Emma: Part Three (2 page)

“Your sister is more than welcome to come to the Outpost any time she likes to visit Emma.”

Luke’s mouth settled into a grim line. “The odds of my sister stepping one foot onto that base without at least two of her brothers as armed escort are exactly zero. Daddy will start a goddamn war if any of you cyborgs try to take his precious little princess as one of your baby breeders.”

Max recoiled at the description. “Don’t ever call Emma that again in my presence—or you’ll be swallowing your teeth. Understand?”

Luke cracked a smartass grin. “I can see why Emma chose you.”

Turning to Rafe, Max asked, “What’s the status of the evacuation?”

“Seventeen went out on the first dustoff. We’ve got another twenty-four—no, twenty-six—who need to go on the first medical convoys back to the CASH. That leaves another twenty-three who are walking wounded but able to carry weapons.” He paused. “The death count is four higher since my last update.”

Thirty-three. Shit.
“Civilians?”

“Sixty-three dead. Forty-seven wounded. I’m told a third of them need to be seen by the Outpost medical staff, but we’ve only been able to convince four or five of them to accept our help. The most critical were rushed out of here to the small clinic in New Town.” Rafe reached into a pocket on his vest and unwrapped a piece of gum. He’d always been a nervous chewer. “The rest will be heading out on the Keaton trucks later tonight.”

Luke scratched at his jaw. “This could turn into a real fucking goat rope quick. New moon.” He pointed toward the dark sky above. “It’s dark as shit out on the road. We’ve got a storm rolling in and a few spots along the way are low and wash out in the rain. Plus all this damn noise from the explosion and response draws the Biters. This area is pretty clean and well-patrolled by Purgatory’s militia, but all it takes is one or two loners getting through the downed fence, chomping on some poor bastard’s neck and we’ve got an outbreak.”

The mere mention of outbreak made Max’s chest tighten painfully. He had standing orders for such a possibility—and it wasn’t pretty.

“Once we get out to no-man’s land,” Luke continued, “we’re exposed.”

“I’ll make sure you have air support. We’ll clear out the wounded, get your convoy ready to go and ride escort to New Town. Between the Zed teams and birds, we’ll get you there safely.”

“Much obliged. We usually have enough manpower to handle a job like this, but three of my brothers are on a salvage and delivery job. We’re short six trucks and twenty-seven men.”

Max wondered how many other people knew the Keatons were low on men.

As if reading his mind, Luke nodded as he scanned their smoldering surroundings. “I know what you’re thinking, Major. It crossed my mind, too. Our family compound is situated right in the triangle between Purgatory, New Town and Borden’s Crossing. We don’t bill ourselves as a peacekeeping force but…”

“I understand.” A million thoughts raced through Max’s head as he tried to figure out all the angles. Who would want to blow up Purgatory? Why? What did they hope to gain? Was this someone who wanted to target the cyborgs who visited the town on weekly leave or was it someone with a grudge against the Keaton family? Was this a power play among the humans? A scuffle for power? Or was it something far, far worse?

Luke unhooked a small, dented metal bottle from his belt and took a drink before offering it to Max. “Water? It’s clean and straight from our well.”

“I’m good.” Trying to figure out how big the Keaton family was, Max asked, “Just how many brothers do you have?”

“There’s seven of us Keaton kids. I’m the oldest. Leila’s the youngest. There are five brothers between us. Lane and Lance are already here.” He gestured to two tall men, both in their early twenties, who were helping load wounded and shaken civilians into their trucks. “And, yeah, before you ask, we’re all from the same mom.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Everyone asks,” Luke replied. “Can’t blame them for being curious. How many families do you know with seven healthy kids who made it to adulthood and all of them from the same mama?”

“Good genes, fresh air, lots of exercise, plenty of protein and early access to firearms,” an older man, not quite as tall as Luke, chimed in as he strode toward them. Dressed in cargo pants and a plaid shirt, he had that same easy outdoorsman swagger as his son. “That’s my secret to growing them big and keeping them safe.” He whacked his son on the back before introducing himself. “Laird Keaton.”

