A second beginning, p.10
A Second Beginning, page 10
Baker spoke first: “Hello there. I’m Lieutenant Dylan Baker, Flagstaff Militia. I believe we talked over the radio.”
“That we did, Lieutenant Baker,” the man said, and Camila recognized his voice and accent from the conversation at the convoy. “You can call me Austin.” He chinned toward Camila. “Who’s your friend?”
“Staff Sergeant Camila Ruiz,” Baker replied. “United States Army.”
Austin half hummed, half grunted. “Army, huh?”
“That’s right. Sergeant Ruiz accompanied an envoy to Flagstaff. A force of ten thousand is en route to Arizona from Mexico as we speak.”
“Is that so?” Austin crossed his arms. Skeptically, Camila thought. “How long?”
“Between six and eight weeks,” she said.
Austin grumbled under his breath. She caught “fast enough” but nothing else.
“The army is prepared to provide you with security in exchange for seed and a place to grow food.” Baker waved at the empty fields. “It seems you have plenty of both. Flagstaff and Prescott are willing to supply labor, but it’d be even better if we could cooperate on that front as well.”
A breeze ruffled the T-shirt on the MK6B’s weapon mount. “Six weeks.” Austin scratched his eyebrow. “Heard a rumor through the grapevine. Big raider army came your way this winter. You beat them back. That true?”
“The White Horde?” The question seemed to catch Baker by surprise. Did Austin have connections in Flagstaff and Prescott or just a working ham radio?
“Never caught a name,” Austin said. “But sure, the White Horde. How many were there?”
Baker shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “A thousand. Or thereabouts.”
For a few long seconds, Austin stared at the empty fields. “We’ve got our own problems with raiders in town.”
Knew it. Camila shouldn’t be this happy, but raiders terrorizing Buckeye meant Cornscape would need the Army. Austin should accept Baker’s offer, then; it was a win-win for everyone.
“We were attacked on our way down here,” Baker said. “A warehouse up on Sun Valley Parkway. Could it be the same people?”
“It’s possible. I know the warehouse you’re talking about, and they’ve used it before, but there’s more than that. Can’t tell you exactly how many or where else they’re based.” Austin stuffed his hands into his puffer coat’s pockets. “The Army coming up is nice and all, but I’m sorry to say, it’s too little too late. It’s getting on in the season, and our people are afraid to go out and work the fields. We need these raiders dealt with now, not in six weeks. Otherwise, we won’t make it through another winter.” He pointed a stern finger at Baker and Camila. “And neither will you.”
“We’re aware of the urgency,” Baker said. “The Militia can help in the meantime, guarding the farms while planting begins. A company can be in Buckeye by the end of the week. That’s over 150 troops. We could probably spare a second, but I’d have to confirm with my commander.”
“I was counting on that, except three hundred troops won’t be enough to protect all the farmland we need to cultivate. If that’s all it took, we could do it on our own.” Austin breathed in, long and deep, and shook his head. “No, we need someone who can find these raiders, root them out. Like what you did with the White Horde.”
Whoa. Hunting raiders was not part of the plan. It could take weeks. No, it could take forever. Insurgencies were like bedbugs: almost impossible to wipe out. Camila would know. She spent two years fighting them in Mexico. Bedbugs and insurgents.
“You mind if I have a minute with Sergeant Ruiz?” Baker asked Austin.
“Fine by me.” Austin turned toward the bloodred setting sun. “But don’t mosey around. Sun’ll be down soon, and the raiders like to work at night.”
Ominous. Or was he playing up the raider threat? Camila couldn’t tell.
Baker led her out of earshot. He kept his voice low, just above a whisper. “What do you think?”
She thought this sounded crazy. The situation was beginning to remind her of a quest structure used in every RPG ever made. Someone would ask the player to help them with a problem; the player would agree and solve the problem; then there’d be a twist. Usually, the quest-giver would be hiding something. So what was Austin hiding?
“I don’t trust him,” she said finally.
“Me neither, but he has what we need, and he’s offered us a way to get it. I’m asking if you think we can deal with these raiders.”
“He doesn’t know where they’re based, besides the warehouse. If we do somehow find them, then we have to neutralize them, but—”
“But we have no idea how many there are.” Baker ran his fingers through his beard. “I get the sense that bargaining with this guy is a waste of time.”
“Probably.” Camila racked her brain, searching for another way, but she drew a blank. She had a pair of choices, neither of them good: agree to Austin’s terms or let her parents starve. So, one choice. “We take the deal, then, but we watch our backs.” And hope this quest doesn’t have a twist.
“Agreed.” Baker turned to Austin. “I don’t have the authority to make an agreement like this, so I’ll need to meet with my superiors in Flagstaff.”
“Figured,” Austin said.
Now Baker looked at the sun, shading his eyes with his hand. “We won’t be able to leave until morning. I’d love it if I could tell my people I saw your facility and know for sure you have plenty of seed.”
