And he said a prayer for his daughter, as he perceived her to be at the center of a web. But whether she was the spider or the fly, he couldn't yet tell.
Chapter 11: Hick
They'd only smuggled in the first of the weapons before the iron curtain came down and Devon despaired as he watched the vehicles roll into Hope. He had fought tooth and nail to persuade Gert and Hickman to abandon their plan to bomb the conference and instead to use snipers, and now it looked as though they were too late to do either. And if the soldiers who were now returning with Mendoza were here to stay through the conference, as seemed certain, then they wouldn't be able to get more weapons into the town, let alone have an opportunity to get the shooters into position.
And he'd thought he'd been so clever. Somehow, he'd tolerated a half hour in the presence of Marianna DeMille without giving away his loathing for her and all she stood for. She'd noticed something about him was different, but he had stopped caring. Jessie was, as far as he knew, safe, so all he had to worry about was himself. And Jade. She was the only reason he hadn't thrown caution to the wind entirely.
Marianna had told him, with obvious pride, of the plans for the conference, and he'd been delighted when she said there would be a public event at which the leaders would speak. The Sons would build a platform at the main intersection so the entire town could gather around.
That had sealed his plan for using snipers. With enough of them positioned in the buildings overlooking the intersection, they would be able to kill most, if not all, of the leadership in one deadly barrage. It would be a suicide mission for all those who volunteered, but Devon was past caring. The only thing on his mind right now was revenge. Revenge for Dave Bowie, Jenson and all the others who'd died. Revenge for the ruin they had brought to Hope just as it was within sight of self-sufficiency.
And then she'd told him that Mendoza was due back that afternoon, days ahead of the other leaders, and he knew getting weapons into Hope had suddenly become a whole lot harder. Probably impossible.
So, Devon stood at the window and watched the trucks roll in as the sun set. He didn't notice that Jade had come in until he felt the warmth of her arms wrapped around his chest as she hugged him from behind.
"I'm beat," she said between pants. "I ran all the way home when I heard the noise."
"Uh-huh. Groundhog Day."
She leaned against his back, her breath tickling his skin through his shirt. "What's that?"
He smiled, even as he watched the last of the soldiers marching toward the school which had become a military camp. "A movie with Bill Murray. You know, Ghostbusters?"
"Oh," she said, though she sounded unconvinced.
He turned around, and she stepped back a little, taking his hands in hers. "You're gonna do somethin', like, stupid. I can tell."
He shrugged.
"You know, you're all I care about, don't you?"
She looked up at him and her lips parted. For a moment, he thought she was going to pull his head towards hers, but she simply folded into his embrace and hugged him. His modern human brain sighed with relief while the Neanderthal retreated into its cage.
"Promise me you won't just throw your life away," she said from somewhere around his solar plexus. "You've got Dorothy, Jessie, Toto … and me."
For a moment—a golden moment—they held each other, rocking gently back and forth as dusk settled on Hope and the apartment darkened.
Then fists thumped on the door, shattering the moment. "I'll go," Devon said, casting an involuntary glance through the open kitchen door at where his small weapons cache lay hidden.
"Good God," he whispered as he peered through the spyhole. He pulled the door open quickly and in walked Paul Hickman.
"Thought you was never gonna answer the door. Jeez, the place is full of goons all of a sudden."
"What are you doing here? Has something happened to Jessie?"
"Jessie's fine, now can I come in?"
Devon pushed the door shut and gestured Hickman through to the living room. "This is Jade," he said. "You can trust her. Now, what the hell are you doing here?"
"I'm fine," Hick said, with a smile borne of relief now that he was safely inside. "Parked on the other side of the highway and hiked in. Brought a couple of huntin' rifles with me."
Devon looked around, as if expecting them to materialize out of thin air. "Where are they?"
"Would you believe the Mormon church has a false floor? Joe—he's one of us—he helped keep the place tidy and he came across this trapdoor. Says he don't know what it was used for, but it's now our arms cache. You got four rifles now, and we're bringing them in two at time so if anyone gets caught, we ain't lost much."
