Mercy

by Tara Ellis

  Tom must have noticed, because he scooted closer to her on the seat. Shifting both reins into his left hand, he draped his other arm over her shoulders. “I should have thought to bring a blanket.”

  Danny stiffened in response to his touch before she could stop herself, and then felt horrible when she saw him react. Slowly, Tom dropped his arm back down and shifted awkwardly on the hard bench seat. “My dad told me the repeater was intentionally destroyed,” she said, trying to cover up her behavior.

  Tom gave her a questioning look before nodding. “Yeah, like we suspected. There’s no doubt now this is all coordinated. I’ve got both Caleb and Bishop on their radios, trying to glean any sort of related communications.”

  Glad for the distraction, Danny eagerly dove into the conversation. “Does anyone else know about the second radio?”

  “We told Sheriff Waters,” Tom said, his voice growing irritated. “While I didn’t exactly lie to him about it, I left him with the impression that Bishop voluntarily told me, and that he only recently got it working.”

  Danny frowned. “And the truth?” It was the first chance they’d had to talk about anything alone since he’d left the day before.

  “The truth is that I caught him up in that room two days ago, and after my face got real cozy with the floor, he fessed up to fixing it a while ago. Probably more than a week.”

  Danny frowned at him, and winced at the pain it caused. “Bishop put you down?”

  Tom shrugged. “Guy’s got some advanced training, Danny. That’s why even though I believe him when he says he’s trying to look out for us, I know there’s a lot more he isn’t saying. And I don’t like that.”

  “Well, I didn’t find much.” When he turned and looked at her in surprise, she widened her eyes at him. “What? I told you I’d go through his stuff, and I did. The papers in the radio room make it sound like he’s trying to find the kids’ parents. Then there was some other stuff I couldn’t decipher. A bunch of broken up sentences about the Duke Ranch and some military jargon. Nothing that I would consider necessarily suspicious.”

  “And his room?”

  “First of all, you should tell Sam to wash his socks.” Smiling at Tom, Danny noticed that he had managed to slide over to his original position on the seat, so their bodies weren’t touching anymore. She was frustrated by the conflicting emotions welling up—relief that he wasn’t pushing things and also a profound need to feel his touch. Danny knew she was at risk of shutting down again. It was so much safer…easier that way. Her voice faltered as she struggled to keep talking, horrified that she was on the verge of unexpected tears.

  Tom was staring at her. “Are you okay?”

  Gritting her teeth, she turned away and kept talking. “He had a picture in his bag of him and a young man. I think it might be his son. The only other thing even marginally interesting was an engraved compass. Did you know he was a colonel in the military and that his last name is Campbell?”

  “Campbell?” Tom looked perplexed. “I thought it was Kingston. Pretty sure that’s what my mom said. I already knew he was in the military, except he made it sound like it was a little time in the state guard. A colonel is a high-ranking officer.”

  “I suppose the compass could have belonged to someone else. Maybe it’s a family heirloom or something,” Danny suggested.

  “No.” Tom sounded sure of himself. “I think it’s his, and I think there’s a lot more to the story. I’m hoping he’ll trust us enough to let us in on it. There might be a way to use his knowledge or connections to help us.”

  “With Dillinger?”

  Tom looked at her again, his face becoming more difficult to see in the gathering shadows. “Yeah, with Dillinger.”

  They rode in silence for several minutes as the wagon wheels clambered over the road. “You can’t blame yourself for what’s happening.” Danny knew she was pushing it, but suddenly decided to get it all out on the table. Tom meant too much to her.

  “Why not?” he answered quickly, and with some heat. “You do.”

  Danny swallowed. She felt like such a jerk. Reaching out, she took the reins from his hands and pulled the horses to a stop. “Tom!” she shouted, when he moved like he was going to jump down from the wagon.

