Untitled Agenda 21 Sequel (9781476746852) (26 page)

Emmeline had said that George was in the first tent. Paul paused at
the edge of the field, where anybody in the first tent—the first few tents in fact—could see him. And he waited.

Two raccoons screeched in the distance, an unearthly sound.

And he waited.

The first tent was all he cared about. The flap of that tent was open. All the other flaps were closed. There was a reason for that. George, or whoever was in there, hoped to see something. Hope. That person had hope.

Paul saw movement. A man's head emerged from the opening, then his shoulders, and his back. The man moved forward. His ball-and-chain was as Emmy had described it. They stared at each other in the pale light of the moon. He moved toward Paul, dragging the ball chained to his ankle. It left a furrow behind him in the plowed earth.

He was close enough now that Paul could have reached out and touched him.

“Who are you?” he asked Paul, leaning forward, his voice low, his face fearful.

“My name is Paul.”

“Why are you here?”

“I was sent here by Emmeline.”

He smiled. All of George's fear was gone with just the mention of her name.

“Go on,” he said.

“She is safe with my wife and me. She and her husband are with us.”

“Husband?”

“Yes. His name is David. He loves her very much. He's worried about her. He wants to keep her safe.”

“I only want to see my daughter. That's all.” He held his hands out, palms up, in a motion of supplication.

“Emmeline will let you see her daughter, Elsa, just once. Then you must leave. She is afraid they will search for you and put Elsa at risk.”

“I understand.”

“I told them I would decide how to proceed once I have spoken with you. I must decide if we can trust you before I cut your bonds.” Paul pointed with his knife to the bracelet on his ankle.

“You can trust me.”

Paul stared at him. Words were too easy. How was Paul to judge this man? He spoke again, hoping to be assured of George's character.

“They have a boy with them, also, a child Emmeline rescued. His name is Micah.”

“Ah. And someday everyone will sit under their own vine and under their own fig tree and no one shall make them afraid.”

“You know that verse?”

He nodded. “Micah 4:4. I know that verse.”

“May it be so.”

“God willing.”

Paul knelt before him, humbled, his knees on the cold, wet earth, and, with great effort, applied pressure with the metal snips until the metal band of the ankle bracelet broke. It fell away, useless and inert. George picked up the heavy ball and chain and rolled it down the bank into the river.

The cold light of the moon spilled briefly down onto the silvery weight before it disappeared in the dark depths of the water.

George was free.

A
dam's condition had worsened rapidly over the last two days. It was difficult for everyone confined on the bus because of his constant moaning and harsh breathing. The sounds of the dying man grated on their nerves. His hand had swollen like an enormous black rotten mushroom. Too weak to sit up, he'd sprawled across the bench seat in the back, sweat running off his face. They heard him vomit and the bus filled with a fetid smell.

Steven was angry that it was Adam who had been bitten. He was one of his strongest men. If someone was going to die, it should have been useless Guy, or Winston.

The women passed out cubes from the team's packs. Steven resented their using his team's cubes. Why didn't they have their own cubes, their own packs? Something was fishy. That big guy, John, had the Enforcer's uniform and a gun, but no backpack. Steven wondered what the deal was, what was going on. This Enforcer seemed too friendly with the woman he claimed to have captured. Just the way he looked at her didn't fit. Shouldn't he be harsher with her? Instead, he let her go outside with Julia, and didn't guard her at all. She could have
taken off in a heartbeat and Julia wouldn't have done a thing to stop her. And Julia behaved strangely, too. She was a team member, for crying out loud, yet she had held a gun on her fellow agents. Steven shook his head, trying to make sense of the situation.

Guy mumbled to himself and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hated going out to relieve himself ever since Adam had been bitten.

Steven wondered how long this could go on. How much more time could they waste? Steven had an assignment and his reputation was at risk if he had to spend any more time waiting for Adam to die. Staying here wouldn't help anyone.

Suddenly, the moaning stopped. Adam began to whimper quietly.

