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COLE CLAIMED THE FIRST shift in the rough-riding trailer. The going looked rocky.
Tom was grateful for an opportunity to ask Josh questions without Cole hearing.
Hard to believe Rachel had allowed Cole to join them on the rescue mission. “Do you think Rachel has a control issue?” Crap, Tom, sometimes you speak before thinking, well done.
Josh laughed. “I guess you could say that. Andy used to come up and complain about how much she babied her kids, bit too much sometimes, and never let them come up for more than a day or two without her. You have to hand it to her, though. If nothing else, she got her kids away from the city and to safety. The woman has her priorities straight.”
“Is she really a government psychologist?” The idea scared the hell out of Tom. People who worked for the government didn’t have protection against brainwashing. No privacy. Nothing private. He didn’t like the sensation of ant feet running up and down his spine when he thought of it. She’d been his therapist. What had she handed over to Big Brother about him?
The back of Josh’s head moved. His voice lowered. “No. She’s a freelancer, so never actually employed by any one branch of any government or military. Andy didn’t know much more than that, but he refused to let her sign up with any specific branch. He didn’t want to move from the area.”
“Has she worked for others beside ours?” Now that was a nightmare. What the hell had that lady been up to? She’d been in control when he’d known her, but the person she’d become seemed made of ice. Not many emotions played across her face or in her voice.
“Yes. I’m not sure which ones, information was always classified. But she once told Andy that she’d never contract outside of the States again. We apparently still follow some ethical and humane guidelines. Many other countries lost their grip on humanity a long time ago and do testing on orphans and homeless people. Psychology is such a loose science that while you can prove the affects of biological testing, you can’t prove or disprove the cruelty of mental abuse.”
Tom swallowed. Josh painted an ugly picture Tom didn’t want to face.
Rocky slopes gave way to a grassy trail. Tom didn’t want to return to the city. He didn’t want to see the dead mingled with bombed buildings. At Rachel’s it’d been a mirage, an oasis from the terror ripping the countryside apart. His reprieve hadn’t been long enough.
A bump jostled the supplies they’d packed and secured with elastic tie downs. Heavy metal rested against the small of Tom’s back, a comforting threat. If he pulled the borrowed piece out, he’d damn well better be ready to use it.
“Do you think there are a lot of survivors?” Maybe his parents had made it in Spokane. Right then, they too could be stuck in a high school in the city, housed with food and clothing, protected from the bombs.
But if the map on the militia’s site was accurate, the buildings in downtown Spokane up to the base had been little more than rubble, not much different from the travesty left behind by a flaming tornado.
Josh’s reply barely carried over the rumble of the engine. “I don’t know, Tom.”
Be honest. Tom wanted to yell and scream, but men didn’t suffer in public. They bottled it up and corked it, tossing the container in the corner with their bumps and bruises to be stored away until there was just no more room. His storage overflowed and he was running out of places to chuck the feelings. Emotions. Damn.
Josh slowed the quad. A hundred feet separated them from the freeway on-ramp and the road to the Old Highway. The freeway had an open vulnerability whereas the Old Highway, lined one side by the deep lake and the other with trees, would provide great cover and options for slipping away. The windy road would take a bit longer, but the lower chances of being caught were too appealing. Josh angled the tires and they coasted down to the potholed pavement.
Undercover of the forest and beneath the overpass, Josh parked the four-wheeler. “Okay guys, we need to discuss a few things before we go any further.” Sliding off the vinyl seat, he stood to face them, grave finality stamped on his features under the slight shadow of beard and rim of his hat.
Tom glanced at Cole who waited as if he’d expected some sort of pep talk or discussion.
“Tom, you remember what it was like when you were attacked. Cole, you escaped before you could see any real damage. I’m not discounting what happened to your dad, but I am saying that you didn’t see bodies, you didn’t see actual death in front of you.” Josh looked off into the trees, as if the words he wanted sat on a limb deep in the shadows and if he could just pull them out, Tom and Cole would be appropriately warned.
Josh took a deep breath. “I’ve never been in a war. I’ve never seen death but from what Rachel told me, this isn’t going to be easy or fun. We will see people, dead, alive, in pieces. Random things will stick out to us and weaken us. We have to hold it together. The second we grieve for the dead or dying is the moment we will become lost and lose our purpose. Which is to bring Brenda back. Our sole goal of going out here is to get Brenda.” He nodded at Tom. “And maybe your friend, Jenny. But that’s it. Ignore the other people. Ignore them. It’s not going to be easy, but I want you to do this. Do you understand?”
Tom nodded his head. An ache in his shoulders testified his anxiety. He wasn’t looking forward to this. He’d already escaped hell and now he was running back into the flames.
“I’m serious. This will be ugly. Keep your firearms at the ready and don’t hesitate to shoot. We have no idea who the enemy is or what they look like.” Josh nodded and then paused. He loped to the trailer and spoke to Cole in small murmurs and silent nods. Josh patted his shoulder and jogged back to the quad and climbed back on the seat.