Austin’s lips stretched into something like a smirk. “That your way of inviting yourself to stay the night?”
“You could say that.” Baker matched his smirk with a grin. “The good news is, there’s only fifteen of us.”
Fifteen? No, two squads were—
Oh, watch our backs. Smart.
“All right.” Austin gave an exaggerated shrug. “Fifteen we can handle. Park outside the western gate. I’ll meet you there.”
With that, he got in his Escalade and drove toward Cornscape.
Baker said, “Let’s get Blue in the truck and head back.”
He radioed Jenn, and Camila ordered the MK6B into the Dodge’s bed. A sick feeling crept up her throat. She didn’t mind killing raiders, bandits, and thieves. Didn’t have a single moral issue with it. If the people in Buckeye were innocent civilians, then defending them was righteous. The most righteous thing she’d done in a while.
Could the Militia do it, though? Take out these raiders before it was too late to plant crops? Baker’s squads fought well at the warehouse—well enough to impress Camila—but this job could be tough, even for the Army.
For half-starved college kids with no experience in counter-insurgency operations and almost no modern equipment, it could be impossible.
15
First Squad went to Cornscape with Dylan and Camila. Freddie’s Third Squad stayed hidden in the desert. If there was trouble, he’d run home to Flag.
Jenn drove the black Dodge, feeling uneasy. A half hour ago, the Militia was the Militia, a force raised to protect Flagstaff. Now, after Dylan’s meeting with Austin, the Militia was an army for hire. She hadn’t signed up to be a mercenary, but she’d play the part, if necessary, as long as it kept her family alive.
Nobody spoke until she turned a corner and Cornscape Genetics came into view.
“Whoa.” Sitting shotgun, Quinn pointed through the windshield. “Check that out.”
Two makeshift wooden towers stood on either side of the front gate, an armed guard in each. Around the whole complex, vehicles of all makes and models buttressed the inside of the fence.
Awe filled Nick’s voice: “It’s like a fortress.”
“Pretty bush-league fortress,” Wyatt countered.
“Shut up,” Tanis said playfully. “You wouldn’t wanna mess with this place.”
Jenn wrung her hands on the steering wheel. Cornscape needed serious defenses to fend off these raiders—the same raiders Dylan had agreed to fight.
First Squad’s four trucks parked outside the gate, and Dylan ordered everyone out. A lone man walked in this direction. He was tall and thin, with a short gray beard, a newsboy cap, and a blue puffer coat. Jenn recognized him immediately.
“Holy crap,” she blurted out. “That’s Austin D’Angelo.”
Dylan whirled on her. “How do you know his name?”
She blinked to make sure her brain hadn’t tricked her. Yes, Austin “the Bear” D’Angelo. No doubt about it. She’d seen that perma-scowl on TV hundreds of times. If only she could tell Jason about this. He’d never believe her. “He was the Diamondbacks manager for like twenty years.”
Austin caught Jenn’s stare, and his signature scowl became a crass smirk. “I know that look. Took long enough for one of you to figure it out. Nice hat, by the way.”
As she pinched the brim of her Diamondbacks cap, her inner fan came alive. She wanted to ask Austin why he went to the bullpen so early in Game 7 of the 2053 NLCS, a move that cost the D’Backs the game and the series. Instead, she asked the obvious question: “What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” he said plainly. “Weather’s a lot nicer than Brooklyn.”
“I mean here here.” She stomped her foot on the ground. “At Cornscape Genetics.”
“I live here,” he repeated, deadpan.
Classic Bear. Jenn might be starstruck, but seeing Austin D’Angelo, of all people, gave her a much-needed boost in morale. Umpires and reporters despised him. But his players? They threatened to boycott when he got fired halfway through the ’59 season. He’d always had their backs.
The Bear turned toward the gate and signaled for the guards to pull it open. A crude sign, red paint on plywood, hung from the chain-link fence. NEW LIBERTY.
“New Liberty?” she asked. “Is that what you call this place?”
“This area used to be called Liberty, so the name caught on. Sounds a little pretentious, if you ask me.” Austin waved for them to come inside. “I’ll show you the goods, then where you’ll be sleeping.”
Dylan spoke into his radio: “Everyone, stay with the trucks. I’ll head in with Jansen and Ruiz.”
Austin led them into Cornscape, toward the tall silos in the center. Jenn counted three main structures on-site: in the northeast, a warehouse with loading bay doors; in the southeast, something that reminded her of an airplane hangar; and in the southwest, a six-story L-shaped office building. Eight smaller, squatter silos filled the complex’s northwestern corner. Nearby, a bank of solar panels faced south.
They walked between greenhouses and gardens full of foot-high green plants. Dozens of men and women weeded, watered, and trimmed leaves. Guards armed with semiautomatics patrolled the rows between plots.
This place—it had existed all along. And the guards hadn’t opened fire, hadn’t attacked, hadn’t tried to hurt Jenn or her team. Like Flagstaff, New Liberty was trying to survive and live in peace. No, not trying—struggling, thanks to the raiders. The people who lived here needed help. The Militia’s help. Jenn’s help.
