Daybreak Zero (30 page)

THE NEXT DAY. NEAR HAYSTACK ROCKS, JUST OUTSIDE WILLIAMS, INDIANA. 3 PM EST. MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2025.

“Hi, boys, what’s new?”

Roger sat up from his nap like he’d been electrocuted; Samson, sitting guard, slowly turned his head. “Deb, you could sure scare the shit out of someone that way.”

“That’s why I did it.” Debbie Mensche was grinning. “You guys headed to Bloomington, too?”

“No need,” Samson said. “We were there two days ago and nearly got killed.”

“And we got our missions done,” Roger said. “Or mission, actually. We each had one but it was the same one, and they didn’t tell us about each other. When we met up we found out we were compartmentalized, but we’d been sent on the same job, to check out the encrypted radio station in Bloomington.”

“Well, we’re three for three—that’s the mission they sent me on, and I didn’t know anything about you all.”
That’s only a slight modification of the truth,
Debbie thought. “So I guess we’re done and we can go home. How did you all do?”

Dan said, “I ran the whole way here, chased and shot at all the time. By the time I shook off my pursuers long enough to go into Bloomington for a look, Roger was already there.”

Roger nodded. “Luckily they didn’t notice me, so I could take my time picking through what was left of that radio station—troops from Castle Earthstone smashed all the gear with clubs and axes, killed the techs and their slaves, and set the building on fire. So all I learned was that there had been a station here, which we already knew, and we were too late to learn anything more.”

“At first I thought none of it made any sense at all,” Samson said. “But the thing is, just destroying the radio station—and that’s weird enough in its own right, it was their own people, why didn’t they just call them back in?—anyway, to shoot everyone and smash it up like that, it wouldn’t have taken even a platoon to do it, but they sent a whole battalion. And that reminds me
a lot
of the way they used so many more people than they had to to catch poor old Steve. So I don’t think that wrecking the radio station was the main mission; I think they were here to be the trap for us, and for some reason we don’t know, capturing our scouts and agents is insanely important to them compared to almost anything else.”

“Well, that would explain all the running and shooting I had to do on my way in,” Debbie said. “So you had the same experience, Dan, but Roger—”

“Didn’t see a single tribal till I saw fifty of them running at me when I came out of the burned-out radio station,” Roger said.

Debbie nodded, obviously thinking. “Has either of you reported in yet? Did they issue you a radio?”

Both men shook their heads.

“Do you think the other side has any radio detectors—this side of the moon, I mean?”

“No idea. Why?” Samson asked.

“Because I’ve got a disassembled radio in my pack and there’s a message I need to send to Heather.”

“Can it wait till tonight? I’d like to get further away and better hidden from the old trouble before I invite any new.”

“Fair enough. I’ll transmit tonight, then—but we’ll have to stop early enough so I have light to work by. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, the trail and road system in Hoosier National Forest would take us all the way down to the Ohio, and the last tribals I saw were headed back north on the roads. Let’s get into some woods where there’s plenty of cover and we have way better skills than they do.”

For the first hour they were in what had been farm country with many trees along streambanks, orchards in odd corners of land, and fencerows; just one summer without planting or harvest was already making it thick with low brush and tall weeds. Twice, they spotted patrols far off, but evaded them without trouble.

Two miles into the forest, when they stopped for a water break, Roger said, “I don’t suppose you can tell me how far we have to go.”

Deb looked up in the air while playing with her fingers. “Right around a hundred and five miles walking, and call it two swimming. A hundred seven, give or take.” The men were staring at her; she shrugged. “Family knack. I used to use it to keep track of stolen cars in Portland and hidden marijuana patches up in the hills. Dad’s the real freak. He’d’ve told you to the
yard
.”

TWELVE:

THE CAPTAIN CALLED ME CAIN

ABOUT 3 HOURS LATER. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 6:30 PM MST. MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2025.

Heather ate dinner in the public mess hall because she didn’t want to appear elitist, and besides it was fast and she had unlimited meals there. Sometimes it was great—venison stroganoff; usually it was adequate—shepherd’s pie; just once, rebellion had threatened when it was rabbit, onion, and cabbage aspic.

With just Leo for company, she was finishing a pile of routine messages, and a plate of fish loaf and field green salad, at her usual table by herself, when Patrick materialized beside her. “Ms. O’Grainne, from crypto, marked OPEN NOW URGENT FAR. You said no matter what—”

“I did.” She paid him twice the usual meal coupons. “The second payment is for you to
never admit
you carried a message or found me tonight,
no matter what
. Not even if I ask you in front of others; if I do that it’s because I need you to alibi me.”

He stood taller. “No messages for Ms. O’Grainne since ten this morning.” He was gone.

