Warlords Page 2

  The muscles in Nash’s face squished up. “I can’t imagine they’d have anything useful to say.”

  “Maybe not, but if you heard our broadcast then you understand we’re at war now.”

  Nash removed his ball cap and swatted away a fly. “Still find the whole business hard to believe. How’re things at the front?”

  “These last couple of days communication has been sporadic,” John told him. “I’m expecting to hear something tonight.” John paused. “If they manage to cross the Mississippi, foreign troops are sure to head into Huntsville to hold this section of the rail line, you do know that? You think the folks here would consider relocating to Oneida? If it comes to that, every warm body will count.”

  Nash looked skeptical. “Well, that ain’t my decision to make. I can speak with the mayor and we can put it to a vote, but I’ll tell you right now it’s doubtful anyone’s gonna wanna leave the State of—”

  “Scott,” John finished. “Yes, I had a feeling you might say that.”

  “Don’t think we’ll forget the debt we owe you folks. How does a banquet sound?”

  John and Moss exchanged an uneasy look. The memory of arsenic mashed potatoes was still too fresh to make the idea sound inviting. “We’ll have to respectfully decline, I’m afraid, Nash.” Then John had an idea. “But there might be something we could use.”

  “Name it,” Nash said, spitting.

  “Do you have any horses you can spare?”

  Chapter 3

  Two hours later, the convoy was heading north along U.S. Route 27 back to Oneida. Along with them were two trailers with three horses each.

  “Really, John, horses?” Moss said. “Don’t we already have enough mouths to feed?”

  Oneida was already stabling six horses for patrols in much the same way they were used under the Chairman. But John had a plan for this next batch.

  “Without enough working tractors, we’re gonna need to return to some of the old ways of cultivating the land.”

  Moss ran a hand through his mohawk and shot him a doubtful glance. “Didn’t those old-timers use cattle instead of horses?”

  “They did, but unlike oxen, horses won’t get stuck in poor or muddy soil. They can also be used to work hillsides that are too steep for a tractor. It’s worked well for the Amish all these years, so it can’t be that bad. Besides, if push ever came to shove we could always butcher them for their meat.”

  Moss’ gagging made John laugh. Horse meat was tough, salty and certainly not a first choice. But Moss wasn’t thinking about the future. With foreign armies gobbling up vast stretches of the country, there might come a time in the near future when Oneida found itself surrounded and cut off. To most, World War II and the German siege of Leningrad was little more than a distant memory, but if there was one thing John paid attention to it was the lessons from the past.

  From September of 1941 to the winter of 1944, the Wehrmacht had surrounded Leningrad and cut the flow of supplies in or out of the city. Almost a million civilians had died during the siege, many of them reduced to eating rats, horses and sometimes each other. Then the intense cold of winter froze the water pipes, leaving no clean drinking water. The hard earth also meant the dead, who couldn’t be buried, now littered the streets. Loved ones who’d passed away were hidden for fear their corpses would be eaten by scavenging humans. This was the face of war you rarely heard about in the news. A reality John prayed he could keep the people of Oneida from ever experiencing.

  They reached the outskirts of town to find a group of men manning a checkpoint, many of them armed with AK-47s taken from the captured supply trucks. This was by far the most ubiquitous assault rifle in the world, and the weapon of choice among guerrilla fighters. In Afghanistan, for example, the rifle could be purchased for a few hundred dollars and could take a beating and continue firing. Another draw was the stopping power of the large 7.62 caliber bullet. At first John had wondered why the weapons crates they’d found in the Russian supply trucks had been loaded with the older 47 model rather than the newer AK-74. Then it dawned on him the Russians had likely sent over thousands of surplus weapons in the same way they tended to supply their Third World allies with slightly outdated tanks and APCs. This was only one more symbol of how overnight America had been turned into a Third World country.

  Next to the men standing guard at the checkpoint others were making sandbags, but filling them with dirt and soil.

