Last Stand: Patriots (Book 2) (12 page)

Diane was lying in her bunk
watching as the late afternoon sun painted the prison cell walls a rich shade of orange.

Above her was Kay, still bruised from her own meeting with the Chairman, although she was doing her best to hide it from her daughter Natalie. In spite of Diane’s gentle questioning, Kay didn’t want to discuss what had happened. Either way, that creep
y guy had put his hands on her, that much Diane knew. It was a fate Diane had only narrowly avoided.

In the next cell over
, Gregory, Emma and Natalie were sitting on the floor playing Gregory’s favorite game: Slap Jack. The idea was simple. One player hovered her hands palm down over another player who held theirs underneath in a mirror image. From the bottom, the slapper tried to strike the top of her opponent’s hands before she had a chance to move them away. A successful hit meant she continued. After a miss, they would switch positions and payback would ensue. The kids had played the game for hours yesterday, until the tops of Emma’s hands were glowing red.

Most of the time the
cells were so hot that beads of sweat would soak their clothing. Every night, once the sun set and the room became pitch black, there was little option but to sleep.

Although she was watching the kids play, Diane’s mind was elsewhere. She chided herself
whenever she let her mind go over how many laws the Chairman was breaking by keeping them locked in here. For starters, they hadn’t been read their Miranda rights. Their refusal to hand over their weapons to the men in black cargo pants hadn’t lasted much longer than it took for them to shoot Tim dead. Hard to believe that their apparent hostility was enough to end a man’s life.

And this was why Diane hated when her mind tried t
o grasp the legality of their imprisonment. The old laws were clearly gone. They’d gone up in the same puff of smoke that had fried every electrical circuit in the country. This was exactly when regular citizens needed to arm up and defend the tattered remains of the Constitution against enemies both foreign and domestic. But it seemed the Chairman was following a president with a different set of plans. If he thought he was caving in to the practicality of the current emergency, then he was jeopardizing and perhaps had already killed everything that was great about this country. The irony of dissolving the Constitution, effectively stripping citizens of their rights and privileges, in order to preserve them was not lost on Diane. And with nothing to do in this tiny cell but sleep, think and slip her kids some extra food to ensure they were properly fed, she couldn’t help spin herself into useless circles.

Just then t
he door to the jail opened and one of the meaner-looking guards named Edward sauntered in. He had narrow shoulders and couldn’t have been taller than five foot four, but the scowl on his face made it hard to meet his cold eyes. Every second day it was his job to come in and hand them their food. Since they’d been here, what passed for food tended to be stale bread and mushy beans. A stuffy room with poor circulation and a dozen other inmates all on a diet of beans only added insult to injury.

Edward stopped before Diane and Kay’s cell and ran his club along the bars, a sign for them to approach and take the food through the slot. Diane went forward, feeling Edward’s eyes passing up and down her body. The first food tray was in the slot already. She reached down to grab it, but he held on tight to his end. Glancing up, Diane caught his glare and tried not to let on that her chest was tight with fear.

“You Diane?”

Diane was too frightened to say anything. Edward
’s forearms were powerful and covered with tattoos. By the looks of things, he should be the one behind bars, not her. With a snap of his wrist, he could have his hand through the bars and around her neck.

He asked again, this time more forcefully. Perhaps he’d heard what she had done to the Chairman the day before and was going to get even. Diane swallowed hard and said yes.

“Listen very carefully. Your husband John’s looking for you. Asked me to find you and your kids. Wanted me to tell you to be strong, that he and others are coming to get you out of here.”

Tears were welling up behind Diane’s eyes at the
news that John was alive and looking for them.

“Keep it together,” Edward scolde
d her in a gruff voice. “I got exactly ten more seconds before the other guards here start getting suspicious. Word is the Chairman’s taken a liking to you. Not sure exactly what you did, but I hope he didn’t do to you what he did to your friend over there.” He motioned to Kay, who was starting to sit up. “I’m doing what I can to get you and your family transferred to a more comfortable spot, got it? But I’m not making any promises.” Looking down at the tray of food, he said: “There’s a present in your beans. It’s all I could get at the moment. Keep it hidden. And if the Chairman takes you out for another chat, use it on him.”

Edward then shoved the tray at her
in mock anger. “You gonna take your food or not!”

The commotion brought the attention
of the other inmates who looked on with worry.