Tom called to Cole, before the engine started, “Do you want to switch?”
Cole shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” Leaving Tom feeling more than a little relieved.
Josh turned the motor over and eased onto the empty highway. The road’s black pebbled surface passed beneath them, smoother than the mountainous trails. Tires hummed with increasing speed.
A shotgun blast resounded across the smooth lake. Birds scattered from the treetops. Tom ducked, his breathing hitched. He clenched his hands on the back of Josh’s coat. “What the hell?”
On the road ahead, a man in black cargo pants and camouflage jacket postured with his weapon aimed loosely in their direction.
The brakes groaned in protest as Josh stopped fast. Tom stiffened against rocking forward into Josh.
“Who goes there?” The man spit to the side, his squinted eyes never straying from Josh and Tom. “I’m not afraid of shootin’ yous. I won’t miss neither.”
Josh muttered to Tom, “Crap. He talks like a redneck but that’s easy to do if you watch John Wayne movies.”
Tom watched the weapon become steadier and surer in its aim as they failed to answer his question. His dad had always laughed and said you could tell an Idahoan by one true tic. “Ask if he voted for the latest honest democrat.”
Josh didn’t hesitate. “Did you vote for the honest democrat?”
“Shit. Those two words don’t belong in the same sentence. You must be a communist.” He raised his gun to his shoulder. “Democrats don’t belong and neither do commies.”
“NM50 sent us.” Tom yelled over Josh’s shoulder.
The barrel lowered. If possible, the man’s eyes narrowed further. “Eh?”
“Dilbeck. We’re on a rescue mission. The attackers are collecting captives and storing them at the high schools.” Tom’s breathing had quickened. The tense moment gripped him. Was he saying too much? Why hadn’t Josh stepped in?
“Lieutenant Dilbeck’s still in the NM?” The barrel lowered a centimeter.
“He’s major now.”
The man dropped his gun completely and waved them forward. “No, son, he’s been major, that’s the test to see if you really know Major Dilbeck.” His hick affectation dropped and his sloppy manner crisped to a stiffened back and straight shoulders.
“We’re trying to get to Post Falls. Do you know what the situation is?” Josh motioned to the smoky haze lingering over the western horizon.
“We’re on our way to Coeur d’Alene and Lake City high schools to see what we can do there. I’m not sure how many foot soldiers are on soil, but we’ve been instructed to be prepared for any action.” He offered his hand. “David Farnham.”
“Josh Hughes. Nice to meet you. You said ‘we’?”
David pursed his lips and a shrill whistle pierced the air in a three-beat pulse. Six similarly dressed men secreted from the trees along the road line, coming to stand beside the street. David nodded in their direction. “This is my regiment. We were all on leave when the attack came and met in the lower Fernan area. Dilbeck said he’d been contacted by one other radio handle, but he didn’t tell us who. We have family in the schools. We hope.”
“Us, too. Does anyone know about Spokane? Are there any survivors? Do we know who is doing the invading?”
Tom glanced at Josh. He’d omitted they were the handle. But why?
Farnham tilted his head. “The worst part? We think they’ve been living among us for a while. Some of them, informants, turned on us right on the heels of the earthquakes and the tsunamis. I heard the airspace was cleared for aid and instead we got bombed. Washington wasn’t even ready. I think they’ve called back some of our troops from other countries, but embassies are being attacked and the east side just had a nine-point-one earthquake rip through Pennsylvania. America’s hurting and no one’s going to help us... but us.”
“You’re better informed than we are.” Josh offered a laugh that suggested a question needing an answer.
“Could be. But I didn’t know Post Falls had captives, too. Do you need help getting them out? We could swing up to our schools and then loop back to yours.” David raised his eyebrows.
Tom swallowed. Farnham and his group seemed like an okay band, but something wasn’t sitting right. He couldn’t pinpoint what the problem was, but distance between the two groups wouldn’t be a bad thing. He cleared his throat, but only loud enough to carry the few inches to Josh’s ears.
“I appreciate the offer. The only problem is, we don’t know how long they’re going to keep the captives in the schools or even if they’ll be kept alive.” Josh shifted in his seat and cast a glance over his shoulder at Tom and Cole. A warning in his eyes kept them silent.
“What’s your handle on the ham? We can contact you with any information we get or vice versus.” Tom spoke up. Move. They needed to get moving.
Farnham pointed at a smaller member of his group. “Hambone over there is the radio geek. He uses HIT33. We rally through him. What’s yours?”
HIT33? They couldn’t be the Hate IT Coalition out of Hayden. HIT had moved onto the Aryan nation compound a few years after it’d been confiscated and sold. The main handle at the compound had picked air fights with Tom’s dad over positional descriptions and technique. He’d even gone so far as to report Tom’s dad’s airwave activity to the FAA.