  He froze, and slowly turned to face her. He looked defeated and her breath caught, making it impossible to talk. “I know, I did it again,” he said, grimacing. “First when I attacked and nearly killed you, then when I acted impulsively with Dillinger, which is now coming back to haunt us all, and yesterday when I ran off to chase after my own demons, leaving you defenseless.” He reached out then and gently touched the bandage on her head. “I don’t blame you for not wanting me to touch you.”

  “Tom,” she said again, this time with compassion. Taking his hand from her damaged face, she held on tight to make sure he wouldn’t try and run off before she finished what she had to say. “I don’t blame you.”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  Taking a deep breath, Danny did one of the most terrifying things of her life; she let him in. Her eyes welling, she moved across the seat. “I could never blame you for loving your son so thoroughly that you would sacrifice anything for him, or so proud that you’d never let a coward like Dillinger control you. How could I hate you for wanting to protect Mercy? Yes, you’re impulsive, and hard-headed, and sometimes you infuriate me, but…that’s also why I love you.”

  Tom stared at her and she held her breath, willing him to believe her. Praying that she didn’t just make the worst mistake of her—

  Tom pulled Danny against him, careful not to bump her head. His arms encircled her in an embrace she used to think she would never long for, and now wanted more than anything. She got lost in the sensation of being the same in body and soul, and numbly wondered if that was what it felt like to be in love.

  Pulling back just enough so he could bring his lips close to hers, Tom whispered into her good ear. “Thank you for trusting me, Danny. I was going to always love you no matter what, so it’s a good thing we both feel the same way.”

  Laughing, Danny brought her lips to his and in that moment, their world was okay.

  Chapter 10

  GENERAL MONTGOMERY

  Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Colorado

  The two remaining joint commanders both appeared uncomfortable as they looked up at General Montgomery when he entered his office. They sat next to each other at the large conference table, a stack of papers and coffee that had likely gone cold in front of them. Montgomery had intentionally kept them waiting. Just because the end of known civilization was upon them didn’t mean he had to abandon good powerplay tactics.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he lied, pulling out a chair opposite the military leaders. Montgomery sat without offering an explanation and then looked expectantly at Walsh, who was hovering nervously at the far end of the room. His assistant was continuing to slowly unravel and he knew the day would soon come when he’d have to cut him loose. If the man could keep it together for just one more week, they’d be in a much stronger position. Dillinger was about to deliver, and he could then use the combined success of Monida, the Duke Ranch in Graham’s Place, and Miller Ranch in Mercy as examples of what could be accomplished. Once a greater plan was established, he’d move forward with implementing the strategy in the remaining states, and Walsh could finish having his breakdown. But not yet.

  “Um, right. The first order of business will be our latest numbers and estimates, which were just finalized,” Walsh stammered. “If you’ll look at the top sheet—”

  “That’s it?” Sergeant Major O’Shane interrupted. “We’re going to completely gloss over the fact that we haven’t met for more than a week, or even recognize the death of Vice Admiral Baker?”

  “I would have thought the memorial was recognition enough,” Major General Visor said, turning to the sergeant beside him. “I’m quite certain we’ll be discussing his replacement. Right, General?” he asked, looking back to
Montgomery.

  General Montgomery carefully gauged his reaction. He still needed both the Army and Marine commanders support. “I thought it might be in poor taste to open our meeting today by speaking about the Admiral’s death and the need to thrust someone into his position. But certainly, Sergeant, we can get right to the meat of things. Hmm? If you pull out the bottom paper, you will see the valid candidates brought forward by myself as well as the both of you. While it will be impossible to truly replace Admiral Baker, I believe any of these applicants will be adequate. I propose we take some time to look them over and then meet to vote on it in a couple of days.”

  Sergeant O’Shane blushed as he shuffled his papers around, clearly wanting to say something more. “General Montgomery, you know full well that isn’t what I meant.”

  Walsh cleared his throat. “There is also a copy of the investigation into his cause of death.”

  “He died a hero on the battlefield,” Montgomery interjected. “What more is there to say?”