“Yes, I want it,” Diane said
in a low voice and took the first tray and then the second.

She handed the second to Kay
, who arrived beside her just as Edward lumbered over to the next cell.

“What was that all about?”
Kay asked, her voice slightly distorted by a swollen bottom lip.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Diane replied. She went
and sat by the corner of her bunk and stirred the beans with her spoon. As she did the top of a knife handle began to emerge.

Diane’s head snapped up
at once. She was suddenly worried that those around her knew what Edward had done. And, more importantly, that he wanted her to kill the Chairman.

But
everyone around her was busy eating.

Don’t be silly
, she told herself.
No one saw
.

She
still didn’t understand how Edward knew about her husband. Could it mean that John was somewhere in town? Was he being held in a cell just like hers? Her mind swirled with terrifying questions she had little hope of finding the answers to, at least not yet.

When no one was looking, Diane
set the tray on the cot beside her, quickly removed the knife and slid it under the bed. There weren’t many hiding spots in an eight-by-five cell, which meant under the bed would have to do.

After taking back her tray
, she caught Kay watching, a fearful expression blooming on her swollen face. “I hope to God you’re not about to do something that’ll get us all killed,” she said.

Diane
didn’t know what to say. The knife had practically been thrust on her by Edward. There hadn’t been enough time to question him, let alone refuse. And even as she turned away and tried to finish the rest of her dinner, Kay’s words kept ringing in her ears.

John arrived back at the Patriot camp the following morning. The shocked and surprised looks he received from the men guarding the main approach weren’t lost on him. Nor were the similar expressions he saw from the others in camp, going about their morning activities. Sweaty, covered in mud and leaves and limping slightly, John knew he probably looked as though he’d crawled up from hell itself.

Moss
hurried over the minute he saw John approach.

“We doubled back looking for
you, but—” Moss glanced over his shoulder. “Where’s Sulli?”

“He didn’t make it
.” John cut him off, feeling that sting of guilt he’d experienced many times before. It was the sensation every soldier felt when the man next to him didn’t live to see home again.

Moss nodded, trying not to show
any weakness. He would keep the pain buried down deep, John knew, locked up tight with alcohol and denial. That was the heartache of losing someone who was like a brother to you.

“They came up behind us in three trucks,” John
told him. “A patrol from Oneida. Sullivan got hit by a round through the back window. He died instantly.” John decided to leave out the rest of the gory details. He remembered the words from Confederate general Robert E. Lee to General Longstreet at the Battle on Telegraph Hill.
It is well that war is so terrible lest we should grow too fond of it.

“We saw some tire marks on the street, but nothing else,” Moss told him
, his eyes ringed with growing red lines. “They must have come and cleared everything away before we had a chance to go back for you.”

“
They were really counting on those supplies,” John said thoughtfully. “When you got the trucks back, tell me you found something useful.”

“Get yourself all cleaned up and I’ll show you.”

John did exactly that. First, he made his way to the Blazer where he found Brandon oiling the pellet gun. On the ground next to him were three dead squirrels.

Hopping to his feet,
Brandon ran up to John.

“
They said you were dead,” the boy beamed.

John couldn’t help but laugh. “For a second back there, I
was sure of it myself.” He peered into Betsy and saw George in the trunk. The back door was open to give him some air. Brandon saw what he was looking at.

“Rodriguez came
up to me when everyone thought you were dead. He wanted George and I told him to shove it.”

“You did? What did he say?
”

“He wasn’t happy, not one bit, but I told him the
deal he had was between the two of you. If you didn’t come back that made it mull and void.”

“Null and void,”
John corrected him, smiling. “I think one day you’ll make a fine lawyer.”

Brandon
’s own smile brightened, then began to fade. “I’ve been thinking about my mom and sister a lot since you’ve been gone. I wanna be there when we go get them.”

John
set his weapons down, along with the books he found at the pot farm. He then settled himself on the tailgate and peeled off his boots and socks. Next came the duct tape. It had done exactly what he needed it to do. Prevent a small blister from becoming large and possibly infected.

“Sometimes completing a mission isn’t as easy as just charging in guns blazing. Fact, that’s usually the best way to get yourself and all your friends killed.”

Brandon seemed to be mulling over John’s words.