"Except a life."
"You know what your trouble is, Devon? You're a goddamn liberal, and we ain't got time for bein' snowflakes," Hick said, smiling. "But, seriously, if we ain't gonna take chances now, when are we? I brought tonight's weapons; others will follow over the next coupla days. How many d'you figure we need?"
Devon settled onto the couch and waved to Hick to sit in the comfy chair. "Well, Marianna wasn't exactly going to tell me how many committee members there are, but I guess there must be around a dozen, maybe less. But the main thing is to have a wide angle of fire between us. They're making a public speech opposite Martha's store, so that's where the platform will be. If we can get shooters into the antique shop, the museum and the cafe, then we'll have most points on the compass covered."
"Except north of the intersection."
Jade, who'd been standing with her back to them looking out of the window at the now empty road, said, "I'll handle that from here."
"You won't!" Devon snapped.
Hick looked across at the slim figure, silhouetted against the dusk sky. "Are you a good shot?"
"Good enough. Libby taught me. Now's payback time. And you don't have a choice, Devon. Maybe I won't be needed, but if I am, I'll be here to clean up."
Devon recognized the look on her face and put that argument aside for now.
"So, you're gonna be one of the shooters?" Hick asked.
"I can't be. Marianna expects me to be on show. But I've got a plan for that. I got a score to settle with the sheriff of this town and, when the shooting starts, I'm going to take him down, get hold of his weapon and take out any survivors one by one."
Hick whistled through his teeth. "Jeez, Devon. That's a suicide mission."
"You promised!" Jade said, stalking from the window and throwing herself down beside him. She jabbed his arm.
He turned to face her. "I know. I don't intend to go into this without a way out."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know, but I'm working on it."
She threw herself backwards, sending up a cloud of dust and looking more like a twelve-year-old than ever.
Devon fanned the dust away and leaned forward as Hick reached into his pocket. "You still haven't explained why you didn't just dump the weapons and hightail it back to base."
"Well, firstly, I wanted to confirm the plans, and then there's this." He reached forward and handed over a piece of memo paper folded in the middle.
"What's this?" Devon said, lighting a candle on the coffee table and gazing at the paper.
"Rusty sent it over yesterday from Springs. He got it, would you believe, from folks out of Hope, though they claim they don't know how they got ahold of it."
Devon squinted at the message. "Elliot DeMille?"
"Yeah. Guess he's related to Marianna."
"Her father. I met him in SLC. Assumed he'd been killed when the Sons took the city."
Hick leaned right forward until he could peer over the edge of the paper. "So, what do you think? Sounds crazy to me. I mean, why would we do it?"
"The message suggests it would deal a blow to the Sons. But who sent it?"
Shrugging, Hick retreated back into the shadows. "Search me. If Marianna wasn't in Mendoza's pocket, I would say it was likely her. I mean, he's h
er father after all."
"No, I don't see it. She's drunk the Kool-Aid alright. Nothing she's done suggests to me she's anything other than a fully paid-up member of the Sons of Solomon."
"So, who sent it?"
"If it was her, then the question is whether we risk people on a rescue mission that is likely a trap. Elliot DeMille's probably dead and she's trying to draw our forces and attention away from Hope and on some idiotic Rambo mission. What does Jessie think?"
Hick chuckled. "Same as you. She says we mustn't get distracted."
"And she's okay? Really? And Dorothy?"
"Yeah. Both fine. But I'd best be getting away while I still can." He heaved himself up and shook Devon's hand, nodded to the sulking girl on the couch and headed for the door.
"I don't need to tell you what's riding on you killing their leaders next week, do I? We can't do much to help, but you'll find the weapons under the church within two nights. Go in the back door and look under the rug. You'll see a ring you can use to lift the trapdoor."
Devon shook his hand again. "Yeah, I know. But I don't need any more reason than revenge. Marianna is one of those who's responsible for his death, and she's gonna pay along with all the others."
Hick nodded as Devon opened the door onto the apartment landing. He looked from left to right then slipped away.