Nigel urgently jerked his thumb toward Adam. Steven looked back over the seat. Adam wasn't moaning anymore and his skin had a bluish tinge. His eyes were closed, and his bad hand hung down. His red hair was darkened with sweat, and matted against his head. But he was still breathing. Damn! Nigel rolled his eyes. He was as frustrated as Steven.

Finally, dusk was falling. Surely Adam wouldn't make it through the night. Surely they could move out tomorrow.
Finally
.

*  *  *

Dawn. The weak early light wove its way through the vines partially covering the windows. Shadows and sunlight played across the seats and the floor of the bus. The Enforcer was awake, watchful, turned sideways in his seat, facing the men, his gun in hand. The women were asleep, their heads bowed low on their necks, their hair falling forward across their faces. Steven felt Julia's beret in his pocket. It still had the lemon smell of her hair. Winston was awake, gazing at the back of Julia's head. Guy was curled up, making him seem smaller than he really was—which was already pretty small. Nigel motioned with his head toward the back of the bus.

Adam was dead. His eyes were open, staring and dull as stagnant
water. One leg hung off the edge of the seat. Steven hated losing a good team member like him, but such was life. At least they could now move out. The Enforcer woke the women with a soft touch to their shoulders. They stretched their long delicate arms above their heads.

The Enforcer looked over and saw that Adam was dead. Steven stood, ready to move out, but the Enforcer put his hand up to stop him. Steven sat back down, waiting.
What next
, he wondered.
What the hell next?

“We'll carry him outside,” the Enforcer said. His voice and face were tired, flat. “The women will wait inside.” The women kept their faces averted. They must not have wanted to see a dead man.

“Your men will carry him. I'll follow.”

Four men: Steven, Nigel, Guy, and Winston. One man for each arm and each leg. The men positioned themselves and lifted his limp body. Steven was glad he didn't get the arm with the swollen hand. Guy got that. They carried him up the aisle of the bus, trying not to bump his head against the seats.

Going through the opening and getting the body to ground level was difficult, since there were no steps. The men were grunting with the effort. The Enforcer pointed to a fallen pine tree lying near the edge of the bank. “Over there,” he said. The Enforcer lifted up some branches and pointed. “Put him under these.”

They laid Adam where he pointed and then the Enforcer let go of the branches he was holding up, covering most of the body with the greenery of the tree. The only thing showing was the black swollen hand. The Enforcer bent to slide that hand under cover, then he stood up.

That's when Steven made his move.

He ran at him full speed, felt the muscles in his legs pumping him forward, the muscles in his arms stretched out and tight, the muscles in his back taut, his feet moving, toes digging in, propelling him. He collided with the Enforcer at full force, and heard the grunt of air
leaving his body, saw his head flail back. Steven saw his feet leave the ground, saw him wave his arms futilely, saw his gun fall from his waistband, watched him sail over the bank like a misshapen bird, saw his head hit a rock, saw him bounce downward, and then saw the splash as he hit the water. Saw him float, facedown.

Steven picked up the gun.

He clicked off the safety and went back into the bus. His men followed.

T
he women stared. Steven was holding the pistol, pointing it at them.

Their hands gripped the backs of the seats in front of them, their knuckles white.

“Give me your gun,” he said to Julia. “Now.”

She fumbled with her waistband. So she was too stupid to have her gun at the ready. Steven wasn't surprised. She wasn't military material.

“Hurry up. Hand it to me while keeping it pointed at yourself. Now.”

The barrel of the gun was shiny from the sweat on her hand. Good. She was afraid.

The older woman half stood, crouched really, leaned out into the aisle, and tried to look past Steven. “Where's John? Where is he?”

So she knew him by name. They were connected somehow. Julia was holding her pack on her lap. The older one didn't have a pack.

Steven handed Julia's gun to Nigel. With a surprised look, Nigel took it. Then he smiled. He knew Steven trusted him.

