Dark New World (Book 2): EMP Exodus (16 page)

He heard the single shrill cry of a whistle, Michael’s signal for the clan to reload. There was a pause in their fire as everyone in the center shoved fresh magazines into their M4s, depleting the stock Ethan had distributed to them at his bunker. A second’s pause, and then two short blasts of the whistle—the signal to lay it on. The clan risked exposing themselves enough to pour fire into the enemy’s position, and the return fire ceased. While they laid it on thick, Ethan bolted to his feet and raced toward the tree line; opposite him, Jed was doing the same. They reached the trees at about the same time, just as the clan ran out of ammo and began to reload.

When the enemy began firing again, Ethan heard the
thump, thump
of bullets striking the thick tree he hid behind. He’d been spotted. Fuck and damn. He paused to count slowly to five, to calm himself for what must come next.

One. Bullets tore chunks of wood off the tree.

Two. A cry of pain came from somewhere behind him; someone in the clan must have been hit.

Three. Cries of alarm from the enemy’s position.

Four. A huge
boom
nearby, and the sound of something like rain pattering off the trees all around him.

Five! Ethan leapt to the side, grenade ready, and lobbed it toward the enemy.

As the grenade left his hand, Ethan saw the scene unfolding at the emplacement. The enemy had a sandbagged position with entrenchments, facing the road. It was in shambles, with bleeding bodies draped over the emplacement walls, enemy soldiers caught in the blast of Jed’s grenade. It looked to have landed just outside the protective wall of sandbags.

But Jed hadn’t dropped – he now stood at the edge of the emplacement, pouring rifle fire into it. Jed’s face was red with rage, and Ethan saw his mouth open as though screaming, but all Ethan heard was his own heart beating.

Ethan’s grenade continued its deadly arc, now falling toward the emplacement. Two red flowers bloomed over Jed’s belly as the enemy soldiers returned fire on him, but he didn’t stop shooting into their position. Ethan opened his mouth to scream, to warn Jed of the grenade, but no sound came out. Or if it did, Ethan couldn’t hear himself screaming. Either was possible. And then his grenade landed dead center in the enemy’s emplacement even as Jed’s rifle bursts lit up his twisted, enraged face. It was surreal, and Ethan knew what would happen next.

* * *

There had been no more gunfire after the second grenade went off, out there in the woods. Frank waited for an eternity, it seemed, before standing, and the rest of the clan followed his lead as he walked toward the enemy emplacement with his rifle at the ready. “Cassy, stay here with the kids, and keep them low until we see what’s up.”

Cassy turned towards the children, who still looked like they were ready to soil themselves. Frank continued toward the trees. Time enough to calm the kids when he was sure they were safe.

When he got to the copse of trees, the scene was like something out of a movie. The ambushers wore the uniforms of the invaders, as he’d expected, and there must have been over a dozen of them. They were sprawled out on the ground and in a sandbagged pit, covered in dirt and blood. Frank shuddered at what a grenade could do to a human and decided the movies didn’t do it justice.

To the left he caught sight of Ethan, kneeling with his back to Frank, vomiting into the pit. “Ethan, you injured?” Frank asked, and even to his own ears his voice sounded flat and lifeless. Ethan did not reply, but instead turned to look back at him, tears streaming down his face. Frank didn’t see any blood on him, though.

“Where’s Jed?” asked Amber as she caught up to Frank.

Ethan still said nothing. He just turned back around. Frank walked the several paces to stand beside Ethan and realized why the man was crying. Jed lay on the ground before him, his head on Ethan’s lap, his eyes open and lifeless. Frank saw the two bullet wounds in Jed’s gut, and then realized there was also a fist-sized chunk missing from the left side of Jed’s neck. No blood pumped from the terrible wound.

Frank saw Jaz sprint towards them and skid to a halt on her knees, next to Jed. She draped herself over the body, sobbing. Amber, too, had begun to cry, her face white as if in shock. She slowly kneeled next to Jed and Ethan, placing one shaking hand on Jed’s forehead.

