by Schow, Ryan
The scenic drive passed quickly, too quickly. By the time NW Hayes became NE Cedar Creek Road, and Cedar Creek became the back end of the 503, they’d driven twenty-five miles, passed abandoned gas stations, homes in stark decay from weather and neglect, shuttered churches and more than a few cars that had been shoved off the side of the road to make room for through traffic. The 503 took them to the Yale Bridge, a single lane road leading through a forest green, short span steel suspension bridge. The water below was blue and peaceful, the world around it so lush and hilly, it made Quan sad thinking that the Chicoms had stolen so much beauty from this world, and from America. Deep down, it had him revisiting the old, yet familiar hatred for the Chicoms. They saw what they wanted and they just took it, unconcerned with who they hurt, or what they killed in the process.
“They won’t take this,” Quan said.
Steve looked at him and said, “You want to bet? Because America started to capitulate more than a decade ago.”
“What does that have to do with people protecting their lands?” Quan asked.
“Learned subservience,” Steve said.
“Yeah? Well not with us.”
“I just want to kill some commies,” Steve said. “Make up for all the bad shit they’ve done to us.”
“They took everything from me,” Quan said. “Same as you.”
“Look for Ham Road,” Steve said as they drove through walls of ferns and trees on either side of the tight, two lane road. The second they rounded the bend, they saw a yellow arrow and a 35 mph sign. Pointing left, Steve said, “There it is.”
Quan hung a left, and then he hung another right onto Bayswater Road. The big engine was pulling hard and making noise as the Camaro climbed the ridge rising up over the unincorporated town of Yale.
“Tong said to look for a wide clearing of brush on the right side,” Quan said, driving as close to the right hand shoulder as he could. “The top of their HQ should be exposed.”
Steve opened the window and stuck his head out hoping to find the Chicom HQ’s ledge. Quan slowed a bit, edged the Camaro even closer to the shoulder’s edge.
“Do you see it yet?” Quan asked, now sitting up taller and trying to see past Steve.
“Not yet…wait, there it is,” Steve said. “Stop the car.”
Quan stopped the car and they both got out, walking to the edge where, just down the ridge, they spotted the jutting concrete ledge. Quan returned to the Camaro, grabbed the sat phone, made a call.
“We’re here,” he said, when Tong Lim answered.
“Halfway down the ridge,” Tong said in hushed tones and on the move, “there’s a chain link fence blocking ridgetop access to the roof. I snipped a line in the fencing for you. Squeeze through it and meet me at the doorway on top the roof. You can’t miss it. Oh, and are you armed?”
“Of course,” Quan said, looking at Steve as he started down the side.
“If you see anyone other than me, shoot them.”
“Okay,” Quan said. “And Tong?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” he said.
When Quan hung up, he followed Steve down the ridge. “You’ve got your gun, right?”
“Yeah,” Steve called up.
“Get it out, and be ready,” Quan said, his own pistol in his hand. “Tong’s going to meet us, but if I start shooting, back me up.”
Steve finally dug in the edge of his boot, sliding to a stop on the grassy ridge in front of the chain link fence. Planting a hand, leaning up against the side of the tall ridge, he said, “What are we walking into here?”
“You already know that, but we need to be in uniform before we’re seen,” Quan said, stopping next to him. Seeing the cut in the fence line, Quan moved down five yards, then dropped down and pushed himself through to the other side. He then pulled the chain link back and Steve shimmied through. “Once we’re in uniform, well…you know what comes after that.”
The first time they talked about the plan, Steve wasn’t for it. When it looked like he was the only guy able to do the job, that he’d have to lay his life on the line for the greater good, the blood ran from his face and his skin paled to a pasty white. After the reality of their situation was laid out, Steve slowly nodded his head, seeing no other way. “All I care about is this,” Steve had said, grandstanding a little, “so if this is the end of the line for me, and if I get to kill a handful of these rats doing so, then I guess I’m down. Let’s do it.”
