Will to Survive (8 page)

“You are delusional, you know that, right?”

“It's what keeps me going. Look around our little world. Isn't a little delusion a good thing?”

That was hard to argue with.

“Then it's a date. But first things first: How long before our people get to the compound?” Todd asked.

“Twenty minutes, so it's time for us to make our pass over it.”

“Are you sure we shouldn't wait until they're closer?” Todd asked.

“We need to make sure it's clear before they arrive. Don't worry. My first pass is going to be high and wide, and then I'll make smaller circuits. If I see anything—or if either of
you
see anything suspicious—then I'll pull up and we warn the away team.”

I came straight at the compound. I was going to make my first pass right through the middle but at a height that would provide some protection from gunfire.

Suddenly, I had a vision of Brett down below with a sniper rifle, taking aim at the plane. I hit the left pedal and right flap, and pushed down on the stick all at once and we dropped and zagged to the right.

The g-force from the maneuver was pretty intense.

“What's happening?” Todd screamed with his face smushed against the window. “Are we crashing?”

“Sorry. We're okay … I was just taking evasive action.”

“Um, what are we evading?” Lori asked.

“I think I was just imagining it. Sorry. I should have warned you.”

Todd seemed beyond scared and Lori looked pretty unfazed. And just plain pretty.

“Although, Todd, I must admit that scream of yours was at least a little bit amusing,” I said.

“If I crapped my pants, you probably would have thought it was hilarious. Just let me know when you're going to do that again,” Todd said.

“Roger. Now, could you both keep looking out the window?”

The compound was now just below. There were no vehicles visible and no motion that I could make out. That didn't mean there weren't a hundred men hiding in the buildings, weapons ready for us to appear.

We did a full circuit.

“Okay, I'm going to bank sharply and dip lower,” I said.

“I appreciate the warning, captain,” Todd said. “Was that so hard?”

Coming back around again, I felt comfortable enough to bring us in much lower and slower to give us a longer look.

“Well?” I asked.

“I can't see anything that we need to be scared of,” Todd said.

“Me neither,” Lori said. “Should we let them know it's okay?”

“No. We're maintaining radio silence, so unless there's a reason to warn them, we say nothing. They know that. I'll keep circling, and you two keep your eyes wide open.”

Satisfied that the compound was safe, I broke from the bank and aimed back toward the convoy. I'd shadow them all the way in now.

*   *   *

An hour later, the compound was alive with movement. Our convoy had arrived and seized control of the area. We had placed guards all along the fence, weapons aimed out beyond the perimeter, as well as guards by each building. Trouble could still come from any direction.

I brought the Cessna in from the north. The strip was shorter now, with the southern end cratered from the bomb, so I reduced my speed dramatically, coming in just above stall speed, and low. We cleared the fence and the two sentries gave us an encouraging wave. The wheels touched down and I hit the brakes hard until I had us under control again.

As we rolled up toward the edge of the crater, I hit the pedals and flaps, goosed the engine, and turned the plane back around, ready to take off again.

“I just like to be ready,” I explained as I cut the motor.

“No arguments from me,” Todd said.

We undid our harnesses, took off our headsets, and climbed out. All around us, people were at work. The chain-link fences were being taken down, rolled up, and stacked onto the back of the trucks. Other walls were being torn down, the rocks and bricks scattered and wooden portions set on fire. A ring of flames was starting to encircle the compound.

The buildings were being systematically searched. Any valuables were removed and loaded on the trucks. So far I didn't know what had been found, but I was certain what hadn't: prisoners.

The last time they deserted the compound the members of the Division had left behind dozens of women and children, captured prisoners who had been virtual slaves. We took them into our neighborhood, offering them not just freedom but also the safety and support of our neighborhood. They were now part of us, working and living among us, but I could still tell some of them just from the look in their eyes. I knew they would never get over what had been done to them. I wasn't sure if I'd ever get over just seeing it. I understood desperation could make people do desperate things. What I didn't understand was cruelty, or evil. What the Division had done to those people was pure evil.

Todd and Lori had wandered off to join some of our people—friends of ours from school—who were trying to set fire to the barracks. With the one building it seemed like overkill to me, since the front wall had already been peeled off by the explosion.

I looked around at the chaos that surrounded me. Men armed with guns, others with axes and sledgehammers, and still others holding torches—we looked like a mob chasing after Frankenstein's monster.

Off at the side, all by himself, stood Quinn. I hesitated for a second and then went to join him. It was as if he was in a trance, staring into space, so lost that he didn't even notice me arrive. When I got closer I realized he was crying, tears rolling silently down his cheek. I felt embarrassed for him and for me, and wondered if I should just walk away and give him his privacy. Then he looked at me and I had to stay.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I don't think I ever will be all right … It's so strange being here again.”

“It's strange for all of us.”

“Not the same way. I lived here. I was part of this, this …
evil
.”

That was the word that had just been in my own mind. “They forced you—you told us that,” I said.

“That was a lie, mostly to myself, to allow me to live with what I did.” He paused. “I'm as bad as anybody who was here. Maybe worse because in my heart I knew better.”

“And you're working to make up for what happened.”

“I'm trying, but I don't think I can ever really make it up.”

“I'm going to leave soon. Do you want to come back with me and Lori and Todd in the plane?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I have to stay,” Quinn said. “I'm going to make sure that not one rock is still piled on top of another before I go. I can't change the past, but I can make sure it isn't repeated.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Don't sell yourself short. You're a better person than you think you are.”