“Major Cardwell.” He shook the man’s hand and noted the firm, confident grip. “I was telling your son that we appreciate the help you’ve given us. We’d like to encourage ties between our two communities.”

“I’m sure you would,” Laird replied with a bit of a sarcastic edge. Glancing at his son, he asked, “Where the hell is your sister?”

Luke’s face registered surprise. “I thought she was with you.”

Rafe stepped back into the conversation. “She volunteered to take two of our scouts outside the wire.”

“She did
what
?” Laird blew up like any father would at the prospect of his child volunteering for such a mission.

“She’ll be safe. Butch and Butler will die before they let any harm come to her.”

“If they don’t, they won’t be breathing long.” Laird turned to his son. “See if you can raise her on the radio. I need her to ride shotgun for Lance.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When you find her, tell her to come see me. We need to have a word.”

“Will do.” Luke stepped away and unclipped the radio attached to his belt.

Clearly exasperated, Laird shook his head. “God help you if Emma gives you a daughter, Major.”

The thought of a little girl with Emma’s dark hair and sweet smile hit him like a punch to the gut. Julie had warned him that it might take months and months for Emma to conceive after years of poor nutrition and hard labor, but he secretly hoped the doctor was wrong. He damn sure planned to keep trying and practicing until it happened.

Too aware that talk of Emma put him on edge and made him more apt to be emotional, Max shifted the topic. Gesturing toward the flames still shooting sky high, he asked, “Any thoughts about this?”

“I know what you’re thinking.” Laird eyed him critically. “I run all the fuels and guns in the Outlands, but that,” he emphasized with a jab of his fingers, “isn’t from my supply.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Son,” Laird said with a patronizing smile, “you smell that?” He sniffed loudly. “That’s burning gasoline. I deal in diesel.” Shaking his head, he added, “I know my partners. I don’t deal with new people. I cultivate a list of clients that I trust. Nobody who buys from me would do something this evil.”

Max took Laird at his word. “So who would?”

Laird leveled a stare. “You tell me, Major. Who do we know who can get their hands on barrels of gasoline and explosives?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Three words: Gulf Point Labs.”

Shock tore through Max. Everything to do with Gulf Point Labs was supposed to have been kept secret and silent. How did Laird know? “How the hell—?” He stepped into the arms dealer’s space and lowered his voice to a hiss. “How do you know about GPL?”

Laird didn’t flinch or make a move. “You think your people are the only ones with an intelligence network?”

Before he could answer, he heard a scuffle behind them. Turning toward the raised voices, he spotted a young woman arguing with a man. She had the whitest blonde hair he had ever seen and held a young child close. The little girl who couldn’t have been more than two clung to her mother and sobbed pitifully. Clearly some type of altercation had taken place.

“Who the hell is that prick?” Concerned about the man’s aggression, Max stepped forward to intervene but Laird held out his arm and blocked him.

“Let them sort it out.”

“She’s a young woman with a baby. I’m not going to stand here while she gets pushed around by some prick.”

“That’s Zoe Morgan, the older of the two Morgan sisters. Believe me. She can handle that asshole. Hell, she and her sister have survived more than even your Emma.”

Your Emma…

Hearing Emma described in that way sent a small pang of something tender through his chest.

Those tender feelings fled when that prick shouted something nasty at Zoe. Incensed by the filthy word slung at the young mother, Max started toward the ugly scene. He’d had enough of that asshole’s big mouth.

But, seemingly out of nowhere, a blonde appeared from the shadows.

Like a well-seasoned warrior, the younger blonde struck the back of the man’s knees with the wooden handle of a worn ax. She dropped the bastard like a sack of rocks. Standing over him, the slim, petite woman put a booted foot against the man’s neck and pressed the sharp tip of her ax against his wrist. “You put another finger on my sister or my niece, and I’ll take this fucking hand off at the wrist. Understand?”

The man gurgled a reply as she pushed hard on his throat with her heel. She finally let him up and held her ax at the ready as he scrambled away and ran toward a different truck. One of the Keaton boys stepped forward to help Zoe and her daughter into the back of his vehicle but not before the sisters exchanged hugs. The younger one kissed her little niece on the cheek.

