The Ungovernable

by Franklin Horton

  “This is Adams and Jodie,” Scott said.

  Jim introduced Hugh and Gary to the new folks.

  "How's it been?" Scott asked.

  Jim snorted. Under the circumstances, the attempt at small talk almost seemed laughable.

  “Ugly and dangerous on all fronts," Jim replied. "And getting worse by the day."

  "You got a copy of the flyer you were talking about?" Scott asked.

  Jim let his rifle hang from the sling while he dug into a pocket of his vest. He found the flyer and handed it across to Scott, who clicked on a tiny flashlight with a red lens and began reading. Jodie and Adams leaned in and read over his shoulders.

  "Shit," Scott muttered when he finished. "You sure stepped in it."

  "Kind of feels that way," Jim replied. "Any clue what that's about?"

  "I couldn't find anything out about this particular flyer or a bounty on anyone. If it's official, no one's talking about it. It has an unofficial feel to me, though. If it was legit, the people coming for you would make more of a show of it. They would want this to be a very public thing. They might even hold a show trial in town and hang you to send a message to the other insurgents."

  "Insurgents?" Hugh echoed. "They’re seriously labeling this as insurgent activity?"

  Scott flicked off his flashlight and stowed it in a pocket. He extended the flyer back to Jim, who demurred with a raised hand.

  “Keep it. I have plenty.”

  "They’re definitely calling it insurgent activity. There are pockets of resistance scattered all over the affected areas of the country, although I don’t know how significant they are. A lot of people feel the same way about the comfort camps as you do. They don’t like the whole business of having to disarm to receive aid. The powers controlling most of government are choosing to ignore that for now. They’re concentrating their efforts on the people that want aid and are willing to play ball to get it. Any place dominated by resistance is being passed over and put on a list to deal with later. They’re not making any effort to help those folks. That's why I suspect that flyer is unofficial, and they may go after figureheads of resistance later. I doubt they’re prepared to do it yet."

  “Figureheads of resistance,” Jim repeated with animosity. "So am I right in assuming that if it’s unofficial it could be personal? I'm not sure how I managed to piss somebody off so bad that they decided to take it this far. This is a pretty big effort to find one guy."

  "Especially when there were no survivors," Gary added. “They’re clearly singling you out because they managed to get that picture of you from their security cameras. Why would someone care that much? This is like someone wants revenge, and I can’t picture some impartial department head in Washington taking our actions that personally.”

  "How do you know there weren’t survivors?" Scott asked.

  "After we got home from the operation, we became concerned about that exact thing,” Jim said. “We got Hugh back there the next day. All he saw was bodies.”

  "There was a survivor," Scott said.

  Jim, Hugh, and Gary were floored.

  “How?” Jim asked.

  "Someone set off an emergency beacon immediately following the attack. It was a high priority signal because the powers that be were scrambling to find a chopper crew close enough to check it out. They had somebody on scene that night, probably before you even returned there, but I have no idea what they found."

  Jim was shocked. This detail was critical. It could completely explain why someone was going to such lengths to find him. For a survivor of the attack, this might be very personal.

  "So there could have been a survivor," Gary said. "There could be somebody out there with a big chip on their shoulder."

  "I tend to agree with you, Gary," Scott said. "This is likely something personal arranged by a survivor. And people are really acting on this?"

  Jim shook his head in disgust. "The fucking things are turning up everywhere. We've had attempts on us every day since we found out about it. Sometimes more than once a day. We haven't lost anyone yet but it's probably going to happen."

  "It says they want you alive," Jodie pointed out.

  "They want me alive. That’s the only specification. How many are they willing to kill to take me alive? That worries me.”

  "You have any suggestions for us?” Hugh asked. “It’s getting hairy. We’ve had to kill a lot of people. That only increases local animosity. Even if no one collects the bounty we stand a risk of becoming so reviled in our community that people will continue to want to kill us.”

  Scott rubbed his chin in thought. "I can't think of anything offhand, though I’ve got a lot of sharp minds working for me. I can ask around when we get back to our headquarters.”

  "Please let us know if you think of anything,” Jim said. “I expect if no one captures me by the 4th of July, whoever sent this will offer a bigger bounty. People already know where to find us and word will continue to spread."

  "Have you considered getting out of here?" Scott asked.

  "Last resort, man. I’d have to leave a lot behind."

  Scott understood that. "I did bring you guys some goodies. Got a couple of cases of ammo and some MREs. It’s not a lot but it’s what I was able to spare."

  "How are things in the cesspool?" asked Hugh.

  "It's getting worse," Adams said. “The fragmentation of government is several times worse than it was even a few months ago. Military bases that don't like their orders are acting independently and affiliating with whoever the commanding officer trusts. It’s that way with everybody. Hell, if the Department of Education had the weaponry they would be trying to militarize schoolteachers and carry out their agenda too. It's what everybody's doing."

  Gary snorted. "So basically it's business as usual?"

  "Yeah, kinda." Scott chuckled. "Except it's more like the collapse of the Soviet Union. Everybody is fighting to gain a foothold in power. Stockpiles of weapons are disappearing or falling under the control of charismatic officers within the military. When this all shakes out, there are going to be new faces wielding power in government. People we’ve never seen before.”