“We need intelligence on how many people are in
Oneida. How many of them are armed. What they’re armed with. What building the prisoners are being held in. On top of that, regardless of why we’re going in, the people there will see us as invaders, trying to steal their resources. There will likely be a fight, maybe a big one. If we go in without the proper knowhow and gear, we might just blow the one shot we have of getting them back.”

Brandon
put the pellet gun down and stared at the dead squirrels.

“I told you earlier that, fourteen or not, you’re a man now
, Brandon, whether you like it or not. I’ve seen you handle yourself in a tight situation. That isn’t the issue. But being an adult also means making tough decisions. Sacrificing things we like in order to preserve things we love and need.”

“You mean like freedoms and stuff?”

“That’s part of it, sure, but it also goes beyond that. Sometimes it comes down to choices we didn’t think we had the courage to make.”

Brandon
was about to ask John something else when Marshall, Moss and a small entourage of other men appeared before them.

Marshall
extended a hand and John took it.

“I was sorry to hear about Sullivan, but I understand without your action
s, the entire mission might been compromised.”

Perhaps
Marshall was right, but John wasn’t about to gloat. The truth was, a good man had been killed at a time when they needed everyone they could get.

“A lot’s happened in the short
period you’ve been gone,” Marshall said.

“You found something in the trucks
, didn’t you?” John asked.

“We did
. But you should probably see for yourself.”

The eight
rigs they had captured during the ambush were parked in a field next to the Patriot camp. The way the vehicles were lined up, it looked from here as though they were approaching a truck stop. Marshall explained that the men who’d been taken during the assault were being held in a makeshift jail and were currently undergoing questioning. When John asked if they’d revealed any useful intel, Marshall brushed aside the question with a, “Let’s see what you make of this first.”

The Patriot leader was referring to the
trailers ahead of them. The cargo doors for each stood open, awaiting inspection. Many of the items inside appeared to have been moved around already, perhaps as Marshall’s men had investigated their contents.

They walked up the ramp. The first rig was loaded with cardboard boxes.
Each one had a red, white and blue sticker. But this wasn’t the stars and stripes. John ran his hand over the words and read them out loud: “State Reserve of the Russian Federation.”

He looked over at
Marshall, Moss and the others and caught the grim expressions on their faces.

“What is this?” John asked
, rather stupefied.

“We’re not entirely sure,”
Marshall replied. “We’d assumed most of the trucks would be loaded with UN humanitarian aid, items from FEMA. Our man in Jefferson City mentioned weapons, so maybe a few crates marked US Army. You spent some time in Africa, so I was hoping you could shed some light on this for us.”

John opened the lid of a box that someone had already gone throug
h. It was filled with a Russian brand of rice, divided in small plastic bags. Suddenly the strange markings on the trucks made sense. Kamaz must be a Russian truck manufacturer. “Are they all like this?” John asked, waving one of the rice bags in the air.

Moss cleared his throat. “Most of
’em. Two had clothing, a lot of it old outdated stuff. One was filled with boxes with Chinese markings. We haven’t gone through that yet, but it looks like noodles and other edibles. Only one had any weapons and as you can imagine they were AKs and boxes of 7.62 rounds.”

“At least there’s some good news,” John said, trying to stay optimistic. “Arming your men was the primary
objective and so long as you have enough rounds for the weapons you’ve found, that part is done. Of course, it’ll take some getting used to using AKs over ARs. The 5.56 round is smaller and more accurate.” John stopped. “Are they full auto?”

Marshall
nodded.

“Russian military,” John said, tapping his finger on one of the boxes
. It made a hollow sound. “What are the drivers saying?”

“We’re not sure,” Moss said. “They don’t speak any English. Sounds to us like Russian, but who the hell knows.”

This was quickly going from bad to worse. “I know what a lot of you are thinking, that we’re being invaded by Russia and possibly China,” John told them. “And you may be right, but we need to at least be open to the possibility that this convoy was one of many intended as aid.”

“I was thinking the same thing,”
Marshall admitted, “right up until we found the weapons and ammo. I mean, darn right we were hoping for rifles and bullets. Everyone here knows that. But we thought they’d have a US Army decal on the side instead of a foreign flag.”

John’s head was spinning. For every question they answered, ten more seemed to take their place.
If the US was being invaded and these shipments of food and weapons had been sent by the Russian and Chinese military, rather than by an aid organization, then it begged the question: What president was the Chairman really working for?