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

“Don’t end your sentences with a preposition, shitbird. Get going.”

Eagan stood tall and saluted, with a grin so loud Taggart could almost hear the “fuck you” behind it, but he didn’t say anything. The private was wired tight when the bullets flew, so no room to chew his ass. Oh well, maybe next time. “Get the fuck out, Eagan.”

Eagan left, and Taggart slid his hand under the desk to pull out a bottle of Wild Turkey 101 whiskey he’d hidden there. “Hello, darling,” he said. Turkey was the best mass-produced whiskey on the market as far as he was concerned, and he licked his lips in anticipation of the mellow burn sliding down his throat. It was medicine, he figured, and he prescribed it for himself whenever he had to deal with his civilians. No doubt those unsat smokers and jokers would have
something
sarcastic to say when he gave his speech. Fuckers. And God bless ’em for stepping forward to fight for their country because most of the sheep out there were content to starve before they’d risk their necks right now to fight for America. Reverently, he poured two knuckles’ worth of whiskey—now
that
was a proper shot!

Then the door opened and Black’s sidekick, Chongo, walked in looking none too pleased. Taggart let out a sigh, then said, “Hello, Chongo. What can I help you with?” Taggart eyed his shot glass longingly, but waited.

Chongo replied, “Sir, Mr. Black wants to know—and I’m quoting him, don’t get pissed—when
the fuck
you are gonna do something useful with all the people we’ve gathered.”

Taggart frowned. “You mean the people I gathered? Tell your boss that I’m totally on board. We’re getting ready for a pretty major operation. I’ve got a platoon and a half with guns, and we’ve been coordinating with other Resistance groups through some guy out in rural Pennsylvania who’s part of those 20s we keep hearing about. He’s not the only one who knows the 20s anymore.”

Chongo nodded. “You know I hate it when he sends me to ask you stuff, right? He don’t like to come himself, on account of not wanting any conflict between you two roosters.”

Taggart chuckled. “Yeah. Please tell him that I’ve got things in motion that will at least put a thorn in the side of our enemy. We’re going to move out tonight on a series of raids, but I can’t say where. I won’t tell anyone until we’re in the field and in motion.”

“He ain’t gonna like that, but I ain’t about to tell you how to do your thing. You lay it down how you want, and I’ll just pass the deets along as you give ’em to me.”

Taggart said, “Ha! Yeah, it must suck to be the guy between us. Well, let him know what’s up, okay? Tonight my group’s hitting a warehouse of supplies, and other groups will be running interference and laying down confusion in the enemy ranks. At least, we will if our 20s guy has done his job.”

- 2 -

1100 HOURS - ZERO DAY +18

ETHAN DOUBLE-CHECKED HIS work. A windmill needed a new slip washer to reduce drag on the blades. Once again, he wished Michael and Cassy were around. He already missed having their hands to help out as the rest of the Clan worked diligently to get “Camp”—the Clan’s nickname for Cassy’s farm—ready for winter, or harvesting the many varieties of fruits, vegetables, and herbs as they ripened. Fruits, nuts, and produce grew seemingly at random around Cassy’s farm, and he hadn’t yet asked her why she mixed everything up like that. Still, Ethan knew how important Cassy’s mission was. Saving the neighbors not only built goodwill, but having more people might spare the Clan trouble from the raiders who increasingly ravaged the surrounding region. They’d already brought in a dozen people, who helped a lot around the farm.

Maybe raids only seemed to be increasing, Ethan reflected, because the people out there were dying in droves. But he knew that starvation and disease were a big part of the death toll; malnutrition and stress weakened people’s immune systems, and once-rare treatable diseases were becoming rampant and often fatal as medicines grew scarce. Not to mention the damn diseases caused by so many unburied bodies…

But raiders, like parasites, killed their own hosts. With ever fewer available victims, raiders were themselves becoming desperate. Cannibalism was one early tactic, but that only worked when there were victims out there to eat. Ethan shuddered at the thought of falling into raider hands. One raider group, numbering at least twenty people, had already discovered the Clan’s rapidly expanding farm. They had not attacked yet, and their attempt to scout the farm had cost the bastards at least three lives. Michael and the new Marines were so very good at killing when necessary. It was a damn shame it was necessary so often, and Ethan figured it would only happen more as things got worse outside of the farm’s resource-rich borders.