“Take Julia's pack,” Steven said to Guy.

Guy didn't move.

“Do what your leader tells you to do,” Nigel said. His voice had a new, authoritative tone Steven hadn't heard before. How quickly power becomes part of a man.

Guy slipped past Steven to reach Julia and took her pack with an almost apologetic nod of his head.

“Where's John?” the older woman asked Steven again.

“What's your name?”

“Joan. My name is Joan.”

“Well, Joan, John is gone. Just like that. Poof.” Steven held his hand in the air and snapped his fingers. Why did this woman care about an Enforcer? “Tell me something, Joan. Why do you want to know where John is? Why do you care whether an Enforcer lives or dies?”

She didn't answer but slumped forward in her seat, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Steven could hear her muffled sobs and that irritated him. What fool would cry over an Enforcer?

Julia put her arm across Joan's shoulders and murmured something to her. Joan nodded in response to whatever Julia had whispered.

“Spread out, you two. Go to seats on either side of the aisle.” That technique had worked for John. He had to hand it to him for that clever command. But now it was
his
command to give.

Ashen-faced, Joan slipped across the aisle and sat two seats away from Julia. There would be no whispering back and forth. No communication between them.

“Let me see you walk,” Steven said to Julia. “Get off the bus with Nigel and walk. I want to see how well you do.”

She approached the front, holding the back of the seats with each step she took. The lemon smell was gone from her hair. Instead, he could smell the pungent odor of fear, see the half-moon stain of sweat under her armpits.

Nigel got off the bus with her and waved the pistol, indicating she should start walking. She hobbled along, one hand on the side of the
bus for support. As she passed by one window after another, Steven could see the pain in her face. Weight bearing was obviously difficult for her and she would slow them down. Guy would slow them down, also. Steven had to decide how best to use the resources he had to complete his assignment.

Julia stumbled and almost fell getting backward on the bus. Winston, standing near the door, tried to reach for her, but Steven stopped him with an outstretched arm. She had betrayed them, held a gun on them. From the moment she obeyed John and pointed that pistol, she became a traitor to their cause. Steven looked forward to turning her over to the Authorities at the end of this mission. All in good time.

Now was the time for action.

Julia made it back to her seat and sat, pale-faced and disheveled. Nigel stood beside Steven, his legs in a wide stance, the posture of a man in charge.

Steven walked down the aisle toward Julia, and stood in the space in front of her. She tried to shrink back in her seat away from him, but he was able to reach her, grab her uniform where the Earth Protectors insignia was sewn, clasp his fingers on it, and rip it off. The sound of the cloth being torn gave him pleasure. Seeing the hole in her shirt, the pale skin of her upper chest exposed, also gave him pleasure. He had removed whatever small measure of status she had. He had reduced her back to a nobody. That's what she really was.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for officially discharging me from your evil agency.” Her voice was strong, her disdain clear. “I'm glad I'm no longer a part of the so-called Earth Protectors.”

Steven ignored her. She was not worthy of a response.

“Nigel, you stay here and guard the women. Never let them out of your sight.” Nigel squared his shoulders, narrowed his eyes, and glared at the women.

“You will accompany me,” Steven said, pointing at Winston.

“You can't just leave them here,” Winston said.

“Who are
you
to question
me
?” Steven pointed the gun at Winston. “I have a job to do and I'm going to do it. Grab your pack and wait outside.”

Frowning, Winston picked up a pack from the heap, and before he went outside, glanced at Joan and Julia sitting halfway back in the bus. Steven didn't trust Winston and needed to keep an eye on him. With this arrangement, he could. On the plus side, Winston was in good shape and could keep up with Steven.

“Guy. You're coming with me, too. Grab your pack.” Steven knew Guy was afraid of the Human Free Zone. Indeed, he was afraid of his own shadow and he would also slow them down. But if Steven found the four adults and two children together in one group, he would need more than just Winston to help him. Guy had to come along. At least he would try to follow orders.