The roof sat level with the hillside, a natural weakness when you built your fortress into a hillside. It did, however, allow the two men to walk right onto the roof, then over to the access door. They flanked the closed-door entrance with their weapons out, then drew a collective breath when they heard the tromp-tromp-tromp of someone coming up the stairs. Quan looked at Steve, who was looking back at him.
The door opened slowly, and that’s when Quan saw Tong Lim and smiled. Steve let out the breath he was holding, then holstered his weapon. Tong dropped a linen bag then grabbed Quan and pulled him into a hug.
“It’s been too long, my friend,” Tong said, excited to see him.
“Indeed it has,” Quan replied.
“You’re the white boy,” Tong said, looking him over.
“How’d you know?” Steve asked with a grin.
“Solid guess, I suppose,” Tong replied. He opened the linen bag, pulled out a uniform, checked the sizing, then handed it to Steve and said, “This is for you.”
Steve began changing into the Chicom uniform right away, unconcerned with either modesty or decorum. Tong put a set of shoes and a belt down next to him as well. Steve nodded his thanks.
“This is yours, brother,” Tong said, handing the other uniform, the second set of shoes and the other belt to Quan.
When he was in his uniform, Quan drew a deep breath, blew it out slowly. He looked at Steve a long time, then said, “You ready?”
Steve smiled and said, “Someone once said, and I’m not sure who that someone was, it’s time to activate beast mode and slay.”
Tong said, “Turn around, put your hands behind your back.” Steve did as he was told. Tong zip-tied his wrists, then knelt down and said, “Don’t move.” The American didn’t move a muscle. Quan then watched as Tong lightly snipped one-third of the connecting plastic between his wrists. “If you pull too hard or too soon, you’ll snap it.”
Steve nodded, then said, “Roger that.”
Quan pulled his weapon, sunk the barrel in Steve’s back and said, “Let’s go.”
Tong led them into the stairwell and down the stairs. Quan was about to walk into the lion’s den, and any wrong move would mean torture, dismemberment and death, in that order.
When they reached the end of the stairwell, Tong turned and said, “Steve, you’re about to die. You know that, right?”
He nodded.
“And you’re the one who caught him, Quan,” Tong continued. “You should be worried about the news he has, and though you caught the traitor, there is no joy in it.”
“No joy,” Quan said.
“Good,” Tong replied. He had his hand on the door handle, about to open it, but he didn’t, not just yet. Looking between them, he said, “If either of you fail, we all die.”
“No offense, Tong,” Steve said. “But I don’t need a pump up session. Let’s go before I lose my wood.”
Tong opened the door and they walked out into the crush of Chicoms worker bees in their natural habitat. The hallways were packed, but people moved out of the way when Tong said, “Move, please,” in Chinese.
While everyone was making way for them, one man was ahead, standing in the hallway and blocking their path. Out of the side of his mouth and in English, Tong said, “Be cool,” just loud enough for Steve and Quan to hear.
“What are you doing?” the man asked Tong in Chinese.
Quan saw this man’s rank and felt his heart sink. Tong was one of the highest ranking officers in the Chicom army, two ranks above Quan.
But the stern looking man standing before them outranked Tong.
“Hello, Kun,” Tong said, refusing to acknowledge his rank and sounding a bit distraught. “We have critical information for Da Xiao Zheng.”
The man standing before them was a couple of years older looking than Tong. If he was a day younger than forty, Quan would be surprised. Quan looked at him, saw the stern look on his face, a look that could only have etched itself into his features with both time and the immense pressures of leadership.
“Tell me, and I’ll tell him,” Kun said. Scrutinizing Steve, he walked past Tong and looked him over. He had marks on him where he’d been beaten back at the Roseburg Airport, even though they weren’t exactly fresh. Kun’s discerning eye flicked on Quan, held his gaze, narrowed his eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked. Quan told him his real name and rank. Kun seemed to think about it for a moment, and then said, “I know that name.” Kun was mentally reaching, trying to place him, or his name.
