I followed Solomon through the maze of concrete barriers and razor wire that made up his fortified compound. My enhanced eyes scanned the perimeter, taking in every detail. Guard towers, spotlights, and enough firepower to withstand a small army—whoever this guy was, he meant business.
"I know what you're thinking," Solomon said, glancing back at me over his shoulder. "How does an old man like me put together a place like this?"
"The thought had crossed my mind," I said dryly.
He let out a chuckle. "Let's just say I'm a man who likes to plan ahead."
We passed groups of men and women outfitted in mismatched military gear. Most looked like survivors, but some had the hardened look of mercs or raiders. Solomon nodded in greeting, and they snapped to attention, showing him respect, or maybe fear.
"After the proxy wars, I knew things would get bad before they got better," he continued. "So, I used my connections to stockpile resources. Picked this old missile silo as my bug-out spot. From there it grew, a few close friends first, then more came. Then Last Day hit, and …well, they all began showing up." He waved one arm across the sea of faces watching him like a holy prophet.
I scanned the crowds, looking for any sign of the Witch or the rest of Banshee Team. Solomon had separated us for ‘processing’ when we first arrived, and I didn't like not having eyes on my people.
"When the Fall came, I sent out scavenger teams to bring back survivors," Solomon went on. "Anyone willing to follow my rules got a safe place here."
"And what might those rules be?" I asked.
"Nothing too burdensome. Just a little order, some structure. Obedience." He glanced at me sideways. "Though, for some folks, that last one's the hardest."
I met his gaze. "Trouble with rebellious types, I take it?"
"Let's just say I've had to make some hard choices. It's a dangerous world, and I aim to keep my people alive."
He led me through a checkpoint into the interior courtyard that ringed the silo. The concrete walls and low ceilings made me feel caged. My enhanced senses strained, mapping the layout, locating exits and structural weak points. Old habits.
We entered a large room filled with crates. Solomon opened one, revealing neatly stacked firearms. "Impressive, right? Enough guns here to take back the whole damn country."
I studied the arsenal. "All this firepower, just to protect your little hidey-hole?"
His eyes narrowed. "You think small, Kovach. I'm rebuilding civilization here, and one day my army will bring order to this whole goddamn continent."
"Army?" I asked casually. "Thought you said this was just a refuge."
"Can't it be both?" He nodded to a wall rack holding what looked like older communications equipment. "It's a start. But once I have the tech to control the machines, I'll have the power to take this world back." He smiled coldly. "Imagine an army of robots following my every command. Unstoppable."
I tensed, thinking of Decimator. Is that what he wanted with the Warbot? I needed to find Lux and the others, fast.
"Impressive goal," I said, masking my growing concern. "Though some might call it delusional."
His smile faded. "Watch yourself, Kovach. You and your team are alive by my good graces. But that can change."
Well, that was clearly a threat. Not even a veiled one.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. A scout approached, whispering urgently to Solomon. His eyes flashed with anger.
"We'll finish this discussion later," he said tightly. "Seems there's a situation that requires my attention."
He strode off, leaving me alone in the armory. I exhaled, mind racing. Whatever Solomon was planning, I knew one thing: Banshee Team needed to get gone, and soon.
* * *
I checked the control lock on the Decimator one more time before turning to Lux. "All good, kid. This thing's not going anywhere." It was attracting way too much attention, though. Solomon had reluctantly agreed to let us store it in the compound as long as it wasn't active. Bringing it inside the walls had caused a minor disturbance all the same.
The boy nodded, patting the Warbot's leg affectionately. Hard to believe a nine-year-old could operate on something so devastatingly lethal. But that was the world we lived in now. "Maybe we should put it into a Passive Sentry mode," he offered.
I was familiar with Active Sentry mode, but Passive was a new one for me. The kid must have been reading the owner’s manual. More likely he'd spent days with nothing more to do than go through the countless modes in the admin screens.
"It’s a non-lethal but still guarded mode. It can alert us and deliver a powerful shock if anyone screws with it."
I nodded, and once he was done, the two of us headed for the compound’s exit. Time to find the Witch and make plans to get the hell out of this place. Who knew how long before Solomon's hospitality began to turn sour?
As we approached the heavy blast door, built into the outer perimeter wall, a thought struck me. Getting out might not be so easy. Koog met up with us there, rifle in hand.
"I don't like this, Kovach. Way too convenient finding this place. Especially with the Warbot just sitting here primed and ready." He chewed his lip nervously. "Could be we've walked into a trap."
"You think Solomon led us here intentionally?" I asked.
"Maybe. Or the Witch did. I ain't trusting no one right now."
I glanced around the compound. Koog had a point. The raiders had ignored the pulse rifles and ammo, taking only basic gear and computer parts.
"They were looking for something specific, Kovach," Koog said. "I just don't know what."
I nodded slowly. We'd have to be cautious. But standing around wouldn't get us answers.
"Only one way to find out, Corporal. When it's time to go, we don’t fuck around. Be ready to move. In the meantime, I want us to put eyes on the girl."
"The Witch?" Koog asked, the disdain for the task evident. "Did you not hear what I just said? She may be the reason we are trapped in here."
"We aren't trapped, Corporal. Either of us could tear a hole in the wall if we wanted, and the Warbot would tear through it like tissue. We are here because this is where we need to be right now. But, like it or not, the WitchWalker is one of us." I wasn't sure when I'd started thinking of her in that way, but I did and truthfully, I was worried.
"The Warbot has stealth drones," Lux said, eager to help. "I can launch them at night and have them run search patterns until dawn. No one will even know they’re up."
"Good idea,” I agreed, “but watch their power and return them to the Decimator well before sunrise."