“Dump your knives too,” the voice from the trees said to Spooky. “You types always carry knives. Way too many, if you ask me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, you types?” asked Tarzan from nearby.
Pulling out three knives, Spooky laid them carefully on the ground in front of him. “Who are you?”
“You first, since I’m the one in charge.”
“And I’m the one in charge of this team,” Reaper interrupted, walking up to Spooky with her hands wide and empty. “I speak for us.”
“Speak, then.”
“We’re special operators from the Free Communities. You can call me Reaper.”
“What if we were Security Service? You just bought a one-way ticket to a concentration camp.”
“If you were, you’d have killed us already…or tried. No, I think you’re something else.” Reaper elbowed Spooky. “You remember that note on a group of Edens Skull ran across in this area, Spooky? Led by a former greenie beanie?”
“Of course I do,” Spooky replied. “I presume they spotted our LZ beacons…or they compromised one of my sources.”
“Spooky?” The voice became a man stepping forward, an Eden by his apparent youth and vigor. He lowered his rifle. “Why did she call you that?”
“It’s a handle I picked up in another life.”
“What’s your real name?”
Spooky crossed his arms. “Who wants to know?”
“My name is Derrick Straw.”
“I’ve heard that name. Sergeant Major Straw, Fifth Group?”
“And you started in Third, then spent a lot of time in First, at Lewis. You’re Master Sergeant ‘Spooky’ Nguyen.”
“I used to be, though I hear I’ve been dishonorably discharged and sentenced to death in absentia. I’m a brevet colonel in the Free Communities Armed Forces now.” Spooky stepped forward, holding out his hand.
Derrick took it. “I’ll be drawn and quartered. Spooky fucking Nguyen. And I got the drop on you.”
“I was rather busy at the time, riding a pallet in.” He refrained from pointing out that he might have slipped away as an individual, had he been willing to sacrifice the team.
Reaper stepped closer. “Since it looks like we’re all on the same side, can we put the bromance on hold and start breaking out our gear? We’ve got a mission. Derrick – should I call you Derrick? – sorry for dropping into your backyard, but we’ll get out of your hair as fast as we can if you’ll just forget you ever saw us.”
“Who were you in a former life, if I may ask, miss?”
“Miss?”
“He’s older than he looks,” said Spooky. “At least seventy, am I right?”
Derrick smiled. “I used to be.”
“I was a Marine tactical cop, 3RT,” Reaper said. “And a One Percenter, if that means anything to you.”
“It means I wouldn’t want to arm-wrestle you, I imagine.” Derrick looked from Spooky to Reaper and back. “So what is it that brings such elite operators to my doorstep?”
“Classified, no offense,” Reaper replied. “Need to know.”
“That won’t wash,” said Derrick. “You have to give me something. My people are well trained, but we’re not a military organization and I’m not a dictator. They’ll want to know what heat you’ll bring down on us. We’ve survived for these years by keeping a low profile, using local knowledge and not drawing attention. We’re fugitives living among the populace, not insurgents.”
Spooky turned to Reaper and raised an eyebrow.
“All right,” she said. “Brief him the minimum necessary. You have the most at stake. In the meantime, Rangers, load up and get ready to march.”
***
Day was breaking before they finally stopped walking. Reaper found herself surprised at the depth of her fatigue. Maybe she was getting soft, not training enough. “We need to stop for chow,” Reaper told the leader of the group that had “captured” them at the drop zone.
“Will do,” answered Derrick. “Just a few more minutes.”
“Thanks,” said Reaper. “You know, it would have made things easier if you told us up front you were on our side.” She nodded toward Hulk’s busted face and several of Derrick’s men who showed signs of healing injuries. Apparently, they’d had a little tussle.
Despite their threats, the local forces hadn’t actually been willing to fire first. She wondered if that was a result of prudence, or the virtue effect enhancing their reluctance to kill. It took training for anyone, especially Edens, to shoot human beings without hesitation, especially with lethal ammo.