“He went off the radar, but not on purpose,” Tong said. “There was a theft at the Port of Long Beach where he arrived. Members of The Resistance killed several men and stole a truckload of weapons, ammo and supplies. Quan followed them, killed most of them, and found this traitor in our midst. The man you see now. Steve Daily.”
Steve lowered his head, acting as if he was unable to hold the man’s eyes. Kun’s eyes turned on the traitor. With his fingers under Steve’s chin, he raised the man’s head and forced eye-contact. Their eyes met, worrying Quan. The way Steve hated these commie pukes was legendary. Quan wasn’t sure Steve could keep that hatred in check. When Kun removed his hand, Steve’s head remained still and Quan could breathe again.
“I’m not sure why you’re not in plastic cuffs either,” the ranking officer said, looking at Quan. He said nothing. To Tong, Kun said, “And you knew about this when?”
“I was just informed of this an hour ago,” Tong said. “I couldn’t find you to give you the details, but this is high level intel, for Da Xiao Zheng’s ears only, no offense.”
“Da Xiao Zheng’s ears are my ears,” Kun purred, one eyebrow raised.
“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” Tong replied, unfazed.
“You’re not going to see him,” Kun said.
Quan moved his hand closer to his weapon. With the men and women of the command center moving around them like water flowing past a stone, there was enough distraction for small movements. But if he was forced to pull out his weapon and kill this man, it would be all done for them but the bleeding. That’s why killing Kun was a last resort.
“If you stand in my way while I have critical information,” Tong said, his tone deepening, “when this base begins taking fire, and that’s about to happen, I’ll be sure to tell him you stood on ceremony while our troops were attacked.”
“If you have critical information pertinent to our security,” Kun challenged, his patience waning, “you have an obligation to tell me.”
“Get out of my way,” Tong snapped.
Kun didn’t move, so when Tong tried to go around him, Kun stepped in his path, blocking him. Tong shoved him so hard, the man stumbled into the wall, caught himself from falling, then reached for his weapon.
“Do that and I shoot you,” Quan said, ripping his weapon out and holding it at his side, finger on the trigger.
Kun glared at Tong, but then he turned his attention to Quan, weighing the situation while calculating the odds of his survival.
“You don’t know what kind of hell is roaring your way, you fantastic moron,” Quan spat. “If you don’t step out of our way, I’m going to paint the wall with what insignificant brain matter you possess.”
Kun stood up, straightened his uniform, tried to ignore the slowed stream of men and women, the heavily averted eyes, and the sneaking looks. Another officer walked up to him fast and said, “Sir, I’ve been trying to find you.”
“Well here I am,” Kun growled, his cheeks visibly burning.
“There might be a problem,” he said.
“What kind of problem?”
The officer leaned in and said something in a voice too low for Quan to hear. Whatever he said, though, it had a visible impact on Kun.
“You said there is an attack coming?” Kun asked Quan, humbled.
“Take us to Da Xiao Zheng now,” Tong said.
Kun turned and said, “Follow me.”
As they walked with purpose down the hallway with Kun as their escort, Quan tried to keep from sweating. He’d just pulled a gun on the highest ranking officer beneath Da Xiao Zheng. He’d never met the tyrant known as Da Xiao Zheng, but the rumors about him were legendary, and hopefully exaggerated.
Outside of Zheng’s office, the three of them stared at four guards who were nodding at Kun. One of the guards slipped inside Zheng’s office, shutting the door behind him in haste. But he wasn’t so swift that Quan failed to see the officer sitting behind the desk.
Da Xiao Zheng.
“You’d better be right about this,” Kun said in English to Steve. “Otherwise I’ll kill you myself, slowly.”
Steve lowered his head again, subservient, scared, resolute.
When the guard opened the door again, it was to summon them in. The three of them and Kun walked inside. The guard left, shutting the door behind him.
“What is the meaning of this?” Da Xiao Zheng asked in English, his eyes on Steve.
“Sir,” Quan said. “This man—”
“Not you,” he barked.
Quan fell silent.
