."
"Time to bring the rest around," Scriver said. "Bring him outside."
Gert grabbed O'Connell by the elbow and pulled him out of the barn door and into the sunlight.
Dozens of uniformed figures waited as Gert threw O'Connell to the ground and pressed the gun to the back of his head. "No!" the prisoner cried out. "Someone help!"
Jessie followed Scriver onto the rough path outside the barn, standing back as Scriver approached the kneeling man. "Sergeant John O'Connell, you are found guilty of mutiny. The punishment is death."
O'Connell twisted around. "No! Please! I'll pledge allegiance."
"Your word is worthless," Scriver said. "Mr. Bekmann, execute the prisoner."
"No!" Jessie cried.
O'Connell looked hopefully up at her, tears running down his face.
"Gert's no executioner. If you want him dead, shoot him yourself." For a moment, they locked eyes, then Scriver nodded, took the pistol from Bekmann's unresisting hand, pressed it against the back of O'Connell's head and pulled the trigger.
It all happened so quickly that O'Connell had no chance to call out. One moment he was pleading from his knees, the next he was a pile of combat fatigues in a pool of blood.
Scriver looked up, then scanned the watching troops. "Now, where are the two guards, Hodge and Cruz?"
The crowd spat them out like cherry stones, and they stood, plainly terrified, before the body of their former commander.
"I gave you the chance to obey me, and you refused. Now, you will also pay the price."
This time, there was obvious resentment in the crowd which Scriver noticed. "But I do not wish to lose fighters, so one of you will be punished for both. Who is it to be?"
Both men looked terrified.
"Either one of you agrees to take punishment or you will both die and I will choose one of your comrades to join you. Well?"
And then the shorter one, Cruz, stepped forward. "I won't have no one else suffer on my account."
Scriver nodded. "Come here, both of you."
They both walked unsteadily forward, picking their way past the pool of blood.
Scriver raised the pistol and pointed it at Hodge. "Your comrade has demonstrated he has what it takes to be a useful member of this squad. You, on the other hand, are a coward. I condemn you to death."
"No!" Jessie called out. She stepped between Scriver and the trembling Hodge. "Kill him and you're no better than Mendoza."
"Who says I am better than him?"
"Marianna, for one."
She looked into his eyes, finding rage, betrayal and sheer naked terror in there. Or perhaps she was imagining it.
He lowered the weapon and nodded. "Perhaps you are right."
She stepped away. Scriver raised the pistol a little and pulled the trigger. Hodge fell backward with a scream and rolled over, hands clasped around the bloody remains of his left foot. "Better put a bandage on that," Scriver said calmly. "Now, Reebus and all other NCOs, I want to see you. Cruz, bury O'Connell and see your friend gets medical attention."
"Please don't interfere again, Jessie," Scriver said. "I know what I'm doing."
Jessie shook her head. "No chance. I'm not going to stand by and watch you be judge, jury and executioner. How are we any better than Mendoza?"
"I only punish those who deserve it. You heard me give O'Connell and those guards multiple chances to side with me."
Scriver sat in the seat vacated by O'Connell, Jessie opposite him. Gert put his hand on her arm. "He has a point, Jessie."
"You're siding with him? Are you serious?"
The Dutchman gave a guilty smile. "Look at it this way. These troops have switched sides once already—why do you think they did that? Fear. Marshall has to make them fear him more than Mendoza."
"That's not the whole story," Scriver said. "The weak ones need to fear me, but I hope the better soldiers will follow me out of loyalty. So, my retribution isn't random or based purely on, for example, how old someone is, like Mendoza's. I want them to see that if they follow orders, they'll be treated well."
Gert said, "We were lucky Reebus knew you. That made things a whole lot easier."
"Where did you go?" Jessie asked, remembering that Gert hadn't been there when they'd met with O'Connell.
"Went off with Reebus. Found a dozen he trusted and formed a squad. If needed, we'd have backed up Marshall in front of everyone else."
Scriver smiled. "When you're gambling with your life, it pays to load the dice in your favor. Gert and I discussed this before setting off. As he says, we got lucky with Reebus. Let's hope our luck holds."
"And what about Devon and Marianna?"
"We've now got a couple hundred armed fighters. Maybe half of them are trained: vets, former police or security. We gotta decide what we do with them. Do we add them to our forces at Springs, or do we attack Hope right now and catch them by surprise?"
Jessie looked from one to the other. "Doesn't that depend on how many of the enemy there are?"
"Exactly. We gotta do a little scouting. If what O'Connell said is true, Mendoza has gone east. I suspect we'll find that he's thinned out the committee even more, and he's bringing all the units under his command. But he'll be back. Hope is the perfect place to set up a new capital city, and the general has unfinished business there."
Last Victory: Book 6 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 6) Page 8