She grabbed up her things and gathered up Leo. “FAR” meant Field Action Request, i.e. somebody out there had a situation that required immediate action.
Just bad luck that I’m out in public and can’t rip it open right now.

At home, she checked the lock, put Leo in his crib with a gentle settledown kiss on the forehead, and opened the radiogram.

Debbie Mensche. Good, so she was alive and—

Oh, Christ.

The message read:

Arrived Blmgtn, rvz w DA & R
BRK

Extractn now, expect full success
BRK

URGENT: De follwd from border & attacked 4x
BRK

Da follwed from border & attacked 2x
BRK

R nothing till spotted @ Blmgtn by patrol
BRK

Full rept from Ft Knx
BRK

De
EOM

She knew what it meant but checked anyway. Black envelopes in her safe held materials for her eyes only. Black envelope number 19 held a piece of paper with three simple notes:

De: A/L
Da: J/L
R: A/J

The Daybreakers had been waiting and ready for the two scouts Leslie Antonowicz had known about. The scout Leslie hadn’t known about had gone undetected.

Crap.
It’s Leslie.

25 MINUTES LATER. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 7:55 PM MST. MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2025.

“Well,” Leslie said, “you can cook, and that’s something. Seriously, James, you can’t spend the rest of your life being my best buddy and nursing your crush on me. You’re way too nice a guy for that.” She spooned some of his elk-liver gravy onto the hot cornbread, and joined him at the table. “I can’t be your whole social life, dude, it’s not natural.”

“Who says I’m pining? We like each other’s company, right? That’s why we keep hanging out together. It was kind of painful, and obviously I wish you’d felt differently. I admit all that, but that was way back before Daybreak. I’ve been alone most of my life. I just like to have a few good friends, and let it go at that.”

“James—really. The city is crawling with widows, nice women your age who would be glad—”

“If
I’d
be glad. Look, Leslie, we’re calling each other by name a lot, and that usually means we’re pretending we’re not fighting. We’ve been having dinners together most Mondays, pretty much forever. That’s not my whole social life. I teach Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, Friday nights I go to martial arts after the school meeting, and Saturday I have the RRC Board meeting. If I like to spend Saturday nights with a book and Sundays loafing around the house, well, that’s the only alone time I have for it anymore. I don’t spend my whole week pathetically waiting to cook for you on Monday night, and I don’t feel like I’m alone too much, in fact—or wait, is it just you want to do something different on Mondays? Without me, I mean?”

“See, James, this is how I can tell you’re lying, you should see how afraid you look right now. And the answer is no, I hope we have twenty more years of Monday dinners, especially if you keep making that mixed berry pie, but my point is, the way you reacted to—”

The knock was very loud.

When James opened the door, three big, muscular militiamen came in, without invitation, and a slim young officer came in behind. “Leslie Antonowicz, our orders are to take you with us, and not to let you communicate with other people. We’re required to cuff you, and you won’t be allowed to bring a purse or personal effects; Sergeant Mason will confiscate any of those and take them with him.”

James asked, “Don’t you have to read her rights?”

“Not for a national security case.”

“When can I say I’m innocent?” Leslie asked.

“As often as you want, but you’re not going to be seeing anyone who will do anything about it for a while.” The officer added, “We’re authorized to use force.”

Leslie stood still for a moment, then picked up her purse from the table and said, “Sergeant, this is all I was carrying.” James made a noise, but she said, “James, let’s not get your house trashed, let alone you arrested. I’ll come along. James, please feed Wonder, and get Heather and Arnie—”

“Ms. Antonowicz, we said
no
communication. Is Wonder your dog?”

“Yes.”

“Does he have food and water and somewhere out of the weather for tonight?”

“He’s in my house, but he’ll need to, you know, go, and he’ll be hungry—”

“Is he friendly?”

“Too friendly. He’ll want to be buddies with everyone.”

“Good. I’m supervising the search and seizure on your house. We’ll take care of Wonder this evening, and then, Mister Hendrix, if we can set you up—”

“I have a key,” he said, flushing furiously. “I’ll go over tomorrow morning and move Wonder here, or you can bring him here tonight—”

“We’ll bring him here tonight, then. It won’t be late.”

The care they were taking of Wonder made it all real, somehow. Leslie wiped her face angrily as the tears poured down, but they pushed her hands down to cuff them behind her.

James tried once more. “Can’t you say what this is about?”

“Specific orders not to. The order is direct from Heather O’Grainne.”

Leslie’s blood froze. Her eyes met James’s, and he looked as stunned as she felt. Before either of them could speak again, she was dragged out the door, not roughly, but with no possibility of resistance.

The guard held up the lantern just long enough for her to see that her room had a pitcher of water, a cup, a squat toilet, a cot, and a blanket, but no window. He left her in total darkness, sitting on the cot, crying. She had no idea how long it was before she felt for the cup and pitcher and found her way under the blanket, or how long she lay there, willing herself to sleep, and failing.

