Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall (26 page)

The unknown guy behind her cut her ropes while he spoke, and she forced herself to sit still and avoid looking around. Whatever the guy had planned, she was onboard. Anything to get away from Jim. Sorry, Cassy—rescuing you would have to wait. For a moment Jaz considered not going, so she could stay with Cassy, but in the end she couldn’t really do anything to help her. Not here. Not now, not when she was constantly bound and watched, just as Cassy was. Jaz promised herself that she’d come back, and when she did she was totally gonna come down on Peter and his dickwads like the fist of God. Biblical asswoopings were coming Peter’s way, just as soon as she figured out how to do it. Once she made that promise to herself, she felt a lot better about leaving Cassy. It would only be for a little while.

The outdoor kitchen began to admit the Clanners for dinner—what little of it there was—and the area between and near the two houses became, as usual, somewhat chaotic. The guards kept things orderly, but only barely. These were hungry people, and the guards’ attention was completely absorbed in the effort of forcing thirty-five desperately hungry Clanners to form up in lines and wait their turn. For their part, Jaz’s Clansmen were friendly and polite to one another, but when pressed forward toward the servers, they resisted any sense of order.

Amidst all that, over the din Jaz heard the staccato
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
of several semi-automatic rifles fired as fast as the shooters’ trigger fingers could pull. Half of the dozen guards dove for the ground and began to low-crawl toward cover, which effectively took them out of the fight for the moment. The other half charged east, rushing toward the source of the shooting.

“Now! Move it!” said the voice behind her, and Jaz wasted no time. She sprang to her feet and charged after the man, of whom she could see only his back. He was faster than her, but never let himself get out of her sight among the dense overgrowth of the Jungle.

As they ran, Jaz heard a back-and-forth gunfight going on to the east, behind her. The thought of those rifles being turned on her kept her adrenaline pumping and her feet moving. Through the Jungle they went, sprinting. The man in front of her ran in a straight line, but then suddenly jinked to the right, then back to the original course, and she realized he knew where the traps were. That made her feel a little safer, at least.

Jaz’s lungs ached and her legs began to burn as the lactic acid built up in her poorly nourished muscles, but her guide didn’t slow. Abruptly they were out of the Jungle and sprinting across the narrow stretch of open ground to the food forest. Jaz stumbled from muscle fatigue a couple of times but somehow kept moving. Then they were in the woods! Still they ran, though slower due to the dense interplanting of trees, bushes, and other plants that made up the food forest.

And then they were on the other side, just as Jaz felt like her legs couldn’t possibly keep up the pace any longer. Her guide slowed to a brisk walk, and Jaz gratefully slowed as well, her eyes darting all around.

And then she spotted Choony. Good ol’ Choony, and with a horse no less. Mister Growlyvoice was telling the truth! Go figure. She saw Choony wave to her, and a broad smile blossomed on her face.

Choony called, “Joe, amazing, thanks! You know where we’re heading, so if you must run from Peter, head our way. Okay, brother?”

The other man, Joe, grinned and then said, “Yep. I reckon I’ll be fine though. Let’s do this.”

Jaz watched as Choony first nodded and then slammed the heel of his palm straight up into Joe’s chin. Joe’s head snapped back, and he fell backwards like a tree falling.

“Let’s get out of here, Jaz,” shouted Choony, and he swung up onto the saddle. Then he reached his arm out for her. She grasped his wrist and jumped upward as Choony swung her back and up. She landed in the saddle behind him as he shouted “Hiya!” and tapped his feet into the horse’s flanks. It bolted, and Choony leaned forward as the pace quickly picked up.

Jaz felt wind on her face and smelled the fresh air. It totally smelled like freedom. She wanted to yip like she was in a cowboy movie but then asked, “Why’d you knock Joe out?” She had to shout to be heard.

“Peter had to believe it,” he shouted back over his shoulder. “We’re headed deep into the National Forest. My gear’s there. Wait. When we’re safe, we’ll talk.” Choony’s words traveled back on the wind in fast, staccato bursts.