#
Hick ran down the stairs of Devon's building and paused as he got to the bottom, peering carefully through the glass door at the empty highway beyond. He knew there was a roadblock a hundred yards to the left, but if he stayed in the shadows of the entrance, he should be able to sneak around the back and then head toward the church.
A summer breeze warmed his cheeks as he opened the door inch by inch before sliding his trim frame through the gap. The one good thing about this new world was that Hick was healthier than he'd ever been, though at any moment he could also find himself deader.
He breathed again as he made it behind the building and out of sight of the guards at the roadblock.
"Hey, who the hell are you?"
Hick spun around and almost walked into the business end of an assault rifle held by a young man in fatigues and wearing a black mask. They both froze for an instant and then Hick's self-preservation circuit activated. He pushed the barrel away with a flick of his wrist and leaped at the soldier.
Taken by surprise, the young man fell back. His mouth opened, but Hick sealed it with his hand, then kicked the guard's legs out, sending him sprawling to the ground. Hick dropped and pulled the knife from his belt then, without hesitating for a moment, he plunged it into the heart of the struggling guard, biting back a cry as he felt the man's teeth sink into his hand.
It was over in seconds. The guard went still, and Hick sat up, looking around, his own heart pounding, searching the darkness for any sign of movement. Then he took the assault rifle and pulled the mask from the guard's face, squinting in the half-light.
"Joel?" he said, bending closer until he was inches from the dead man's head. "God damn it! You son of a bitch!
“So, they've got Hopers joinin' their ranks, have they? I bet it was the uniform and extra food. Well, I'm sorry, son. I really am.”
He pulled the mask back over the young man's face and rolled the body behind the apartment garbage dumpsters. He thought about warning Devon, but decided he'd chanced to luck enough for one night. But the puppet mayor would be in a world of hot water when they found Joel's body and this complication, added to Hick's doubts about whether Devon could pull off the plan to assassinate the Sons leadership, finally made the decision for him. They had to have a plan B. So, he would take the mysterious message Rusty had received at face value, and they'd go to Salt Lake City. And if it was a trap, he'd make sure he wasn't the one caught in it.
Chapter 12: Decimate
"He was found behind your apartment building!" General Mendoza spat, thumping the desk that Marianna sat behind when Devon had last been in the room. "Do you have anything to say?!"
Devon kept his eyes on the photo of the president that hung on the wall. "It only happened last night. I ask that you allow the civilian authorities to inves—"
"This is a military matter. Conduct your own investigation if you wish, but I have another task for you as mayor," he said, not bothering to hide his scorn for the title. "You will select ten people and provide those names to Commander DeMille. They will be the price Hope pays for this insurrection."
"What?" Devon couldn't help his eyes dropping to lock with Mendoza's malevolent gaze.
The general's mouth curled upward in what might have been a smile. "Select only from the old and sick. I do not wish to deplete our labor force."
"What are you going to do with them?"
"They will be hanged in public as a warning to all."
"You—"
"Have a care, Mr. Mayor, or you might find yourself standing alongside them."
Devon shook his head. "I won't do it."
"Then I will choose for you. But, in that case, twenty will die. Have the names on my desk by sundown, and be warned," he pointed a finger at Devon, "the next time any of my soldiers is attacked, I will not be as lenient."
Devon's legs wobbled as he got to the door. As it closed behind him, he saw Marianna approaching. "You look shaken, Mr. Mayor," she said. "I will escort you out of the building."
She took his arm, shadowed by one of her bodyguards who walked a few yards behind them. "Don't do anything foolish, Devon," she said.
"Are you serious?" Devon spun on her as they stood at the top of the stairwell. "He wants me to …"
"Have a care, Mr. Mayor," Marianna said, raising her voice. "'He' is General Mendoza, and you are to show respect to him at all times. Do you understand?"
"But this is monstrous. To kill ten innocent people rather than find whoever was responsible."
She shrugged. "It is standard practice for an occupying force. We are few compared to the population in general."
"Few? There are thousands of you."