ABOUT THE SAME TIME. PUEBLO, COLORADO. 8 PM MST. MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2025.

When Arnie walked into his home, Aaron was apparently asleep in his bed. Arnie grabbed a heavy paperweight, but before he was in reach, Aaron sat up. “Well, you are very fortunate that I am here to save you.”

Arnie kept his grip on the paperweight. Aaron rose from the bed, reached out, and took it from him. “Now then. Your information was invaluable. If you hadn’t kept digging until the pattern of dummy missions became clear, we might not have realized how important it would be to leave young Roger Jackson entirely alone. But you’ve done such an excellent job—such a
very
excellent job. Without your having realized that you had been excluded from the dispatching of Mister Samson on that dummy mission, those eager lads from Castle Earthstone might not have known to look for him and intercept him.”

Dan. Steve, and now Dan.
Arnie’s knives flew from their sheathes in a cross-draw; Aaron, laughing, fell back on the bed, letting the blades whistle over his head, and kicked Arnie with both feet, full in the chest. He was flung backward, but he braced himself on the wall—

“Knives down. Knives down. Think about your position. You are already in very, very far with me. Think about what you did to Steve Ecco. As far as we know Samson is alive and will come back. Think of what he’ll say when he knows that it was you who betrayed your friend . . . think of what Allie will say when you are once again the sort of chump who throws away opportunities . . .”

Arnie thought for a long breath that he might continue the attack, press home his knives, shut Aaron up forever.

Aaron did not move, but he said, “Doctor Yang, you are about to become truly doctus, sir, you are indeed, because one of those questions that you have been trying to ask, and I have always evaded, is about to be answered. You are going to learn how Daybreak migrates from mind to mind, and reinforces itself, without the aid of those little plaztatic computer gizmos that some people seem to miss so very much. All your questions, about to be answered. Now put those silly knives away, you don’t want to miss this, it’s why you started to talk to me in the first place.”

I might need to boil the sheets.
They stank, there were stains, and Arnie felt, more than he could see by lamplight, little things jumping from them. He had dragged them off the bed and stuffed them into a canvas duffle, and was trying to think what he’d tell the nice lady that did the wash when she came around.
Could’ve been worse, he could’ve taken all his clothes off, his skin has to be even worse than his rags. Jesus, plenty of hot water in the tank from the solar collector; he could have taken a bath, even rinsed out his clothes, he didn’t even
want
to be clean.

I’m getting a bath as soon as I have clean sheets on the bed to fall into. And I don’t know how I’ll ever get rid of all the bugs that came off that . . .

It should have been funny. He’d been about to think
lousy bastard
when he realized how accurate it was.

He felt under his mattress, found his notebooks, heard the little whispers in his mind urge him to tear them up, give them to Aaron, throw them away, and had a thought; he pulled the current one out and scrawled down the page,

The Deeper It Goes The Less Daybreak Can Do To It.
The more it is part of you
the more it’s who you think you are
the more it’s you
the less Daybreak can change it,
the less it bends to follow Daybreak
the less Daybreak pwns it
I am a scientist, I record things I record things I record things Daybreak
can’t stop that because it’s deep it’s deep that I record things I record
things I record things There’s something Daybreak can’t do it can’t stop
me can’t stop me can’t stop can’t stop I record things I record things. I
am I am
I am a fucking bag of shit
I don’t matter
we don’t matter
FUCK PEOPLE

That last consumed the bottom half of the page in a huge child’s scrawl. He forced his hands to close the notebook and rammed it back into its hiding place.

He had just made his last neat hospital corner and was really looking forward to that shower when there was a knock at the door. He froze only for an instant; it wouldn’t be Aaron. He wouldn’t knock. He set the pen and ink in their standard spot on his desk.

At the door, two militiamen waited for him.
Oh, God, I’m busted. My notebooks—

“Doctor Yang? Heather O’Grainne asked us to come and bring you. It’s urgent. I’m to take you to her right away. She said to bring a blank notepad. Her orders are that I’m not to answer any questions.”

He didn’t seem to be a prisoner, but then what was he?

In Heather’s office, he found her head down on the desk, as if she had been praying or crying. But she sat up, ran a hand across her face, thanked the militiamen, and waited for the door to close and their footsteps to go away.

“Arnie,” she said, “in a way, this is good news. We’ve got a captured Daybreaker who was in deep cover for you to interrogate. You need to start tonight, while the shock of arrest is still fresh.” He had a tenth of a second to hope it was Aaron, but Heather went on talking; Arnie missed most of it, in his horror at realizing why Aaron had been so suddenly informative, earlier tonight.