Jaz kept her grip tight around Choony’s waist and wondered whether he’d learned to ride a horse as a child or since coming to the Clan. She didn’t bother to ask—questions could wait until they were safer. Instead, she buried her face in his neck and hung on for dear life. But was that joy she felt? She realized she was laughing.

* * *

1700 HOURS - ZERO DAY +30

Peter Ixin knew his face was flushed, but it wouldn’t do to lose his self-control in front of his peons. He rested both hands on his belt and heard the leather squeaking beneath his crushing grip. He forced himself to relax his face into its usual stony mask. “So what you’re telling me,
Scout
Ellings, is that you didn’t find any trace of Jaz. You looked, with your outstanding tracking skills, and found… What? Nothing. Is that right?”

Joe Ellings looked at the ground, eyes boring holes into the dirt. He looked pretty frustrated, himself. “No, boss, I found some tracks. They head southerly. First set of tracks must be Jaz’s. The second set started a fair ways away, past the Jungle, and they was horse hooves. Somehow she got herself a horse and rode hell-bent for leather south toward the National Forest.”

Peter watched his scout carefully. No flinching, but no stubborn pride, either. Good. It seemed likely then that he was telling the truth. The whole, incompetent truth. “Get out of my sight, scout.”

Then Peter turned toward Jim, who stood nearby. Jim, dysfunctional little psychopath that he was, didn’t bother to hide his anger. Good. His pet got away, and he ought to be pissed. “So, Jim. How is it that you allowed a bound and beaten prisoner to escape in the middle of the day?” Peter forced a smirk to show on his face, the better to piss Jim off.

“Now, boss, that isn’t fair. You know damn well we were under attack. She got away in the confusion. It’s not my fault. You had a dozen other guards on watch, and they didn’t see her leave either.”

“True,” Peter said. “But Jaz wasn’t their responsibility. She was
yours
. What’s more, that attack was a diversion. Not one person got hit when they opened fire. And the soldiers of our so-called army failed to hit anything, either. No blood, nothing. Very few tracks, not enough to know how many there were, where they came from, or where they went.”

Peter paused long enough to pick at some imaginary bit of food stuck in his teeth. Let Jim stew for a minute and he’d be easier to control… Finally, Peter continued, “So. My property has escaped on your watch. You’re my right hand, but you let yourself get humiliated by that little tease of a woman. You and I both know she loved your ‘questioning’ even if she pretended to hate it, right? Because she’s just a woman, and you’re a hell of a guy. She’d be crazy not to love it. But now she’s gone, and I don’t think I can give you the responsibility of questioning these Clanner women anymore. You’re done, Jim.” God, Peter felt disgust even saying the words. It was too bad Jim was so useful, or he’d have killed the man long ago.

Peter almost smiled when he saw Jim’s face, full of outrage and near-panic, but Peter hid it well. Jim practically leapt forward, and then said, “Peter, no! You know I’m your guy. I’m loyal, dammit! Just give me a chance. I’ll make this shit right, boss, I swear. Give me three guys and some horses and I’ll ride that bitch down and bring her back. You’ll see, Peter. You gotta give me the chance. Who else is gonna have your back the way I do? Just let me try.”

Peter watched as Jim nearly lost his self-control. Inwardly, Peter grinned as Jim’s voice cracked while he begged. Good. Begging was good. It showed who was running the show. Maybe he’d been a mid-level whatever in the old world, but here he was a
king
. “Very well, Jim. She’s been gone maybe fifteen minutes. Get three guys and your horses, and get the hell out of my sight. And Jim? Don’t come back without her. You get me?”

Yep. Peter knew that a little added motivation would do Jim a lot of good. Don’t let the minions get lazy, that’s what his dad had always said, and it was even more true now. Only order kept the chaos at bay. And Peter knew just how to get the best out of a tool like Jim so order could be restored—at any cost.

* * *

1830 HOURS - ZERO DAY +30

Choony guided the horse into the forest depths, far away from the tree line. Although the woods had more foliage to mark their passing, it also reduced line of sight to a few dozen meters or so. Moreover, there would be other animals in these woods making their own tracks, which Choony supposed could only help his cause by confusing whoever Peter sent after them. He was under no illusions—Peter would definitely send people after them. A man like that could not abide the embarrassment of losing a prisoner.