"Have you been counting, Mr. Mayor?"
He detected the steel jaws of the trap around his ankle and raised his foot before they snapped shut. "Of course not, but my apartment overlooks the highway, so I saw them march in."
"Yes, you saw them march in," she said, as if speaking to herself. Then she looked into his eyes and resumed her customary briskness. "Now, I suggest you find ten names for the general."
"Why are you doing this, Marianna?"
The bodyguard stepped forward and yelled at Devon. "You will address the leader properly!"
Marianna waved him back. "You are on very thin ice, Mr. Mayor. But to answer your question, I am doing it to send a message to America that there is a better way. Some regrettable sacrifices must be made, but that is necessary if we are to reshape our future. Now, we both have work to do. Do not forget our 2:00 p.m. meeting."
She swung around and walked away, the bodyguard following her after glancing with undisguised disdain at Devon.
The warm sun mocked him as he flung open the outer door and marched onto the sidewalk. The community center was supposed to be where the mayor did his or her work, but he spent most of his time in his apartment or at Mary's Cafe, which was opposite the police station. Mary's had re-opened by edict when the Sons of Solomon had taken over the town and the walls were festooned with official warnings, rules and notices.
No one knew who Mary had been, but Eliza had run the place for as long as Devon had been a resident. She'd gone to work in the school cafeteria when that was feeding the town, but was now back behind the counter, as a symbol of the fake normality that the Sons were trying to encourage.
Devon slumped into a chair beside the window. It was in a corner, so he could look out from the shadows without being noticed. One or two Hopers occupied tables in the center of the room, but most of the people here were Sons fighters and Eliza found herself shunned by many locals, though she had as little choice as Devon did about collaborating.
&
nbsp; "Hey, Mr. Mayor," she said, bustling across and pulling an order pad from her apron pocket.
"For the love of God, Liza, how many times have I got to tell you? It's 'Devon' to you. Or to anyone else, for that matter."
She chuckled. "Well, a girl's gotta get her enjoyment from somewhere. There sure ain't a lot of it to go around these days. Now, what can I get you. Your usual?"
"Yeah, thank you. D'you have a notepad you can lend me?"
"Sure," she said as she scribbled his order and moved away.
Devon watched her platinum-blonde curls bounce away. She was probably the only other person who knew what it was like to be given no choice other than to cooperate with the occupiers. Well, to be accurate, they did have a choice. In her case it was between opening the cafe again and a bullet in the head or, if she were lucky, a life of slavery. In his, he could have refused to cooperate, but then Jessie would have suffered and, once he realized she wasn't in Sons of Solomon hands, being close to Marianna meant he got information he could feed to the resistance. Information like the forthcoming visit of the committee. And there was Jade to think of.
And yet, though he knew he was doing the right thing—the only thing he could do—still he hated himself for it.
A yellow legal pad appeared on the table. "Here you go. Will that do?"
He forced his face into a smile. "Thanks, Liza."
He pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and held it above the page while he looked through the window. People moved in both directions and he noticed that no one walked alone. It reminded him of the shoals of mackerel he'd seen on a nature documentary. They gathered in their thousands, each individual hiding among its almost-identical fellows, relying on numbers to increase their chances of survival, not caring that for them to live, other members of the shoal must die.
"You haven't even started," Eliza said as she slid a dinner plate and steaming cup of coffee onto the table. "Here, maybe this'll give you the energy."
Devon pushed the pad aside and picked up his knife and fork. One of the things he'd most missed when he returned to his birth country from the UK was the Full English Breakfast. Eliza did her best, but what passed for bacon over here would be rejected out of hand across the Atlantic, even before the firestorm. And he had concluded his countrymen didn't know what a real sausage was. He reflected, as he tucked into the first of the fried eggs, that the presence of the Sons had brought a higher class of food to Hope—at least for the soldiers and favored citizens like himself. And that thought turned his breakfast into dust and ashes in his mouth. He pushed the plate away and picked up the pad.
Last Hope: Book 5 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 5) Page 8