“Chloe Morgan,” Laird named the sister. “She’s small but mean as hell. There’s nothing that girl won’t do to protect her older sister and that baby.”

Trying to piece together the limited facts, Max asked, “Is there a husband? Where is the baby’s father?”

Laird shot him a look. “We don’t talk about that. It’s done. It’s in the past. If you don’t want to be on the receiving end of Chloe’s ax, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. There were few reasons why a child’s parentage would be forbidden to discuss, and none of them were good. Had Zoe been a victim of rape? Had she been trafficked or sold?

He watched the younger sister hop up into the truck. With a gun holstered on one hip and that ax in the other hand, she looked like a warrior princess. She wore her pale blonde hair long but pulled back in a high ponytail with some sections braided and twisted and decorated with beads. She looked like trouble—and several of his men seemed much too interested.

“You should tell your boys to steer clear of the Morgan girls,” Laird warned. “There are plenty of sweet, smart, hardworking women in New Town and Borden’s Crossing who
won’t
hack their balls off with an ax if they overstep the line.”

“Duly noted.”

A bark louder and deeper than any Max had ever heard suddenly tore through the night. The bark carried through the noise from the fire, the idling truck engines and the radio traffic. Laird instantly went rigid before rising up on his toes and searching frantically left and right. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted into the night, “LEILA!”

“I can’t reach her!” Luke’s apprehension was clear as he returned to his father’s side and tried the radio again. “Leila, come in! Damn it, Lei! Answer us!”

A heartbeat later, the report of a rifle—a fucking big one—echoed in the distance. Neither of the two Zed squad men who left to scout with the Keaton girl carried rifles like that. No, that was a specialized rifle. Large-bore. A sniper’s weapon.

Someone was shooting
at
Leilia, Butch and Butler.

He quickly calculated the direction and pointed just off to the east. “There.”

Jack, what do you see?
Max figured his friend had the best view from his sniper’s perch.

Darkness—but I’m scanning. I can’t find Butch or Butler’s signals. It’s like they’re blocked.

Max tried to locate the two cyborgs and pinged their specific frequencies again and again. It was dead silence. They were cut off from communicating.

The radio clenched in Luke’s big hand crackled. “…go….trap….DADDY!”

Laird snatched the radio from his son’s hand. “Leila? Sugar?”

“Daddy!” The radio squelched. “Biters….so many…
Now!
”

“Leila!”

“You need to get—
shit
.” The radio transmission ended and the crack of a shotgun exploded twice. The dog barked incessantly now, each booming
woof
as loud as the thunder rattling the sky. The radio went silent but the pop of small arms fire and rifle shots ricocheted in the night.

Rafe had heard the radio traffic between daughter and father and was already directing his men. “Civilians are the priority! Squad One with me. Squads Two and Three ride escort on the trucks. We’re moving out in one minute for the base.”

Max turned to face the small crowd of civilians and wounded cyborgs that waited for the medical convoy. He noticed that some of the civilians seemed hesitant to get on the trucks now that they were planning to head in the other direction toward the Outpost and not toward New Town.

“Get on the trucks—or you get left behind.” He snarled the order in his most commanding voice. These people had to know he was serious. “If you want to live,
move
!” Looking at his men, he shouted, “Get those people loaded up! Pack ‘em in tight. We’ve got to move.
Now
.”

Luke Keaton broke away from the jostling crowd and sprinted toward the closest section of the still-standing fence.
Toward his baby sister
.

At the exact same moment, Max became aware of Tripwire racing toward Luke while waving his hands.

Max, we’ve got a big fucking problem
. Urgency filled Jack’s message, but the rest of his transmission was garbled and lost.

“Secondary explosion wired.” Tripwire shouted as he hurdled a pile of debris. The young explosive’s expert had activated the alarm sensors they all carried. Every cyborg within one mile felt the jolt of a painful zing in their chests before Trip’s voice ricocheted around their heads.

It’s a trap. It’s a motherfucking trap!

“NO!” Tripwire shouted over the din as he spotted Luke reaching out to flip the red handle mounted on the tall fence post of the still-standing guard shack. It was the switch that would kill whatever electricity was still running through the gate he needed to use to get out to his sister.