  “Isn’t there an old sand pit not far from here?” John asked Moss, who nodded.

  “Five or six miles east, sure. I think Standard Construction ran it. You stand on the lip and you can just make out the Birch coal mine. Why do you ask?”

  John looked pensive. “Sandbags filled with soil just don’t have the same stopping power. When we were attacked on Willow Creek that was all we had access to and far too many brave souls paid the price. After we get back, I need you to head over there with half a dozen men today and fill a few pickups with the stuff.”

  Moss sighed. It wasn’t exactly a glamorous assignment. “All right, boss, will do.”

  John rubbed his temples, trying to massage away a growing headache. There was so much to do, and not nearly enough time to do it.

  •••

  A few minutes later Moss pulled into Oneida’s mayor’s office. The building wasn’t large. The single-story brown brick structure with the words Municipal Building over the front archway served as not only John’s headquarters, but the Mack family home.

  As the men from the convoy dispersed, John pushed through the front door. “Hi, honey, I’m home,” he called out as he entered.

  Henry Chamberlain, the new communications guy, poked his head out of the radio room. With his chiselled features and wavy brown hair, he reminded John of a movie star from the 40s. Kirk Douglas? No, too short. The question was surely going to torture John for the rest of the day. Where was Google when you needed it?

  “I’ll bet you’re gonna ask me next why dinner isn’t ready,” said a grinning Henry. “I feel so inadequate.”

  John laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you can whip up a mean macaroni and cheese, but you weren’t the honey I was looking for.”

  “Ah, shucks. Diane’s in the back.”

  John was walking down the long hallway which divided the building in two when Diane emerged from what had become their living room. The look on her face was a mix of concern and relief.

  “I really don’t think you should be going out on these missions, John.”

  “Not even a kiss first?”

  Diane slid her arms around his waist. Her hands travelled up and down his back. She was searching for wounds.

  “I’m fine,” he told her. “You can give me a full physical later if you’d like.”

  “Yes, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” She grew quiet for a moment. “You think I’m being a worrywart, John, I get that, but it’s just the people in this town elected you mayor, but you’re not exactly the kinda guy who leads from the rear.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Their eyes locked. Dim light trickled in from outside. Even after all these years she was still stunning.

  “I’m saying, who’s going to lead them if something happens to you? You’re always lecturing others about mitigating risk and then you run straight into the line of fire.”

  “I’m a complicated creature,” he said, removing his tactical vest. “What can I say?”

  Diane smiled, tiny crows’ feet forming at the corners of her eyes. “So how did it go?”

  John undid his gunbelt next along with the leg strap and hung it in a cabinet he was using as a makeshift weapons locker. “Surprisingly well. Seems our signal’s getting out. By the time we got there, the folks in Huntsville had already taken care of the Russian agent and his men.”

  “By taken care of you mean they were shot?”

  “No, the townspeople hanged them. Hey, did you know Huntsville had a hanging tree right next to the mayor
’s office?”

  Diane swallowed hard and shook her head.

  “Moss said it’s been around for decades.”

  “You’re not thinking of setting one up in Oneida, are you?”

  “Maybe. It would look good, don’t you think?” John said, teasing. “Worst case, we could set up a scaffold right outside the kids’ bedroom.”

  Diane giggled. “You sick man. Sometimes I wonder about you.”

  His mood darkened. “I’m kidding, although I hope it never comes to that.”

  “One thing at a time, John. You’ve been in charge less than three days and you’re already talking about hanging people.”

  “I’m just saying now that people are free here, we’re still gonna need to make sure folks obey the laws.”

  “There are plenty of prison cells,” Diane told him. “Trust me, the kids and I should know.”

  A flash of guilt spread across John’s face.

  “It wasn’t your fault, honey. You need to stop taking responsibility every time something bad happens.”

  He nodded. She was right, as always.

  “There is someone you should to talk to though.”