“What happened, Ethan,” demanded Frank through clenched teeth. Every part of him wanted to kill someone, anyone, to let out the rage he felt as he looked down at his friend’s corpse. But there was no justice in this life; he reminded himself. Over and over in his head he told himself he had responsibilities, now more than ever. His right-hand man was dead. When Michael had shown everyone how to throw a grenade, the drill was to throw and drop.
Why had Jed gone cowboy instead? Why didn’t he drop?

Frank blinked himself out of that pointless train of thought. But really, what would he do without Jed? Jed was always the outgoing one, the negotiator, reining in Frank’s tendency to go ‘quiet and scary’ under stress, as Jed put it. Or, used to put it. Sonsofbitches took more than his friend, they took part of
him,
too. Frank wished he could deal with this better, maybe weep and rail at the gods and then move on, but like everything else in his life, he had to stay strong now and cry later, on his own time.

Ethan wiped his face with his sleeve, and slowly stood with knees shaking. “My grenade got a couple of them, but then they had me pinned,” Ethan said unsteadily. “Jed just… He charged them, and even after he was shot he didn’t slow down. He threw his grenade into the pit with them and poured on the gunfire until it went off. He sacrificed himself to save… to save
all of us
.”

Ethan’s story made a kind of sense, but it didn’t sound like Jed, who could be wild and hot-headed but was rarely reckless. Frank stared at Ethan, gauging the man. Ethan had turned away, back toward Jed’s body and the two women crying over it.

Something about Ethan’s reaction just didn’t sit right. Now, Frank was no master psychologist, but he damn sure knew how to read people. If that sonofabitch was lying, Frank decided, he’d rip off Ethan’s junk and choke him to death with it. But why would he lie?
Why didn’t Jed throw and drop?

“Now’s not the time for this,” said Michael in a low tone.

Frank thought something about Michael’s voice sounded wrong and looked over at him, but couldn’t read his expression. Michael was bleeding down the outside of his left leg, but it didn’t look bad.

“You’re hit, Mike.” Frank lacked the energy to dig into whatever was on Michael’s mind.

“A scratch. I’ll be fine. Worry about Amber. No, worry about his daughter—Kaitlyn’s only seven and she just lost her daddy.”

Frank thought about having to tell Jed’s daughter that he was dead, and a shudder ran down his spine. Thank God Amber would take care of that task. “Michael, do me a favor and strip all the gear you think we can use, and bring it out to the clan. Then we’ll take care of your leg, and burying Jed. We need to reload and be ready before we can do anything else, though, so let’s get to it.”

Michael nodded and jumped into the pit of dead soldiers to rummage through their packs and pockets. Frank had to turn away.

He saw Amber then, slumped and kneeling, and spoke. “Amber, I’m sorry for… No, that doesn’t cut it. My heart’s with you, Amber. That’s all I can spare right now.”

Jed’s wife looked up at Frank, tears streaming. “What am I going to do, Frank? How will I care for Kaitlyn without her daddy?”

Frank saw fear on her face, and his heart truly went out to her. This was no time for that discussion, so he said simply, “You’re in the clan. Kaitlyn’s in the clan. We take care of our own. That’s the way it’s got to be now until things get back to normal. If they ever do. Got it? We take care of our own, for better and for worse.
We are a clan.
” The final words came out like Bible prophecy, and he knew said it as much for himself as much as for Amber. The words meant survival.

- 20 -

1100 HOURS - ZERO DAY +9

LUIS “SPYDER” ACOSTA, gang boss of West Cumberland and North 33rd, paced back and forth outside some anonymous shit-brown tent and glared at the emblem on the flag next to the entry. The big red star with a golden wreath around it was fuckin’ stupid, but at least it wasn’t that squiggly worm the ragheads used for a symbol. Nearby, Sebastian squatted on his heels, relaxed but poised, and watchful as always.

“Who the hell are these bitches,” Spyder complained for perhaps the tenth time. “Nobody summons King Spyder. I came ‘cuz I’m curious, but I’m about to bounce out.”

Sebastian showed no expression in response, but said, “Boss, you gotta chill. I think these guys are calling shots for the ragheads. I’ll bust ‘em if you want, but I don’t think we’d make it out, and they might make better friends than enemies. Let’s see what they got to say and then decide what to do. Yeah?”

