Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall (28 page)

“Semper Fi,” the Marines muttered in unison. They still looked down into the fire, Mandy noted, but she thought she could see their shoulders rise a little higher, their backs grow a little straighter. Okay,
Semper Fi,
she had to remember that and trust God’s power was in it.

“God bless Marines,” she murmured, seeing the others look briefly surprised, then lower their heads. “And God, watch over Frank, if it be Your will, for he needs You now more than ever, and so does his family. So do we all. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

* * *

Taggart inched his way into a sitting position, his back aching from a night on the cold cement floor of the tunnels they used as a basecamp. Other than the light of one rechargeable camping lantern in the tunnel nexus outside what had become his sleeping chamber, no light penetrated down here. The lantern cast eerie shadows that seemed to crawl toward him from the dark beyond. Glancing at the wind-up watch he’d acquired in a raid, he saw that it was barely 0500 hours. He’d only fallen asleep a few hours earlier, and he muttered a curse. Someone probably got up to hit the head, but these days even someone moving quietly to the bathroom would wake him up. He was about to lie back down when a slight sound caught his attention.

He felt an adrenalin surge as he sat in silence, straining to identify the noise. It was soft and repeated, but didn’t come in any regular pattern. Then it hit him. He was hearing shuffling footsteps and whispered voices. What the fuck? He slowly lifted his rifle off the cement and rose like a phantom from his makeshift bedding. With a toe he nudged Eagan, who hadn’t woken but was beginning to stir. Eagan sat bolt upright, but Taggart held a finger to his lips, and Eagan nodded. Taggart touched his ear with his left hand, then pointed out toward the nexus, and beyond, toward the tunnels that led to other little chambers.

Once he knew Eagan was alert, Taggart moved out with his rifle firmly welded to his cheek, finger lightly on the trigger guard. His posture low, almost a crouch, moved with the fluid, noiseless grace of a panther prowling. Just before the nexus, he paused and spared a moment to curse the lantern; it was ruining his night vision now that he was within its warm glow.

Directions weren’t clear down here, but the nexus had five intersecting tunnels. One went to the chamber where he and Eagan had slept, opposite a tunnel that stretched away toward another nexus down the line. To the right, a short tunnel led to a larger chamber where several more of Taggart’s people slept. The left-hand tunnel led to their “supply depot,” and between it and the entry came another chamber where more of Taggart’s forces slept.

Again, he listened carefully. To the right, no noise. To the left, one person softly snoring but nothing more. Staying low, he moved across the chamber to the tunnel entry that stretched away toward another nexus and paused. Ahead, he barely heard the faint scuffling of feet. Eagan caught up to him and placed a hand on Taggart’s shoulder to let him know where he was.

Taggart moved forward again and noted Eagan’s hand remained on his shoulder. Good. They arrived at the next nexus, again pausing just before they entered it. All was blackness there, as not even the faint light from Taggart’s lantern reached within. They paused once again, searching for any noise, but all was silent. He couldn’t hear the scuffle of feet anymore. But where was his guard? He’d posted a guard in this nexus to guard the tunnel they’d come down. Then a familiar stench—the smell of blood and of bowels released in death—reached him in the dark.

After a few seconds to marshal his reactions in the utter silence, Taggart felt secure enough to turn on his flashlight. He pulled out the little Stinger and covered the lit end with his fingers, then flicked it on. Only a little light seeped out between his fingers, and he spent a three-count sweeping the light around the nexus. Then he turned it back off. The brief time had been long enough—he’d spotted the sentry. She was sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, face down. Someone had changed everything with this act and had to be stopped, but first Taggart needed to know the situation. It had to be Black’s doing. This was a complete Charlie Foxtrot now.

Taggart muttered, “We return to base. Sentry down. Move out.” He and Eagan then moved somewhat faster back down the tunnel toward their chambers. Taggart led, with his rifle covering their advance; Eagan covered their retreat. Soon they had returned to their own nexus. The two set about waking the few soldiers in silence. Once everyone was roused, Taggart went to check the supply depot—the chamber where they kept their stockpiles—and gasped. Most of their gear was gone, only a medkit and their comm gear remaining. Ammo stockpiles, enemy weapons, Arab “uniforms,” food and medicines—all gone.