  John undid the laces of his boots and slipped into a more comfortable pair of sneakers. “Oh, and who’s that?”

  “Your daughter. Ever since the Chairman hauled Emma in for questioning...” Diane’s voice trailed off. “Well, she hasn’t been the same.”

  “Can you blame her? She saw you strapped to a chair after you’d been beaten. She probably expected the two of you were about to be killed, or worse.”

  “I don’t know what she thought. But since then she’s gone into that shell of hers.”

  A couple of years ago, Emma had developed a fixation on her weight. It didn’t matter how often people told her she was beautiful, she’d become convinced she was fat. John suspected her complex had originated when a boy at school Emma had had a crush on had asked her when she was going to lose her baby fat. It was a stupid and insensitive comment, but the germ had been planted and no amount of telling her otherwise seemed to make a difference. Soon she’d begun withdrawing into herself, spending hours in her room starving herself while she sketched on a notepad and wrote short stories. There was talent there for sure and perhaps it was one of the few things that made her feel good about herself. John wasn’t a shrink and never pretended to be. All he knew was that whenever she felt depressed the sketchpad would come out.

  “All right,” John said. “I’ll have a conversation with her. Where is she?”

  Chapter 4

  John had to knock three times on the door to Emma’s room before she invited him in. She was sitting in one of the beds they’d brought over from Tobe’s Motel and Restaurant on Alberta Street. She glanced out the window, sketching a tree whose leaves were turning yellow and red. Her arms looked thin like the twigs on her notepad. Dark circles ringed her eyes.

  “Honey, when’s the last time you had something to eat?”

  Emma glanced at the window and then back at her sketchpad. The edge of her pencil traced a branch. “I’m not hungry. Mom’s already been after me and I told her the same thing.”

  John sat down on the edge of her bed, wondering where to start. “It’s gonna be fall soon, so you’ll need to add some more color to those leaves.”

  “This is only a sketch. The color will come later.”

  “I see.” John glanced around the room. The floor was littered with other drawings his daughter had done. One of them was a woman in a chair with her face full of cuts and bruises. “You know, I can’t undo what happened to you kids and to your mother.”

  Emma didn’t look up. “I know, Dad. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. We live in a crappy world filled with bad people.”

  “We do, honey. But not everyone’s bad. In fact, it might surprise you how many good people there are out there.” He drew in a deep whistling breath. “When’s the last time you saw Brandon?”

  “He came and knocked earlier, but I was busy. I think he’s digging a trench now.”

  “Not a trench. He’s helping dig foxholes. There’s a chance enemy soldiers might swing through here on their way to D.C. The Chinese, Russians and North Koreans wouldn’t have sent the Chairman ahead of time if Oneida wasn’t worth holding.”

  “That’s why I’m drawing.”

  John’s face squished up. “I don’t understand.”

  “They’ve already taken most of the country. If the army gets beaten along the Mississippi there’ll be no stopping them. So there’s no point in worrying.”

  “I never took you for a quitter, Emma.”

  She must have sensed the disappointment in his voice because she stopped and tightened her grip on the pencil.

  “I’m not quitting, Dad, I’m being realistic. Maybe no one has the guts to say it straight to your face, but if those soldiers and tanks start heading this way, we’re all gonna die.”

  “I didn’t ask to be put in charge of this place. You know that as well as I do. We owe it to each other and to everyone else to hold out as long as we can. After the Chairman’s men came, part of me was sure the three of you were already dead or at least long gone. That little voice kept telling me I’d never see you again. I should give up wasting my time and keep myself and Brandon safe. Sometimes that little voice makes so much sense, but that’s when you need to question it the most. Listen, Emma, I’m gonna bring you something to eat and after that I want you to think about ways that you can contribute. There’s nothing wrong with being creative, but I’m the mayor now and I can’t very well order people to fetch and purify water and plant crops while my own daughter is sitting in bed drawing.”