“Fuck you, Seb. I know that, dipshit. Aw hell, I’m too wound up. I gotta chill. I ain’t even mad at you, yo, I’m just letting off steam. So who you think they are?”

“Who, the red star guys? I dunno, boss. But they got mad reps. You see how there ain’t no more tents around this one? It’s like an island. I bet you’re here to meet their Jeffe.”

“Shit, then I better quiet down, yo. I just hate waiting.” Spyder resumed pacing.

Ten minutes later, some short little slant-eyed dude came out wearing the ugliest uniform ever. Spyder straightened himself up and raised his chin. “What’s up, yo?”

The little man stood stiffly, but Spyder couldn’t read the little rice-eater’s face. They all looked the same. Then the little puto said, “Mister Spyder, you have the honor of being summoned to meet with Colonel Ree of the Korean People’s Army. You may say he is in command of this area. Your recent activities have gained his admiration, but also his attention. When you speak to him, you must call him ‘Colonel’ or ‘Sir’ only. Colonel Ree is a great man, a man of power and wisdom. All the People cheer his name and honor the Great Leader for bringing him here. Do you understand the nature of the man you will soon meet?”

Spyder suppressed the urge to laugh at this little dipshit’s stupid accent and the garbage he was spouting. Who the fuck cheers a gook’s name? Ree was probably shorter than this puto and just as ugly. “Yeah, I get it. This is your house, your rules. When do we meet Colonel?”

“Follow me,” said the little man and stepped back into the tent through the loose flap.

Spyder shrugged and followed, Sebastian close on his heels. When they got inside, it took a moment for Spyder’s eyes to adjust. The first thing he noted were the Colonel’s two guards. These didn’t look like just any old goose-steppers. No, they were poised, wary, and oozed menace. And yet, the Colonel himself didn’t look like much. Not too short, but not tall, and thin. He sat on a simple folding chair with a large, expensive-looking rug laid out before him.

“I am Colonel Ree,” the skinny slant told Spyder. “Please be seated, and be at ease. I will not harm you here, so long as you show this place the respect I feel it deserves.” Spyder had a hard time following the translator, who spoke almost on top of the Colonel. Then the translator said, “Please do not look at me. That honor is the Colonel’s. I merely translate.”

Spyder nodded, and he and Sebastian squatted on their heels a safe distance from the Colonel. “Tell him I’m glad to meet him. What’s he want?”

The translator spoke in Korean, and the Colonel let out a laugh. Spyder had the distinct impression that the Colonel laughed only to show his guards that he wasn’t insulted enough to order throats slit.

Ree said, “I wish to congratulate you on your victory over your southern neighbor. You enlarge your territory at the expense of your enemy, and your resources now increase. But, so do your responsibilities.”

Spyder’s eyes narrowed. “We been doing what we’re told, Colonel. Kill peeps with guns, kill or catch soldiers, and two slaves a day, in return for food and supplies. Seems like it’s all good, yeah?”

“Your people have now almost doubled. So, I will double your allotments. You will continue to flush out resistance sympathizers, and your quota of ‘volunteer workers’ is doubled. Four per day—and they must not be infirm or under the age of thirteen. I need workers, not more mouths to feed.”

“Well, I don’t want them slackers either, Colonel. What do you want me to do? I gotta get rid of them somehow.”

The Colonel smiled. “Do with them as you will. I do not care how you handle them. Just do not send them to me.”

Spyder nodded. “Anything else, sir?” He practically spat the word, hating it, but it was necessary.

“I am done with you, my excellent servant,” replied Colonel Ree, returning Spyder’s gaze coldly.

Spyder wanted to scratch the bastard’s eyes out. That tone he used would have been the death of any other man, but here Spyder was, king of his own territory, eating crap sandwiches for this little slant-eye.

Spyder stood without another word and walked out of the tent with as much calm as he could muster, and then he and Sebastian headed home. “Some day soon I’m gonna kill that puto,” Spyder muttered under his breath.

“Better do it before he gets to asking for more than he already is. We got the guns to run over this place if you want.”

“You’re a fool, Seb,” Spyder said with a grin. “Don’t you know they got a whole army here? We gotta do it Godfather-style, no links. Make it look like someone else.”