  Sergeant O’Shane glanced first at Visor and then Walsh, before settling on Montgomery. “No, I don’t suppose there is.”

  “Then let’s get on with it.” Standing, Montgomery walked to the end of the table where a carafe sat, and poured himself a cup of fresh coffee. “I’m sure you are well aware, Sergeant, of the death toll, considering your work with the science team.”

  “Unfortunately, I am.” Running a hand through his graying hair, Sergeant O’Shane went back to the top page on the pile. Although he wasn’t yet fifty, Montgomery noticed how the man appeared to have aged drastically over the past few weeks. “The original estimate from eleven days ago put us at around sixty-five million survivors,” O’Shane reported. “And another twenty-five percent are expected to succumb to other factors in the next month. With the horrific storms ravaging the West Coast as well as the bacterial outbreak, our newest projections are fifty million.”

  “Fifty million as the anticipated final tally when this all settles?” Major Visor asked.

  “No,” Walsh answered. “As our current population, and that is likely optimistic.”

  Visor paled and he started to scribble numbers on the back of the paper. “But that’s…that has to be a death rate of—”

  “Eighty-five percent,” O’Shane interjected, doing the math for him. “We still haven’t gotten the final death tolls from the latest storms, but we all know that in addition to the direct casualties, we also have tens of thousands of new refugees fleeing the coast. This additional burden will likely overrun and collapse some of the FEMA camps that have been recently established in the western states.”

  “In a few more months, especially after winter, we can expect that number to climb to ninety percent,” Walsh added. He sounded as depressed as he looked and Montgomery glared at him. He needed him to be composed and confident.

  “What can we do?” Major Visor splayed his hands out on the table and leaned forward in earnest. “There has to be more that we can do!”

  General Montgomery nodded at Visor as he walked with his coffee to stand in front of the giant map. “Sometimes, a physician can spend so much time trying to address the patient’s body as a whole in order to save him that he fails to see the obvious. So, instead of cutting off the festering limb and healing what is left, the infection is left to spread, killing the patient.”

  “General?” Visor said almost pleadingly, clearly not getting the point.

  Turning to face them, the general was grim. “It’s time to focus on what we can do, rather than what we cannot. I was hopeful that our reach would be strong enough to encompass everyone that is left. However, it has become apparent that the changing weather and continued losses on the ground will hammer us until nothing remains, if we don’t take advantage of what is working.”

  Walsh jumped to his feet and Montgomery was pleased with his timing. As he watched his assistant handing the commanders the appropriate reports, he was encouraged that perhaps the colonel could still be useful, after all.

  “FEMA Shelter M3 continues to thrive,” Montgomery began, remaining in front of the map. “The new command center at the Duke Ranch is functioning beyond expectations and is quite promising for the community of Graham’s Place, despite some local dissent. The mountain town of Mercy is our next point of interest,” he continued, approaching the map and pointing out the green tack. “We’ve been told of an impressive cattle ranch there with more than a thousand cows, and it is perfectly positioned for yet another command.”

  O’Shane skimmed over the paper Walsh had given him. “You’re suggesting we pull back our farther-reaching efforts and concentrate on creating more of these ‘communities’,” he surmised.

  Major Visor was nodding, and some of his color was coming back. “This is promising. What is the farming project mentioned here? Do you really feel confident of our ability to feed upwards of several million in the coming year?”

  Montgomery glanced at Walsh to confirm his reaction wasn’t questionable. When he managed to keep a neutral expression, the general walked back to the table and sat down, folding his hands in front of him in a relaxed manner. “I would like to assure both of you that while some of my tactics might seem radical, they are for good reasons. Focusing on petty political squabbles while hundreds of thousands more are dying would be inexcusable. So, you will have to forgive me for focusing on the long-term survivability for the largest, while still realistic numbers.”