As Derrick had said, these people weren’t really fighters, despite their weapons. They were armed fugitives.
“We haven’t survived out here on our own surrounded by forces that want to eradicate us by being overly trusting,” he answered. “Those are the sorts of things you take for granted in your secure FC compounds located in your friendly countries. Here, it’s always life or death.”
“Fair enough. We trust each other enough now to get our heavy weapons back?”
He turned to her and shoved the pack he was carrying in her direction, machine gun attached, and she caught it. “I was just lugging it around to be chivalrous, but you can carry your own weight now.”
Reaper put the pack on her back and adjusted her weapons. “Chivalry’s nice, but how about you just treat me like any other warrior.”
“I’ll try. In my day, women didn’t fight.”
“New day, new way.”
“Got that right. We’re nearly there,” Derrick said, pointing to a steep draw ahead of them.
At first Reaper could see nothing but trees, but as she peered more carefully, she picked out giant camouflage nets strung high in the trees. They looked to be military issue, meaning the nets were of the IR-, UV- and radar-scattering type, reducing the chances of being spotted from overhead recon. As they got closer, she saw an entire camp, with scores, possibly hundreds of men and women, even a few children, but quiet, with few visible fires and no permanent structures.
“Speaking of being out here on your own, how did you all manage to make it this long?”
“We’re careful. We have sympathetic contacts among the populace that warn us if anything is coming our way. Lots of people don’t like what the feds are doing, even if they are afraid to become Edens. Mostly we keep our heads down and stay in rugged terrain, away from roads. The SS don’t suspect how many of us there are, I think. If they did, they’d bring in assets from elsewhere, but fortunately, they have their hands full controlling the cities and larger towns.”
“Sounds like you run a tight ship. Good security and discipline.”
“Everyone here understands this is life or death. Many are escapees from one of the concentration camps. Some are staging through the Eden Railroad.”
“Eden Railroad?”
“Like the Underground Railroad that got slaves out of the old South. We’re part of an extensive FC network trying to save as many Edens as we can. That’s another reason to avoid scrutiny.”
Reaper thought back to some of Cassandra’s reports she’d read. She remembered skimming lengthy paragraphs on exfil organizations such as this, but never really contemplated how large or involved they might be. There were evidently networks all over the globe in various stages of development.
Such arrangements would provide a perfect opportunity for the Unionists to sneak in a subverted Eden. How many had the FC taken in? How many of those had even been questioned? Reaper knew the answer to that: almost none of them. For all intents and purposes, being an Eden was your ticket into the FC. There could be thousands of Psycho infiltrators.
Reaper looked around the camp at all the people and found Spooky staring at her. She wondered what was going through his convoluted mind.
Hawkeye walked by and she grabbed his sleeve. “Keep our people together and have them eat our own rations. Reclaim all our own gear from Derrick’s people, redistribute and reorganize, and then get some sleep.”
Hawkeye nodded and walked away.
Spooky was still looking at her and Reaper forced herself to meet his gaze. His eyes were not challenging, simply appraising, as if he could see everything about her.
Could I really kill him in cold blood? The classic trolley problem: kill one in hopes of saving five, or fifty, or five hundred. How skewed does the math have to be before its reasoning seduces me?
It would be a lot easier if he did something obviously traitorous or evil.
As if he could read her thoughts, Spooky nodded at her and turned away.
Reaper’s stomach rumbled and she almost continued following Derrick, but noticed another man staring at her. He seemed familiar. She walked toward him. “What’s the matter, your woman not keeping you happy?”
The man started to speak, hesitated, and then wet his lips before talking. “You don’t remember.”
“Remember what?”
“You could have killed me, but you didn’t. You made me an Eden and let me come along. I’m younger now.”
Reaper stared at him hard, trying to see an older man in the youthful face.
“I’m John Clayton. The assault on the McConley farm. Seems like forever ago.”