“That fucking civilian sonofabitch,” growled Taggart, no longer concerned with silence.

Behind him, Eagan said, “Captain, we have another problem. Black may have taken off with our supplies, but he was also the only one who knew these tunnels very well. Until we find a hatch to topside, we’re stuck down here.”

“We’ll have to organize a search pattern to find our way out. We can assume Black has left this operational area as fast as he can, but I still want our people moving in pairs. Get them together, Eagan, so I can brief them. We’ll find an exit point soon enough, and then we go hunting for those traitors. We need that gear to survive, but most of all
we need that radio
. Without it we can’t receive intel and instructions from the 20s and our effectiveness is degraded. We can’t let him do that to us.”

Eagan grinned. “You mean we’d be blind and hungry? Good call, boss. We’re under Martial Law, right? What’s the book say about treason, looting, and stealing military supplies during times of war and enemy occupation?”

Taggart clenched his jaw. “You already know the answer, shitbird. A short trial followed by execution. No appeals. Now stop dicking around. The mission window is closing while we chatter.”

* * *

0800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +31

Jaz and Choony faced a small ravine. She saw no way across, and the White Stag pursuers could only be an hour behind them at most. More likely twenty minutes… “Choony, what do we do?” she asked, and she could hear the panicked tone in her voice.

Choony seemed calm. “We turn left. Go deeper into the woods. And pray.”
 

Choony turned the horse and urged it to move faster, but it refused to charge through the dense foliage. As they wound their way through the underbrush, the trees grew denser, further slowing their progress. Minute after tense minute, they tried to urge the horse forward until they came to an impenetrable barrier of brushes stretching to the left, away from the ravine.

“We’ll have to double back,” Choony said, and Jaz now heard an edge to his voice that was very out of character. He must be totally freaking out inside, she realized.

Jaz cried out, “No! If we do that we run right into them. The horse is trapped, but we’re not.” She slid off the horse and grabbed Choony’s backpack. “We can get through on foot.
Come on, Choony!
” She grabbed his arm, half-panicked, and nearly yanked him off the horse.

Choony nodded and slid down to join Jaz on foot, then took the backpack from her and slung it over his shoulder. “Go! I’ll be right behind you. I’m sending the horse running—it might lure them away from our tracks.”

Jaz didn’t hesitate. Growing up on the streets, she’d learned that standing still never helped and death could come quickly. Doing something was better than nothing and, as much as she wanted to argue with Choony to stay with her as frightened as she was, she was more afraid their pursuers would catch up. Besides, if Choony could spook the horses, it might actually help. Screw it, she decided. She would totally not ever go back to being Jim’s plaything. “I’d rather die,” she muttered to herself, and sprinted toward the dense bushes. Behind her, she heard Choony smack the horse’s rump and shout at it like a real-life TV cowboy. She had to smile at the thought even as she ran.

The bushes in front were thick now, covered in thorns, a tangled bramble. There was no way through. Then, looking around for an idea, any idea, she saw what appeared to be a small opening in the bushes to her left. On a closer look, she realized it was some sort of animal passage and already growing over. There seemed to be no way through there, either. Her heart fell, and she struggled to control her rising panic.

Choony appeared next to her and grabbed her arm. “No time for panic, Jaz. Let’s go check the ravine. Maybe there’s a trail, or maybe we can climb down somehow.” He tugged at her again, and she found herself following him. At least someone was giving directions. She felt her cheeks flush, ashamed of her panic and indecision, but Choony spared a smile and continued on toward the ravine, moving quickly. And she felt better. Choony had a way of doing that for people.

Behind her, Jaz heard the faint sounds of hooves muffled by the forest soil, and voices raised in alarm. Their pursuers were closing in. If the White Stags hadn’t seen them yet, they soon would. Jaz redoubled her efforts. Clinging to a cluster of tree roots that grew out of the soil at the edge of the ravine, she tried to shuffle along the ledge, feet planted on the ravine’s wall like one of those cool SWAT guys. Only unlike those guys, Jaz wasn’t doing so well at keeping her feet planted on the ravine’s wall. The dirt kept falling away, making her scramble to keep from falling, and she wasn’t going very fast. The slower she went, the faster her heart raced. In her mind, Jim and Peter were right behind her, grinning, leering, laughing at her feeble attempts to get away. She could never get away.