  They were heading to the chopper to retrieve Scott’s gift when Jim’s radio chirped. He halted to retrieve it while the rest of the men continued to the chopper.

  “This is Jim. Can you repeat that?”

  “Get back here, man,” Lloyd implored. “Something is happening.”

  More terrifying than the news was the tone of Lloyd’s voice. He was in a state of sheer panic.

  28

  The scene around the campfire was relaxed. It was like the aftermath of an old-world cookout, when friends and family might stick around for a bonfire. The only obvious difference was the lack of marshmallows. There had been some discussion of the matter between those who enjoyed cooking. While no one could remember ever seeing a recipe for marshmallows, the consensus was that they couldn’t be difficult to make. Yet it wasn’t a time for experimenting with recipes. Anything wasted could not be replaced, and marshmallows were so nutritionally lacking that it wouldn’t be worth the effort. That was sad news to some.

  Pops was telling stories about the old days to those willing to sit and listen. The younger children were tired, slouched in camping chairs or reclining lazily on the laps of anyone who would hold them. Gary’s older grandchildren and one of Randi’s daughters, Carla, were catching lightning bugs in the yard. Between the bonfire and some solar landscaping lights there was enough illumination for them to see their way around.

  “Granny, come see!” one of the children, Kayla, yelled to Debra, holding up a plastic soda bottle lit by fireflies.

  Debra passed off the sleepy child in her arms to Charlotte and got to her feet. She stretched. Sitting on a wooden bench, unable to move because she was holding a child, had made her body stiff. She began walking toward her grandchild, her smile meeting Kayla’s, her eyes meeting Kayla’s eyes. Kayla held the bottle against her face, the yellow glow of
the insects giving it an eerie cast. It made Debra laugh.

  The rest happened in slow motion.

  From out of nowhere came a figure dressed entirely in black, wearing a hoodie, his face smudged with soot. He was running. He stiff-armed Carla like a charging linebacker and knocked her off her feet. His other arm dropped in a hook and snagged Kayla around the waist. The bottle of fireflies went flying through the air, tumbling to a stop in front of the other stunned children. Carla screamed and Kayla was gone even before the smile had faded from Debra’s face.

  Without hesitation, Debra launched herself across the yard in pursuit. Her eyes were not adjusted to the darkness, having sat in front of a roaring bonfire for the last hour. She was blindly pursuing the sobs of a child snatched away in the dark. It was the magnet that pulled her through the darkness. There was no thought, no logic, no rationality, only the unadulterated pull of a grandmother acting out of instinct.

  29

  Chaos erupted around the fire, much of it a reaction to Carla’s scream. It was so fast, no one else had even seen what happened.

  “Someone took Kayla!” Carla screamed, sitting up in the grass and cradling her arm.

  Randi ran to the back porch and snatched up her rifle and pack. She slung her pack on her back and took off running. Charlotte, Kayla’s mom, handed the child in her lap off to Sara and bolted after Randi.

  Ellen grabbed two rifles from the porch, handing one to Pops. “We need to get to the cave. There could be more of them. Make sure you have everyone.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice. There was more screaming and sobs. The children were panicking.

  “Do I need to help them get her back?” Carla asked. “What should I do?” Her face was red, tears pouring.

  Ellen shook her head. “No, there are enough people out there now. There could be more attackers. Help us get these kids to the cave.”

  Pops lit a flashlight and played the beam around in the darkness, unsure of what he would find. “Follow me!”

  Ellen found her radio and keyed the mic. “Pete! Charlie! I need you guys down here now. One of the kids has been taken. I’m sending everyone to the cave. Can you see flashlights headed in that direction?”

  “I see them!” Pete replied.

  “You and Charlie make sure they get to the cave safely. Stay with them no matter what.”

  “Do you need one of us to come to you, Mom?”

  “Just do what I say!” Ellen barked, her voice revealing her panic and desperation.

  “What’s going on?” It was Will on the radio now.

  “Someone took Kayla,” said Ellen. “They’re out there in the dark somewhere. Your mom, Charlotte, and Randi are trying to chase them down so don’t shoot at anything unless you’re sure what you’re shooting at.”

  Ellen asked him another question but when there was no reply she understood Will was charging into the night at this very moment. He’d heard all he needed to hear.

  “Jim?” she called into her radio.

  There was no response. Surely he’d heard all this chatter.

  “Jim?” she repeated.

  There was no response. She had no way of knowing that the sound of the chopper engines winding down was drowning out any radio transmissions.

  “Ellen, it’s Lloyd. What’s going on?”

  “Did you hear what I told Will?”

  “No. He was talking on the radio and then he threw it down and ran off.”

  “One of the children was taken. One of his nieces. I’ve got everyone else headed to the cave.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “I’m going to stay at the house. Can you come down and keep watch with me?”

  “I’ll be there in a few.”

  “Announce yourself on the radio,” Ellen warned. “I’m nervous right now.”

  “Got it.”

