Will to Survive (20 page)

Without taking my eyes off the controls, I told Lori, “Run as soon as I come to a stop. Head off to your side and I'll be right behind you … Remember, we're going to be fine. They don't want us, they want the plane.”

“So when they have the plane what are they going to do with us?” she asked.

That question was too close to the truth. “We're not going to find out because we're going to get away.”

With one hand remaining on the wheel I used the other to unsnap my harness. Lori hesitated then did the same. I also did a touch check of the pistol under my arm and a second of the weapon strapped to my ankle. I also had the knife strapped to the other leg—not that it was going to do me much good. There was no point in bringing a knife to a gunfight, especially when that gun was a .65-caliber machine gun.

“Take the pistol,” I said.

“I'll take the rifle.”

“No, I'll take the rifle.”

“I'm a better shot than you,” she said.

“That's not the reason. If they're going to shoot us they're more likely to shoot at whoever has a weapon. They won't see the pistol from a distance, but they're going to see the rifle. Please?”

She reached over and removed my pistol from its holster.

“And whatever we do we can't give them information about our neighborhood,” I said.

“I didn't think they were going to catch us.”

“They're not … But if they do, we say nothing that's true. We're from up north, small community, and we just happen to have a plane … right?”

She nodded.

“Here we go.”

The lead Mustang had slowed down to almost stall speed. He skimmed along the runway but didn't touch down. He wasn't going to give me the opportunity to touch and go. My wheels were just above the asphalt—I wanted to stay in the air as long as possible to get to the end as quickly as possible.

On both sides there was a burst of activity. There were men and women and even kids and I could see weapons in the hands of some of the adults. Our wheels touched down and we bounced lightly, and then they settled in and we rumbled along. I didn't hit the brakes hard. I wanted to keep moving away from the center, away from the tower and all the people. We raced along dangerously fast, and the end of the runway and the woods beyond came rushing toward us. The woods meant safety and danger both.

“Hold on!” I yelled.

I applied the brakes hard, the plane jerked, and we lurched forward, the steering column holding me in place and the dash holding Lori. The woods were coming closer and closer. I wasn't sure if we were going to make it, and we skidded sideways and then came to a stop. I quickly scrambled to open the door, but when I looked up we were surrounded by a small army with rifles pointed directly at us.

 

19

“Hands up!” one of the men yelled.

They had us surrounded, and the thin metal skin of the Cessna was no defense.

“Carefully drop the pistol to the floor,” I murmured to Lori.

As I slowly put my hands in the air, Lori half bent down to drop the gun, then straightened up, hands in the air. Two men, one on each side, came to the doors of the plane while the others continued to train their rifles on us. The doors were flung open and the two men reached in and grabbed me from my seat. I heard Lori scream out from the other side. I was thrown onto the ground, the asphalt biting into the side of my face.

I struggled to move, to turn over, to try to see Lori, but a foot was pressed into my back, pinning me in place.

“Search them!”

Hands were running all over me. Deliberately I pressed my ankles together so that the pistol and knife were protected from prying hands.

“He's clean!” one of the men yelled.

“The girl is, too.”

“There's a pistol on the floor and a rifle inside the cockpit!” another voice called out.

In their minds finding two weapons meant that there were no more to be found. That assumption only worked in our favor.

Still pressed to the ground, I could hear a vehicle coming, getting louder and louder, and then the squealing of brakes. Then there were footsteps on the pavement.

“Let them up!”

“Yes, sir!”

A man leaned down close to my face. “No sudden move, tough guy, or it will be your last,” he threatened.

Despite my fear, my brain registered the smell of toothpaste on his breath.

Strong arms pulled me to my feet and held my arms in place. I looked over at Lori, who was flanked by two men.

“Have they been searched for weapons?” the man demanded. He was gray-haired and tall, his back ramrod straight. It certainly sounded and looked like he was in charge.

“Yes, sir. And we have confiscated their weapons from the plane.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. “Release them.”

They let go, and Lori moved over to my side. I put my arm around her shoulder, somewhat uselessly.

There was a military precision to them, like what we'd encountered with troops from the Division. The fear that I'd been feeling suddenly increased. Had we stumbled into the new compound? Was this man the colonel? Could I expect Brett, like a monster in a nightmare, to jump out at us any minute?

The older man walked forward. “You're bleeding.” He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and held it out. Lori took it and placed it against the cut on the side of my face.

“Did you do that in the landing?” he asked.

“It happened when your men threw him on the ground,” Lori snapped.

Her feistiness gave me renewed strength.

“We can't be too careful,” the gray-haired man said. “We aren't used to unexpected guests.”

“Guests? Is that what we are?”

“Perhaps ‘guest' is the wrong word, but we still need to take precautions when you land at our airfield.”

“Your planes forced us to land,” I said. “This wasn't our idea.”

The man seemed unperturbed by our anger. “Actually it was mine,” he said smoothly. “I gave the order when they radioed in your presence. Seeing your plane over the city caught us unaware.”

“Seeing your two Mustangs wasn't what we expected either.”

He smiled. “Please accept my apologies for the manner in which you were forced to come here, as well as for your injury, but we felt it would be wise to talk to you and you didn't respond to our attempts to radio you.”

“I didn't have the radio on,” I admitted. “It wasn't like I was expecting a call.”

I needed to think. What would Herb do if he were here?

“This is nothing,” I said, pointing up to the scrape. “Apology accepted.” I held out my hand. “I'm Adam and this is Lori.”

He held out his hand. “Robert Wayne,” he said as we shook hands.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” I said. If they called him “sir,” then I should as well.