With a grunt of approval, Ethan finished checking his work. The windmill would once again lift water on one leg of its journey to the top of the hill, where the animals were penned. Since it had ground to a halt yesterday, people had been forced to carry water to the animals—quicker than herding them to a pond—and that had taken lots of cursing plus priceless man-hours to accomplish. The Clan needed those hours on other projects, like finishing the first of the new earthbag houses, harvesting crops, canning extra food for the winter before it spoiled, mucking out the livestock pens, tending to the compost accelerator pits… The list went on and on. Shaking his head, Ethan muttered, “Time to find something else useful to do.”

He made his way toward the field of spring wheat, where harvesting was underway. They were bundling the cut long stems into sheaths and taking them to a nearby shed for drying and, eventually, threshing by hand. It was labor-intensive, and he resolved to think of ways to make it more efficient. When he had time, of course.

Ethan grabbed a sheath in either hand and carried them toward a nearby wheelbarrow, then carefully lifted them into it. As he dusted off his hands on his pants he saw Amber approach and grinned. He hadn’t seen her at all today, and his spirits rose as she smiled back.
 

He was about to say hello when Frank came up behind her and dropped four sheaths of wheat in the wheelbarrow. “Hey, Ethan. Can you load these up and wheel it to the shack? Thanks. Amber, give me a hand.” He motioned for Amber to follow, and she shrugged to Ethan and hustled to catch up, with a single glance over her shoulder for Ethan. He realized he must openly look stricken and forced his face back to normal, hoping no one saw it. But damn!

There was no denying it; Amber was as attracted to him as he was to her. He hadn’t even realized it was happening, this attraction, but there it was. It grew between them during the trek here, but she was taken then, and they both reined it in as best they could. Maybe he shouldn’t have. But they were here now, and it was time to take it to the next level if he could. See what happened. Yes, she had to work out the conflict she felt between grief over Jed and guilt about her attraction to him. But he had his own ghosts to drive out. All the gods of HAM radios and little fishes must know the two were meant for each other!

Okay, Jed’s death hadn’t gone down quite the way he’d told the group it did, and he didn’t know how to set that problem right. They’d been in combat when it happened, and he knew that no plan ever survived once a battle started. He knew—and kept telling himself—it wasn’t his fault. It really wasn’t, but the memory hounded him just about every night now. Good sleep had become rare. Sometimes he’d go reeling with mixed guilt about Jed, gratitude for Amber’s interest, hunger to have her with him, and this damned frustration. And confusion.

Ethan paused and frowned as he dropped the last sheath into the wheelbarrow. Frank wasn’t usually so terse. He was a friendly guy by nature, one of those steady people you know you can trust within five minutes of meeting him, and he’d try to do right even if he didn’t like you. Ethan and Frank always got along fine. Of course a lot of work needed doing, that never stopped. But couldn’t he take a few seconds to smile and say hello before getting down to business?

Frank must be grumpy and Ethan had an itchy feeling it involved him. Maybe Frank and his wife, Mary, were arguing, though there was no sign of that earlier. Ugh. Well, there was still work to do and lunch—and a much-needed nap after, for the hottest part of the day—and then more work.

Lunch was still an hour away, so Ethan loaded a six-pack of water bottles into the wheelbarrow for the people in the field and headed back. Cassy had been drilling into everyone that they should try not to waste any trips. There was always something to do, something to bring back and save someone else a special trip. She’d said that and, as usual, was right. So, water bottles this time.

A similar sequence happened each time he finished loading the wheelbarrow. Push to shed, unload sheathes, find something useful for the way back, return. Wash, rinse, repeat. There was plenty of time to work out the situation with Frank during the mindless routine parts.

So, okay. (Ouch! Damned hole almost jammed up the barrow’s wheel this time. Gotta bring back a shovel and fill it in, next trip.) If Amber was near, so was Frank, sometimes conspicuously so. It was happening every time. He was being pushy. Was that just paranoia? Maybe.