“You’re about to be attacked,” Steve said, speaking in as few of words as possible.
“Who do you think is going to attack us?” Da Xiao Zheng asked.
“The South American Army, sir.”
“Do not call me sir, traitor. You don’t serve me, therefore you are not a subordinate. I would not kill a subordinate, but a traitor…for a traitor I would gladly relieve your body of its head. So spare me the false salutation.”
“He has been dating Gabriela Desoto, the daughter of Sebastián Desoto, President Lorenzo Guerrero’s top General,” Quan said.
“I know who General Desoto is,” Zheng said. “I wasn’t aware his daughter was dating anyone.”
“There are a great many things you’re not aware of, asshole,” Steve grumbled.
Chicom President Hu’s top man in America shot out of his seat, crossed the fifteen feet of carpeted floor and hit Steve so hard the American fell over sideways.
Quan looked down and saw Steve passed out on the floor, but more concerning, he saw that the zip-tie had snapped. Dropping fast, he rolled the man over, covering the tell quickly. He ripped out his gun and put it to Steve’s eye and looked up at Zheng.
“Sir?” Quan asked the man.
Wordlessly, Da Xiao Zheng shook his head while rubbing his hand. There was a permanent frown on his face, one that cut deep lines in his skin. Distraught, Zheng returned to his desk and sat down.
“Tell me everything,” Zheng said to Tong Lim.
“He can tell you what is coming better than I can, sir,” Tong said. Turning to Quan, he said, “He has been embedded in their community, behind enemy lines if you will, for months.”
Da Xiao Zheng turned his eyes on Quan and raised a brow. An acknowledgment to speak.
“A mile and a half long SAA convoy tore through Five Falls days ago,” Quan said. “Last night they also ran through Portland uncontested.”
The man blanched at the mention of Five Falls, but quickly regained his composure. “You were in Five Falls?” Zheng asked.
“I was in Five Falls when it was hit,” Quan said. “A helicopter killed many of them when it shot up the town.”
“That was me,” Da Xiao Zheng said proudly.
At Quan’s feet, Steve started to come around. He pulled his weapon, aimed it at Steve’s face. When the American blinked and shook the dizziness loose, Quan said to him, “I’m going to lift you up and if you so much as blink the wrong way, you’
re dead. Nod if you understand.”
He nodded, slowly, still dazed.
“Don’t you dare move your arms or your legs,” Quan said. “Compliance will save your life.”
He saw the look in Steve’s eyes the second he realized his zip-tie had snapped. Quan holstered his weapon, then stood Steve up by his arms, holding them close together and keeping his unbound wrists hidden from both Kun and Zheng.
“I was your inside man in Five Falls,” Quan continued, straightening his uniform. “Well, one of two men. I was the one who survived. I wish you would have reached out to me, sir. I believe I had actionable intel that could have halted this.”
Da Xiao Zheng frowned at the veiled insult. Quan just suggested the man had failed at his job, and he did so without blinking, or looking down. Zheng stood back up, walked over to the four of them, and stood so close Quan could smell the stink of cooked fish on the man’s breath.
“Everything happens in its own time,” Zheng said unenthusiastically.
“Gabriela’s father says the same thing,” Steve lied, looking up and sneering at the highest ranking Chicom officer in the United States. The Resistance’s martyr was no longer able to contain his rage. With heat and grit in his voice, Steve all but snarled at the man. “Unfortunately for you, you are not moving in on his troops, he’s moving in on yours.”
“Where did you find this gweilo?” he turned and spat at Quan.
“He was in contact with Gabriela, and through her, General Sebastián Desoto,” Quan explained, the lie preplanned and sounding sincere. Quan turned his eyes on Steve, withdrew his weapon and pressed the barrel to Steve’s head once more. “The next time you speak to Da Xiao Zheng like that, you can be sure those will be your final words.”
“Please continue,” Zheng prompted.
Quan kept his weapon on Steve’s temple. “I discovered this traitor in Five Falls. After the SAA rolled through there and laid waste to that horrible little town—”