  Emma looked up at him with hurt and anger. “You think I’m wasting my time, don’t you?”

  “I think you’re hiding.”

  A tear ran down her cheek.

  “We miss you,” John said, pulling her into a tight hug. Emma’s arms remained limp by her side.

  His entire life John had been about getting things done. If an objective needed to be seized, he would get there or die trying. He’d fought insurgents in Iraq and organized the defense of Willow Creek Drive, but for some reason, getting through to his own daughter seemed the biggest challenge of all.

  Just then, a brisk knock came at the door.

  “Come in,” John said, expecting Diane, certain she must have been listening at the door.

  When the door swung open, it wasn’t Diane at all. It was Henry and the tension on the young man’s face was unmistakable.

  “Sir, I have Colonel Higgs on the radio. He needs to speak with you right away. Says it’s urgent.”

  Chapter 5

  John left Emma in her room and strode down the hallway to the radio room. Before the EMP this used to be Oneida’s Controller’s office. Her name was still on the door. Sandy Brown. Her now-useless Compaq computer and flat LCD screen had been removed along with her files to make room for the radio equipment.

  The ham radio brought over from the Patriot camp served as their main link to the outside world. SIGINT signals intelligence and control board equipment had been salvaged from the Chairman’s communication vehicle, which they’d parked out front and could operate if the need arose.

  Henry wasn’t ex-military like Rodriguez. He’d been a ham radio enthusiast living in a cabin on the outskirts of town when the grid went down. The folks around here were more accustomed to living off the land than the people in the big cities and so the transition hadn’t been nearly as difficult. Frequent water-boiling advisories and downed power lines after heavy storms tended to do that.

  Every day Henry would pass by the infirmary where Rodriguez was recovering and the two of them would discuss what needed to be done and the best way to configure the equipment. Eventually both of them would be working side by side, vastly increasing their ability to reach out to neighboring communities. If more towns nearby could follow Huntsville’s lead, then it would surely help weaken the enemy’s grip.<
br />
  Henry hovered over John as he lowered himself into the chair and put the headphones over his ears. Leaning forward, John depressed the actuator on the mic stand and spoke.

  “Colonel Higgs, this is John Mack. I trust you have some good news, over.”

  Crackling static sounded before the colonel’s choppy voice came through.

  “John, we’ve been under intense shelling and aerial attack for three days now,” the colonel said, the rattling boom from explosions audible in the background. “We’re not the least bit surprised since artillery barrages before an attack are a typical component of Russian military doctrine. You know your military history, John, so I’m probably not telling you anything you didn’t know. And if the Chinese are anything like they were in Korea, then it won’t be long before they attempt to swarm our lines of defense with waves of massed infantry. Make no mistake, we’re giving it back to them as good as we’re getting it, but without GPS and Blue Force Tracking, we’re fighting blind. It’s like World War II all over again.”

  John would have laughed if the thought hadn’t sickened him.

  “Those geniuses in the Department of Defense were so anxious to get the armed forces networked,” the colonel continued, “they never gave much thought to what would happen if that network was hacked or destroyed.”

  “I’m relieved the line is still holding,” John said. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “That’s part of why I’m calling, John. We have a supply train set to come through Oneida tomorrow on its way to the front.”

  John’s jaw dropped open. “But I thought—”

  “Me too, but apparently our military engineers have been reclaiming older diesel locomotives and sending them west filled with men and supplies. You have no idea how many beans, bullets and bandages it takes to keep our men fighting, not to mention the fuel. Anyway, when the shipment comes through tomorrow, I need as many able-bodied men and women you can send me.”

  The news stopped John cold. There was so much that needed to be done here in Oneida just to keep the town’s head above water, the thought of losing the most able-bodied part of his labor force was tough to stomach. Of course, on the flip side, if foreign armies broke through, then Oneida’s troubles would only pale by comparison.