The memories came rushing back. The family that had sheltered her in eastern Tennessee when she was on the run. The ones who took her in and treated her like one of their own, costing them the life of their oldest son, Jimmy, a man she might have loved.
Reaper felt a lump in her throat and tried not to let herself get angry. “It’s been, what, four years? How’d you end up here?”
“We hid in the caves through the winter, and we sabotaged what we could without killing anyone. Burned SS and Unionists buildings. All that did was bring them down on us. Maybe if everyone had risen up everywhere, but…you know. The common people were scared of the Eden Plague. They believed the lies. The next spring, we slipped away, went deeper into the wilderness. Then we fell in with Derrick and his folks and have been with them ever since.”
“We?”
“The McConleys.”
Reaper found it was hard to speak. “Here? They’re here?”
Clayton nodded. “Follow me and I’ll take you to them.”
Reaper’s team had been watching the curious interaction, and when the two walked off, they followed. She figured it wasn’t every day they saw their hard-as-nails leader get emotional.
Clayton led her up a steep path past small tents and low-smoke fires. Men and women were busy preparing and enjoying breakfast. Most looked at the outsiders with curiosity.
Reaper heard Big Jim before she saw him, and had to fight back tears. It wasn’t just that she felt gratitude toward them for taking her in; there was also a king-sized serving of guilt still buried in her soul.
If she’d done better, worked faster, fought harder, their son might still be alive.
“Sarah,” said the voice of Big Jim, “you know I don’t like cheese in my grits. Damn, woman, I been tellin’ you that for near thirty years.”
“And I’ve been telling you,” his wife responded, “that if you want your food some p’ticular way you can fix it yourself. You ain’t helpless, just lazy.”
A gathering of people looked on with easy smiles at what obviously passed for regular entertainment.
“Now, I got more than just your desires to consider,” Sarah continued plopping food into bowls, “and I’m busy, so why not save your bellyaching for when I actually have the time and inclination to listen to it.”
“Ain’t you in a mood this morning?” he said, eating his cheese grits out of a bowl.
“Big Jim,” said Reaper softly.
Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, but he turned nevertheless. He squinted at her and stopped chewing. Then his eyes grew wide and he set down the bowl. “It can’t be,” he said. “We figured you for dead, girl, when we didn’t hear from you.”
“Jill?” said Sarah hesitantly, and then her face lit up. With a squeal she jumped up and ran toward Reaper and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Tears of joy ran down her face.
Big Jim walked over slowly and settled his long arms around them both.
“I didn’t know what happened to you after I left,” Reaper said and found that she was crying as well. “Where is...is everyone else...?”
“They’re fine,” Big Jim said. “Janie and her husband are at another camp right now. You might see them this week if you’re staying.”
“Husband?”
“Yeah,” answered Sarah. “Got a beautiful little girl, too.”
“What about Owen?” Reaper asked looking around for the frail, formerly autistic boy she’d known.
“What about him?” asked a tall, handsome teenager standing nearby with a smile, a rifle slung diagonally across his back.
“Owen?” Reaper asked. “Is that really you?”
“It is, Miss Jill. I imagine I’ve changed a little bit since our paths last crossed.”
“That’s an understatement,” said Reaper, pulling him toward her for a hug. “You’re a man now.”
“S’pose so. I’m sixteen.”
The four visited and talked and hugged on each other, exchanging stories while those around watched with smiles of their own.
***
Reaper’s Rangers gathered with bemused looks on a nearby slope.
“What’s all that about?” Shortfuse asked Bunny.
“Beats me,” she answered. “I didn’t think Reaper ever hugged anyone, except that Python guy she hooked up with.”
“Whoa, is she actually crying?” asked Tarzan. He chuckled.
“You make fun of her, she’ll have your balls,” said Hawkeye.
“Or I will,” said Bunny.
“Promise?” said Tarzan.
“Can I watch?” asked Flyboy.
“It is mighty peculiar,” said Livewire.
“If you say so,” answered Buzz, watching closely.
Spirit nudged him, and then whispered something in his ear.