Lori understood what I was doing and changed her tune as well. “Do you think they could put down those rifles?” she asked. “I don't usually expect apologies to come with weapons involved.”

Mr. Wayne motioned for his men to comply and looked at us closely for a moment, as if memorizing our features. “I think it was equally unexpected that the pilot and passenger of a plane would be two young people.” He paused. “But since you're our guests, why don't we continue this conversation over a cool drink and some food?”

“If we're guests, are we free to decline your invitation and climb back into our plane and leave?” I asked.

“After that rough landing and hard braking I think it would be wise for our ground crew to have a look at your plane before you take off,” he said.

“And if I don't want that?” I asked.

“I'm afraid it would be unwise, and inconsiderate for me to force your plane to the ground and then not take responsibility for making sure it was airworthy. As such, I must
insist
that you join me for a drink. I could never forgive myself if I sent you up before the inspection took place and something happened to you.” He paused. “We definitely would not want anything to happen, would we?”

“No, we wouldn't want that,” I agreed. What choice did we have?

He turned directly to one of the men who had held us at gunpoint. “Take care of their plane, and, please, be more delicate than you were with the pilot.”

He ushered us toward the truck he had driven up in.

“Why don't you ride in front, Adam? And, Lori, would you share the back with me?” he said. These were more commands than questions.

Two of the men opened the doors and we climbed in, me beside his driver, a large man with a stern expression and a pistol strapped to his side. As we drove away, we left behind a dozen men with rifles. The odds had shifted in our direction. Of course they both had on side arms, but I'd taken on two armed men before and won.

We drove in silence. Casually I reached down and let my hand brush against the gun strapped to my ankle. It was reassuring and frightening to feel the bump. I looked out the window, at all the people, many of them women and children, and my thoughts raced.

Shooting the two of them couldn't be done without drawing attention to us and couldn't possibly end well. I had the knife, but pulling that wasn't going to give me a better result. Better to keep both hidden. Surprise was our only chance. And besides, it wasn't like I could just pull out my gun and force them to drive us to safety. We were on an island. Even if we got off the island we were close to forty miles away from our neighborhood and would have no way to get there except on foot and through potentially hostile situations every step of the way.

I forced my thoughts away from escape and to our immediate surroundings. I could see at least a dozen planes parked out on the side of the runway, and there were probably others tucked away in the hangar. I wondered how many of them were actually airworthy. I noted a few Cessnas, a glider, and a collection of other old military planes, including what looked like a Lancaster and a Spitfire. There was also an old passenger plane.

They had their own little air force right here.

The car came to an abrupt stop in front of a low building. Almost instantly two guards opened up the doors to the vehicle, let us out, and ushered us inside the building. As we walked along the hall, a couple of the guards actually saluted Mr. Wayne. We reached an office, and he called out to one of the men to bring refreshments before he closed the door behind him.

“Please take a seat,” he said.

We sat down on two seats and he circled around a large desk and took a seat himself, gazing at us kindly as if he really were just our host and we were simply having an impromptu get-together.

“So tell me about where you live,” he said.

“It's not much,” I said, sensing that Lori wanted me to take the lead. “I'm much more interested in this place.”

He smiled. “What we've done is rather impressive.”

“How many people live here?” Lori asked.

“Just under three thousand call this place home—a home, I should mention, that has sufficient food, medical facilities, and secure boundaries.”

“I guess it helps being on an island,” she responded.

“It helps, but that wouldn't be enough on its own. There are lots of people who have boats and guns out there,” he said.

I gestured outside. “But not many places have their own air force.”

“We were fortunate to have had the warplanes museum right here.”

“I've visited it before with my dad,” I said.

His gaze sharpened. “Your father—is he a pilot, too?”

I'd obviously given away more than I wanted. “Yes, he's a pilot.”

“So you followed your old man's footsteps,” he said. “Just like my two boys who followed in my footsteps and joined the marines.”

“So you're not ‘Mr.' Wayne … Should we be calling you Major Wayne or Colonel Wayne?” I asked.

“If we're going to be formal, it would be Colonel Wayne.”

Colonel! This pushed me even more on edge. Could this be the Division's leader, the infamous “Colonel”?

“So that puts you just one step below a brigadier general.”

“One big step. How do you know about marine rankings?” he asked.

“Who doesn't think about being a marine when they grow up?” I asked.

I sensed Lori looking at me in surprise, but I didn't turn her way.

“A marine pilot,” I added.

“That was what I did,” the colonel said. “F-16s. It's not quite the same being in a Mustang, but it's still flying. How long have
you
been flying?”

“Not long. I was just getting ready to solo when the blackout happened.”

“So you don't even have a pilot's license?” he asked.

“Not technically … I would have had one by now.”

“I'm sure you would have. I saw you land. You came in long deliberately. Were you going to try to run away?”

“That was sort of the plan,” I admitted.

“We're pretty good at keeping people off the island, so please believe me it would be very, very hard for you to have done so. We're not quite an army here, because we have so many civilians, but we're still pretty secure.”

Was that another threat—telling us we weren't going anywhere—or just a statement of fact?

He seemed in no hurry to direct the conversation back to us, so I continued my questions. “Where did all of the people who live out here come from?”

“Mostly they're people who escaped the city. We felt an obligation to take them in—up to a point, of course. It didn't hurt to have a few retired military pilots, some police officers, and three dozen other military men.” He paused. “My wife and I just wish our boys were here.”

“They're not?” Lori asked.

He shook his head. “They were stationed overseas.”

“I'm so sorry,” Lori said.