Choony penetrated the fog she’d fallen into, saying “They are coming through the foliage now, Jaz. I urge you to move faster if you wish to escape.” His voice sounded far away, and she realized adrenaline was screwing up her perceptions.

Okay, deep breaths. Concentrate. Focus. Move right hand. Move right foot. Move left hand. Move left foot. Always keep three points of contact, move only one part at a time… She repeated the mantra in her mind and it helped. She let it cycle through her mind as if it were a dance step she was learning. She may have only moved at a snail’s pace, but she managed to make some real progress along the cliffside.

The bushes stretched away to her right, but the end was in sight and knots of exposed roots were there to grab for the entire distance. If their predators took only a few more minutes to find them, then she and Choony just might make it…

Then a familiar voice boomed out. “Jaz, my sweet, stop moving or I’ll blow your pretty little head off. Now, freeze!”

In her panic Jaz almost lost her grip. Once she’d flailed for a moment, she managed to get both hands on the roots and struggled to bring her feet up again. Then she looked to her left, and sure as shit, Jim’s bastardly face was leering at her, just like she’d imagined earlier. He stood at the edge of the ravine with his rifle pointed directly at her, and another man had Choony covered.

The seconds ticked away like hours as Jaz considered her options, but when Choony let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, jaw clenched, she knew it was over. The nightmare would continue if he didn’t just slit her throat and leave her in the woods. She tried to reply, to say something witty, but no words came to her. Her mind struggled to string words together but came up blank. She realized she was in some kind of shock.

Jim laughed, and Jaz felt her cheeks flush. She visualized herself plunging a knife into his neck, watching him bleed out and smiling at him as the light left his eyes. It was a nice dream.

Jim said, “Don’t just hang there staring at me, honey bunch. You and your Korean should get your asses back up here, or let go. I guess the choice is yours, but I’d sure rather have you back. Ten… Nine…”

Jaz felt her fear turn to rage. That fucking animal. He needed to die. Thoughts of letting go fled before the heat of her anger. If she just let go, her torment would end, but Jim would just find another Clan victim. She’d be passing the buck for the easy way out, and well… Fuck Jim. Fuck that. She’d bide her time and take the abuse for a while, but when the opportunity came—and it would come, eventually—she’d kill the sonofabitch and shove the only thing that rapist really loved right down his damn throat while he bled out. She’d make sure he knew what she was doing to him. The thought made her savagely happy, and she realized for the first time what bloodlust felt like. It drove out all thoughts of fear or self-preservation, and her soul sang to the tune she heard playing to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Jaz realized she was the wolf, now, a hunter being invited into the sheep pen. Some detached part of her mind watched the change in herself with fascination and a savage joy.

“We’re coming back, Jim. Don’t shoot, please,” she said, forcing herself to sound timid and scared, just the way Jim liked his women. She saw Jim’s rifle barrel lower just a bit, his shoulders relaxed a tad. It had worked. She and Choony slowly worked their way back along the ravine’s edge toward Jim and the other hunters.

When first Choony and then Jaz climbed back up from the ravine, Jim and his people backed up, keeping their rifles at the ready. Jim shouted, “Get on your knees, hands behind your heads,” and Jaz felt an irrational urge to giggle. The bastard sounded like he’d watched too many bad cop movies. He probably had, along with a bottle of lotion and box of tissues. He was dangerous, but he was pathetic. And she knew first-hand just what he was compensating for.

Once Jaz and Choony were on their knees, one of the men approached Choony and raised his rifle over his right shoulder, holding it with both hands. Choony closed his eyes, but did not move, as Jim’s flunky smashed his rifle butt into Choony’s head, sending her friend sprawling. He didn’t move. Jaz’s rage flared up again, but she controlled it. Mustn’t let Jim see that. He had to think she was defeated and broken. Hopefully Choony lived through that.