Suddenly he threw his arms around me. That wasn't the effect I thought my lame comment would have. He held on to me tightly and started sobbing again as I stood there feeling awkward and strange.

 

8

Once the compound had been destroyed, we tried to resume our regular life back in the neighborhood. And that meant organizing and attending a mass funeral for the five guards who had been killed by Brett's men.

It had taken a few days for all the outside issues to be dealt with, the arrangements to be made, but now all the families were satisfied and the bodies were going to be put to rest. Once again we were going outside the neighborhood to bury them. We'd established a cemetery close to the back gate.

The procession was gigantic. Five sets of pallbearers carrying five coffins. Everybody in the neighborhood who wasn't on the walls was here to pay their last respects. Of course, everybody knew the guards because now everybody pretty much knew everybody else, but it was even more personal than that. For a time we'd gotten to the point where we thought of ourselves as being safe within these walls. They were strong and guarded, and we'd even withstood attacks from outside forces. Now these deaths had happened within our walls—and worse still, they had come at the hands of our own people who had betrayed us when they'd joined Brett. There was no place that felt completely safe, now that we knew there was always the danger that even trusted people could betray us.

My mother and Howie were at the front of the procession along with the rest of the committee, just behind the families themselves. My father and others from the away team had taken up positions all around the burial site, providing some security. Herb was stationed at the top of the underpass, scoped rifle in hand, surveying all that he could see. It probably would have been good for me to be up in the air, but nobody had made that suggestion and I was tired of flying—a thought I never would have expected to have. Maybe I was just plain tired.

It seemed only natural that my eye followed the perimeter fence, checking on the guards, looking for trouble. I'd gotten to the point where I couldn't turn off my paranoid mental radar. I couldn't help but see Brett hidden behind every tree.

Then I saw Dr. Morgan off to the side. The spot he'd picked was well chosen. He was close enough to see, but far away enough to have a level of detachment. I'd assumed he'd be here like everybody else, but why was he off on his own? There was only one way to find out. I moved around the procession until I was at his side.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked.

“The company is appreciated.”

We stood in silence watching as the funeral unfolded in front of us. There were five caskets, five families, a minister and a priest, and from what I estimated over five hundred people in the procession. From this distance it was less upsetting—just like when I was up in the air, I was more a witness than a participant.

“I'm happy not to get any closer than this,” I said.

“Most people don't want to be too close to death. And, funnily enough, being a doctor isn't always helpful. Sometimes people get angry at you because they feel like you should have saved the life of their loved one.”

“I guess. Maybe in the case of an illness,” I said. “But the guards were dead before you even knew they'd been shot. This has nothing to do with you.”

“I know. It's not about logic, just gut feelings. My own included. In some ways you think you could have done more, that you are responsible.” He paused. “I guess you'd know what that feels like.”

Of course I did. This was my second set of funerals today. There had already been one early this morning for Tim and Owen, the two men I'd killed. It was quiet, just a few people and members of the committee. Neither of the dead men had family in the neighborhood, thank goodness. I didn't know how I could have faced family members. It was bad enough that people knew them—that I knew them—and that they had some friends who still lived here.

Not that anybody was blaming me. Most people had tiptoed around the whole thing, not saying anything to me at all. Still, I knew what the doc was saying. What was the proper protocol for showing respect? Was the person who killed them supposed to be there at the burial or stay away? I just knew that I needed to be there, to see things to the finish. I'd killed them, so I needed to be there to the end.

“So how are you sleeping these days?” Dr. Morgan asked.

I glanced up at him.

“My guess is that you are having trouble sleeping.”

“Trouble doesn't describe it.”

“Come and see me. I can prescribe something to help with that.”

I shook my head. “I can't do that. I have to be alert to fly.”

“And how does not sleeping make you more alert?” Dr. Morgan asked.

He had a point, but I didn't want to take medication. “I'm meeting with Maureen, the social worker.” At least I'd met with her once. “I think it's helping.”

“Good. A strong man knows when he needs help.”

I didn't feel strong, but I did feel like a man—a very old man.

“Maureen is good at what she does. I see her myself,” Dr. Morgan said.

“You?”

“It's good for all of us to have somebody to talk to. There have been things I've had to go through that have shaken me.”

Hearing him say that meant something. I really did respect him. Maybe I should schedule in a second session with Maureen. It couldn't hurt.

A loud electronic squawking made me jump. Dr. Morgan reached into his pocket and pulled out a walkie-talkie.

“It's coming!” the voice called out. “Sooner than we thought. She's almost fully dilated.”

“I hear you. I'll get there as quickly as possible.” He put away the walkie-talkie.

“What is it?” I asked anxiously.

“That was one of the nurses. A baby is on its way, and it sounds like it's in a hurry to get here. The house is over on the far side of the neighborhood, so I've got to hustle.”

“My car is in my driveway, close by. I can take you,” I offered.

“That would help.”

We started off for my Omega. I was glad to help and grateful to get away from the funeral. There were enough people offering support that they didn't need me.

We walked along the creek, up the embankment, away from the crowd, and in through the gates. The guards, grim-faced and watching the procession in the distance, hardly paid any attention as we passed.

An enemy couldn't pick a better time to attack us, I thought.

Dr. Morgan was now moving so fast that I had trouble keeping up with him. We got to my house and jumped into the car. For the first time in a while I wondered if it was going to start, and I was pleased when it roared to life. It made me smile. I'd loved this car since the first day I got behind the wheel. It had been my grandfather's car and it always reminded me of him. I'd been ignoring it in favor of my ultralight and now the Cessna, but it was always going to be my first love—or, well, second love, after Lori.