  While Pops led the group into the field, Carla was gathering up some of the packs, flashlights, and some rifles from the yard. “You coming?” she asked Ellen.

  “No, I’m keeping an eye on the house. Pete and Charlie are coming with you. They know how to work the lights and secure the door. You’ll be safe.”

  “Okay,” Carla said. She extended something to Ellen.

  “What is it?”

  “He threw this down when he snatched Kayla.”

  It was a piece of paper. Ellen held it up in the firelight where she could read it.

  IF YOU WANT TO SEE THE CHILD ALIVE

  JIM POWELL MUST SURRENDER HIMSELF

  TO US AT NOON TOMORROW IN FRONT

  OF THE COUNTY COURTHOUSE

  Ellen groaned and sat down, her legs going weak. “Did you read this?”

  “I did.”

  “Please don’t say a word to anyone else right now, okay? We don’t know what’s going to happen tonight.”

  “Okay,” Carla said, struggling to keep three rifles slung over one shoulder.

  “Go on. Catch up with those guys.”

  30

  Debra charged through the night like a heat-seeking missile. She ran blindly, all of her senses desperately grasping for noises made by the child that would steer her in the right direction. Debra didn't make a single sound, other than her feet pounding through the grass. She didn't call after the kidnapper who’d abducted her grandchild, she didn't beg, and she didn't demand he turn the child loose. In fact, she didn't want to give him any clue that he was being pursued at all. If he thought he was getting away he might slow down, perhaps even turn a flashlight on. Either of those things would improve her odds and make it easier to close the distance.

  However, she was not closing distance. The figure was putting ground between them. She did not know exactly how far ahead he was but the diminishing volume of Kayla's cries told her it could be half a football field or more. Debra was in better shape than she’d been in a long time due to the constant physical work over the winter, but she’d never been a runner. It didn't matter though. In a situation like this, one became what was required of them. She would be a runner if she had to. She would gladly become a fighter, and hopefully a rescuer. If not, she would die trying.

  Debra became aware of footsteps behind her and whirled around, hoping it was one of her own group. It was Randi. Debra recognized her voice when the woman hissed, "I'm here."

  Debra could only grunt in response. She was afraid speaking would make her lose her breath. Her concentration might falter and cause her to trip. Something bad would certainly happen if she allowed herself to lose focus for even a second. She couldn’t allow it.

  Then there was another sound behind her. It was the faster pounding of approaching feet and rapid breathing but it was different than hers and Randi's. It sounded like the rhythmic chugging of a train. There was no gasping or struggle in that breathing. It was the ultra-efficient processing of breath into fury.

  Into hate.

  The runner gained on them, then passed without a word or even acknowledging them.

  "Was that...?" Randi gasped.

  Then Debra uttered her first words since Kayla had been snatched and mouthed her daughter's name.

  Charlotte.

  31

  Charlotte ran with her mother's intensity multiplied tenfold. It was the demonic rage of a woman who’d lost her husband, who’d lost her previous life to this disaster, and had nearly lost her mind along with it. She would not lose anything else. She would not lose Kayla.

  She’d run track in school but perhaps that wouldn’t have made a difference at the moment. She was fueled by everything that had happened to her in the last year. Fury, hate, and a mother’s love powered her like an injection of nitrous into a car engine. Her eyes began to adjust but there was not enough moon for that to be helpful. She stumbled numerous times and twice ran into fences at full throttle, her body tossed backward like a deer charging a net. She was back on her feet without pause each time, charging again into the dark night.

  Unlike her mother, and unlike Randi, she was gaining on the
abductor. Her daughter wailed inconsolably and the sound got louder with each passing moment. Her kidnapper was probably slowing. He would see that there were no lights behind him, would not hear shouts and threats of pursuers, and would think he was getting away.

  He would be wrong.

  Charlotte did not know how much ground she’d covered when they crossed a small creek and entered the woods. She was pretty certain she'd never strayed in this direction during her time in the valley. She couldn’t anticipate where they were going but that didn’t matter. She would go where she had to go, even if it was all the way into town.

  Eventually he must have reached a point where he thought he was safe because she saw a flicker of light. He’d turned on a headlamp. Charlotte nearly smiled. He was still moving but slower now. He looked down and in the harsh glare of his headlamp she saw her daughter's precious head. He chugged to a stop and dropped Kayla to the ground at his feet.

  Charlotte heard him hiss a warning to her daughter. He was hunched over now, his hands resting on his knees as he fought to get his breathing under control. Beneath him, Kayla cowered on the ground in the severe light of his headlamp. Her vulnerability was heartbreaking to Charlotte but that was the last tender thought she would allow herself. She had managed to close the distance. All she had room for now was a murderous hate that poured from her like an overflowing bathtub.

  His loud, gasping breath masked Charlotte’s approach until she was nearly on him. He jerked his head in her direction and the white glare of his light caught her mid-charge. At first he was not even certain it was a woman attacking him. He saw a dark shape and the reflection of intense eyes. He thought it could be the charge of a wild animal, uncoiling from the dense blackness of the night to spring upon him not as an avenger, but as a predator intent on killing him. He was almost too startled to move, too terrified to react to the viciousness of her attack.