But the best part about moving through the forest, instead of along it, was that his horse had to carry two people while their pursuers would likely each have a mount. It made sense, then, to get into an environment where his own horse could keep a top speed that matched theirs, and which his own horse could sustain for a long time. Charging at full speed across open ground would have quickly driven his mount into the ground, as loaded up as the animal was.

As the pace slowed within the woods, he felt Jaz’s grip relax a bit. Not that he minded having Jaz clutch onto him, but it was getting painful in his ribs. He took a deep breath. “You alright back there, Jaz?”

“Yes, I’m good. I totally can’t believe you pulled this off. Who was that dude that helped me?”

Choony guided the horse around a large tree and tried to keep heading roughly southeast. “He’s one of the White Stag people, but it seems they’re not all fans of Peter. It seems Peter’s rise to power didn’t happen without some bloodshed, and most of the White Stag people were just farmers and farmhands before the EMPs.”

“They can go screw themselves,” Jaz said, and Choony heard iron in her voice.

“Remember, Jaz, they don’t care for Peter or Jim. It seems they’re mostly decent people in a very bad situation.”

 
“Maybe, but I do wonder if their sniper ended up killing Jim. And one of them did help me get out, so I guess not everyone there’s a complete tool.”

It was good that she could see that, Choony mused. Even if she didn’t like it. Dehumanizing others was the sort of thing that led to people like Peter, and he’d hate to see sweet Jaz go down that dark path. It was how wars got started and how people in different groups began to hate each other. The results at the end of that path were always ugly.

“Your harmony is improved by realizing they aren’t all monsters, Jaz. No, they didn’t turn on him, but only because they value their lives more than their morals. Most people do. You certainly didn’t shoot Michael for what he did to Peter’s scout, and your life wasn’t even in danger from him. These people fear Peter. Dwell on this while we ride. We’ll be going well into the night, so if you must sleep, hook your hands into my belt so you don’t fall off.”

Jaz didn’t reply, and Choony rode on. He was both glad she must be considering his words and uncomfortable at the pleasant feeling of her behind him as they both moved to the horse’s gait. Worldly distractions, he told himself more than once over the next few hours. This was not the time for such thoughts.

* * *

2100 HOURS - ZERO DAY +30

Taggart nodded and said, “I understand,” for perhaps the tenth time. He stood with Mr. Black—Angel—a bit away from the others, who were cleaning their weapons and tending their wounds after the raid. And what a raid it was! Too bad this P-O-S, Black, wasn’t happy with the results, but he knew that was going to happen.

“So you see,” said Mr. Black, “I know you putos put me an’ my crew in the hard spot, fool. I don’t like you using my people like that.”

“Listen, Black. I had no idea that tunnel through the rubble wall would be so well defended. You’re the local with the local contacts, remember? You should have known, and told me. We could have adjusted our operational parameters to reflect the new intelligence.”

“Don’t think you can spout that military shit and I won’t know what you’re saying, holmes. This ain’t my fault. You got ten of my peeps killed. Those were people I knew, fool. People I grew up with.”

“I understand,” Taggart said again. “But it wasn’t intentional. I—and by extension, the U.S. Army—both appreciate and value our civilian partisan assets. You’re a part of Team U.S.A., Black. I would never misallocate my forces for personal gain. You should have had prior warning from your own intel; I did not. I had to rely on what you told me.”

Like hell, Taggart thought. This little maggot was always getting in the way of the mission, and he was a loose cannon. With all Taggart’s new soldiers recently, including the Militia people, it had become expedient to reduce his risk exposure from Black. He sure as shit did send that trash, Black, through the kill zone. Defended tunnels were choke points, and deadly. But it hadn’t worked out quite as planned.

Taggart continued, “However, I congratulate you on quick thinking in service to the American cause. It was a sign of good leadership that you recognized the squad of Spyder’s men and could claim a higher loyalty from them. Convincing them to defect mid-battle was a primary factor in the success of our little mission to frame the Islamists for attacking their traitorous allies, Spyder and his men.”