As Ethan finished loading another trip’s worth of spring wheat, he saw movement from the corner of his eye and glanced toward it. Amber was coming toward him with two bundles of wheat and wore a welcoming half-smile on her face as she approached. Okay, here’s the test…

When she had got to a dozen yards away, sure enough, Frank intercepted her. He spoke for half a minute, and the conversation looked heated. Amber’s smile flipped into a frown, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, while Frank stiffened his stance; his back was turned so Ethan couldn’t see Frank’s face, but he certainly acted tense.

Then Amber turned her head to look at Ethan, looked away, turned, and stomped off into the field for more grain. She was radiating anger. Frank picked up her two sheaths and walked toward the wheelbarrow, eyeing Ethan, and stopped about six feet away. He looked at Ethan for what felt like a long time. It made Ethan damned uncomfortable. Yeah, Frank was a good guy, but this was getting weird. What on earth had Ethan done to earn this from Frank?

“Well? What’s going on, Frank?” Ethan asked. His tension showed in his voice, and he didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “You don’t stop me from talking to anyone else, so what gives?”

After a long pause, Frank broke eye contact and looked up into the air as he let out a long breath, a sigh of resignation. “Okay, Ethan. Here’s the deal. We like you, and you’re one of us. No doubts about that, and I want to make darn sure you know it. But this thing with Amber, well, it’s not right. Not yet, anyway. None of us who made this Clan during the trek are okay with it if you two go ahead. Not because we don’t like you, or her. Be clear about that, it’s important.”

Frank clearly had to work hard to get all this out in a level voice. Ethan wondered if Frank thought Amber and he didn’t have to struggle with this. Was he maybe just a bit ashamed? He should be! But he started up again. “Look. Jed’s barely been gone a week. His kid still cries at night, I know y’all hear it sometimes. And even some of the new faces ’round here, who heard the story, have come up to me to jaw about it. They weren’t even there, but they don’t like it, either. Y’hear what I’m sayin’, friend? Crank it back,” Frank said with a weird, almost driven look.

Ethan felt his throat tighten as a sinking feeling washed over him. Almost, he felt sorry for Frank. But just as quickly, it turned to anger. Who were they to say who could do what? They weren’t the morality police in this new world, dammit. And the newcomers sure as shit had no business saying a damn thing about any of it. Hell, they were lucky just to be here with the Clan. What made them feel entitled to have any say on two veteran Clan members’ private lives? Screw that.

“Frank, I don’t give a damn what the new people think and neither should you. They don’t know us, we don’t yet know them and they’re here because
we, the Clan
, took mercy on them.” He paused to blow out some air, breathe, try to get rid of some of the anger he was feeling. “But I’m really hurt that you’d go against us on this, Frank. We didn’t pick this, it just happened, you know that.” He glared for a moment but it felt uncomfortable. He liked Frank, dammit, so he added, “I thought we were friends.”

Oh God, was that him whining? At Frank of all people? He felt a bit mortified. Try something else… “Amber likes me, and I like her, right? Why shouldn’t we have the chance to see where that leads? In this crappy new world, a little bit of happiness is hard to find. So tell me what’s wrong with that, Frank, or get out of our way. We can’t worry about who’s talking to whom.”

Frank’s tension eased a bit, and he smiled wanly. Like he got it. “Well, I
am
your friend, Ethan. And that’s why I gotta stop you two from rushing into what you both want to do. First, because of Jed’s kid. She needs to mourn her dad without some guy she doesn’t really know hovering around her mom. Believe me when I tell you, the whole rest of your life will be easier if you hold back for a while, until she’s ready to let you in. Not even as just a good friend to her mom. Not yet. I hope that makes sense.”

Ethan found himself slowly nodding. Unfortunately, it did make a good kind of sense, though it totally sucked. But that still didn’t account for his friend turning on him like this. “There’s more, right? Well, what’s the other reason? You said ‘first,’ so what’s ‘second’?”

Frank looked startled for a moment, like a kid caught smoking, and then shook his head. “Yep, you’re right, and it’s more
important
than the first reason. The second reason is, both of you have to wait until
the Clan
is ready, because that’s what makes us a Clan, respecting the Clan’s wishes and expecting their help and support. It’s a two-way street. And for now, at least, the Clan does include the new people, because they may fail but they haven’t yet, and they’re with us. We’d be stupid to make them outsiders for no reason. We all let them in, so they expect the Clan’s help and support too, which means they matter. They have to.”