Tom spoke before Josh could offer theirs. “FOUR19. I’m the radio man. We’ll listen for you. Let us know if you need anything.”
Josh took the hint and started the engine. Farnham and his mates waved them away. Tom swore he could feel their gazes on him well past the turn in the road.
“FOUR19? As in a minute before marijuana time? Are you serious? That’s not your handle, anyway. What if they come up with something?” Josh didn’t turn his head.
“My buddy’s call handle before he died. HIT33 is a handle from Hate IT.”
“Really?” Josh tilted his head, but facing forward his expression was hidden from Tom. Had he known what Hate IT was?
“They caused a lot of problems for my dad and me on the air waves. I even had to change channels when they’d get on for a while because of the harassment. They complained Dad was in on the conspiracies to govern and control.” Tom gripped the metal rack he sat on. “I’d never understood it. He hated government. Thought we’d all be better off without one and just have a Lord of the Flies existence.”
“But even they had...”
“I know. But Dad liked ideals. He didn’t care about the logistics unless it was his reality. One time, he wanted a patient to have a weird diagnosis so bad, he actually rigged the tests to read something different. While the patient wasn’t hurt, Dad had a lot of fun testing and diagnosing what it could be.”
“Is your dad a doctor?” Josh rounded the next corner and pushed the engine to pull them up a long, steep-graded hill. The speed steady but ground-covering.
Is? Or was? “Yeah. Doctor of osteopathy. One of the few in the area.”
“Nice. If Farnham is Hate IT, do you think they’re going up to cause problems for the captives or the captors?”
“Captors. It fits that their families are up there. The compound is in Hayden but that doesn’t mean everyone lived there. Lake City and Coeur d’Alene schools covered a large district.” What had been the real problem? Did he care what Farnham was up to? “They tend to do the opposite of smart. Loud mouth and brash. I’m surprised you don’t know more about them, living as close as you do.”
“I’m more of an introvert. Actually, it’s funny, Andy was my only friend for the last few years.”
The hill leveled out and slanted downward. A cemetery eerily untouched beside a shredded restaurant had an ambience of hope in the devastation surrounding it. Swiss-cheesed, the road would never be managed properly with a car, even a small one like a Volkswagen or Festiva. The four-wheeler would press its luck if it didn’t stick to the wider portions.
Josh locked the brake and shut off the engine. A bird chirped in the sudden silence. Pink and white flowers grew in the crack of the sidewalk feet from Tom’s boot. Rubble and dirt pushed around the lean patch, drawing Tom’s gaze to encase a pile of dirt, pavement, and a red sports car in a sandwich resembling a club, layered just so. Stuck to the bumper, a red circle proclaimed “No More War” in white letters.
No more. Like they really even knew what war was like. An odd odor mixed sugary sweetness with bitter sour egg. “We need to move, Josh. I smell gas.”
Josh sniffed, brushing the dirt off his hands as he rose from checking something under the four-wheeler. “Yep, that’s natural gas. Climb off. We need to push until we’re out of range.”
Tom climbed down and Cole copied, stretching even as he positioned himself behind the rear wheels. Popped in neutral, brakes off, the four-wheeler rolled smoothly along the flat surface, past demolished buildings and cars, intact offices and houses whose landscaping was untouched.
Cole gasped and pointed. A pale hand protruded from under the jagged pieces of a door. Smudged skin with painted nails. A small ring on the pinky finger. The boys couldn’t look away. No way could a body be attached. The panel was only large enough for a cabinet.
Josh pushed forward. “Come on, guys. That won’t be the last one you see. Look at the road and don’t focus on anything else.”
But the deeper into town they pushed, the more cluttered and chaotic the devastation became. A stroller pinched between two buildings. A bar and grill’s awning had collapsed and covered debris from a fire that had gutted the insides. A condominium, stripped of its northern corner, resembled a pop icon whose skirt had flown up over a grate. Kitchens, dining rooms, and bedrooms gaped from the shorn opening.
“We need to go up this road.” Tom puffed. He was in shape but the quad was a beast. The stupid thing had to match a small car in weight. “We’re almost to the resort. We don’t know where they kept these survivors.” The lake. Oh, Tom would have a hard time getting close to a body of water again. Even baths would remind him of body parts bobbing against him.
“I think we’re far enough away from the gas leak. Let’s get out of here.” Josh swung his leg over the seat and started the engine.
Tom looked at Cole. “Do you mind if I ride in the trailer for a bit?”
“Nope.” Cole, pale beneath his tan, switched spots with Tom.
A pat to the side of the wagon, Tom settled in amongst the food and supplies they’d tucked under a large tarp. Josh pulled forward and Tom welcomed the sway and jolt of the unsuspended wheels. Anything to get his mind off the last few days.