  The general paused, giving the other commanders an opportunity to interrupt him if they were strongly opposed to anything he’d already said. When they remained silent, he sat up straighter in his chair and continued. “I am still waiting on confirmation from Corporal Dillinger, and fully expect some other aspects of the mentioned project to be worked out soon. While I don’t want to raise false hope, I will tell you that my seemingly unconnected maneuvers over the past three weeks have been geared towards locating and facilitating a top-secret program that will all but guarantee that these isolated communities can flourish.”

  “And the rest of the country?” Sergeant O’Shane asked, though not in an accusatory manner.

  “Think of these small groups, overseen by the military, as our final attempt at addressing the needs of the nation systemically,” General Montgomery said, steepling his fingers. “My hope is that, once successful, the approach can be replicated until it includes everyone.”

  Major Visor was nodding again, looking relieved. He even went so far as to reach out and grip O’Shane’s forearm. “You’ve told me what the science team has been forecasting,” he said. “If anyone can appreciate what the general is trying to do, I’d think it would be you.”

  Sergeant O’Shane stood and carefully stacked his papers, tapping them down until the edges were all aligned before looking up to meet the general’s intense stare. “If you can, in fact, successfully demonstrate these towns working cohesively with our military, and give valid details on whatever this program is, I will guarantee the backing of our Marine forces.”

  “And I the Army,” Visor said eagerly.

  The general offered a small, compensatory smile before the other officers left the room. As the door swung shut, he turned to Walsh, a scowl clouding his features. “Anything new from Dillinger?”

  “Um, no sir.” Walsh glanced furtively at the empty chairs and back to Montgomery. “You don’t think we should have told them everything?”

  Montgomery closed his eyes and forced himself to take a breath before answering. “Colonel, there are times when I can’t help but question where your loyalties are.”

  “They lie with the people, sir.”

  Slamming his hands down on the table, the general stood with enough force to nearly topple his chair. “Don’t you dare question where my loyalties are.”

  “I wasn’t, sir,” Walsh answered with a surprising amount of calm. “I was merely defending myself. You are the one raising the question of who is and is not loyal to our sworn oath.”

  Take
n aback for a moment, Montgomery shook his head to clear it. They were getting distracted by petty bickering and he refused to waste any more time. “How about 1st Force Recon?”

  “Still dark.”

  “Dr. Watson?” Montgomery asked. He circled around to his desk and sat down at it, frustrated with the roadblocks.

  “Cooperating, now that we’ve got her granddaughter happy. In fact, we’ve narrowed down a couple of likely areas for the vaults.” Walsh looked distraught, rather than optimistic, as he pushed a folder across the general’s desk.

  “I thought she didn’t know.” Picking the folder up, Montgomery opened it.

  “She wasn’t sure,” Walsh confirmed. “But it turns out she always had her suspicions and now that she understands the full scope of what is occurring, she’s rather enthusiastic about heading up the farming program.”

  “The colonel in charge of the vault project was living in rural Montana,” Montgomery muttered while looking over the short list. They were all locations in either Oregon or Montana. He sat the folder back down and drummed on it with his fingers while staring absently up at the map. “Where should Dillinger be now?”

  Walsh frowned. “We last heard directly from him when he was at the Pony Express station near Helena. We don’t expect anything for another day or two, after they’ve reached Mercy.”

  “Is the team at Malmstrom on standby?”

  “Already sent,” Walsh confirmed.

  “Good. I’m tired of waiting, and I don’t trust Dillinger on his own. We can’t afford to let Mercy turn into a bloodbath.” Standing, Montgomery held the folder back out to Walsh. “Is that piece of crap Huey Dillinger was using back here and operational?”

  Walsh’s frown deepened. “Yes, sir, but—”

  “Have it ready to spin up at fifteen hundred hours.” Montgomery tugged at his uniform. Dillinger was an idiot, and he needed to keep a shorter leash on his pitbull. He couldn’t afford any mistakes, not when so much was at stake. “Meet me on the tarmac then with Dr. Watson.”