“Is this corn you’re growing?” Dylan asked.
“Field corn,” Austin said. “Maize is the preferred term, I’m told. Pretty sure it was meant for livestock, but it’s edible.” He tipped his cap at a middle-aged woman with a metal watering can, and she smiled in reply. “We also grow vegetables so we don’t all die of scurvy.”
Gleaming orange in the setting sun, the six big silos towered over the site like skyscrapers. Austin spoke to a guard, who called for a truck on her radio. A minute later, a heavy-duty pickup drove over and parked beneath the rightmost silo’s spout. A bucket’s worth of seed fell out, landing in the bed.
Austin grabbed a handful and held it out so everyone could see. “These silos are just about full. There’s more than we’ll ever need, so you can have as much as you want.”
Jenn should be ecstatic. She’d found seed! But hindsight killed the moment. If Flagstaff had sent a team to Cornscape a year ago, hundreds of lives would’ve been saved. Thousands.
Dylan picked up a seed and held it near his eye. “You mind if I take some of this back to Flagstaff?”
“Fine by me,” Austin said flatly.
“Thanks.” Dylan found a Ziplock in his backpack and stowed some seed inside. “What about fertilizer?”
Austin pointed at the eight shorter silos. “Plenty in there. A place on the other side of town has even more.” He slapped the door of the pickup, and it pulled away. “Next stop, your accommodations.”
Outside the office building’s entrance, Jenn heard voices, dozens of them. Together, they were a rumble, like a low bass. Two guards with AR-15s nodded at Austin as he led the way inside.
The space was open and cavernous, filled with exposed piping and metal catwalks. Tents, cots, and mattresses covered almost every inch of the concrete floor. Everywhere, people were packed tight. It made Jenn think of the Walkup Skydome before the White Horde’s attack. The smell of body odor, urine, feces, and cooking food was a frontal assault on her senses.
“How many people live here?” she asked.
“About five hundred.” Austin went left, toward a metal staircase connected to a catwalk. “I’d guess there’s seven, eight thousand in the area.”
“That’s it?” She remembered eating lunch at a busy restaurant in Buckeye after a ball game. On the drive home, she and Dad had hit traffic while getting onto the freeway. This town was no metropolis, and the depression had taken its toll, but it must’ve had a population close to Flagstaff’s. “What happened?”
“It’s been no picnic. Food ran out fast, no running water. Refugees poured in from the city. A lot of locals packed up and got out of Dodge. There were rumors of a relief camp in San Tan, so some went there. Some went to New River instead.” Austin’s pause was louder than a gunshot.
“I’m sorry,” she said on reflex.
His boots clanked on the metal staircase. “Don’t apologize to me. I didn’t go up there. I can introduce you to a few families who did, and you can apologize to them, if that’s what you want.”
It wasn’t, although it might ease her guilt.
Camila cut in: “How are your relations with the other communities? Stable?”
“Stable?” Austin paused at the top step. “Sure, I guess you could call them stable. We bicker, but we’ve come a long way from killing each other for water or scraps of food.”
Dylan asked, “If this all works out, would they have a problem with us using farmland in their backyard?”
“They have a bigger problem with starving.” Austin continued along the catwalk. “But I understand what you’re saying. A few might be wary to start, what with your reputation and all, but they’ll come around. There’s plenty of land, anyway, and we don’t have near enough bodies to farm on it all. Once you give me confirmation that we’re a go with this deal, I’ll work my magic and get the rest of the town on board. And they will get on board.” He shot Jenn a half smirk. “Being a minor celebrity has its advantages in politics.”
Ahead, two ten- or eleven-year-old boys sat with their feet dangling off the catwalk’s edge.
Austin peered down at them, arms crossed. “Your parents know you’re up here?”
The boys nodded fiercely. “Yes, promise,” one of them said.
The other boy pointed at Jenn, Camila, and Dylan. “Who’s that?”
“None of your business. Now get lost before I tattle on you.”
With long groans, the boys picked themselves up and headed for the stairs.
Jenn had to blink again. She’d just watched Austin D’Angelo pretend to scold two kids in a seed manufacturing and storage facility in a raider-ravaged bedroom community west of post-nuclear Phoenix, two days after Camila Ruiz came back from the dead. Crazy.
“What else do you know about the raiders?” Dylan asked. “Anything you can tell us will help.”
Austin followed the catwalk around a ninety-degree turn. “We think they come from deeper in the city. Where, exactly, we don’t have a clue. They’re also more interested in taking people than killing them. A few weeks ago, we lost fifty in one go. In broad daylight, no less.”
“They’re being kidnapped?” Camila asked. “Any idea what for?”
He stopped and faced them, jaw tight. “Our best guess? For slaves.”
Dylan curled his lip. Camila winced like she’d been stung by a bee. Jenn’s stomach bucked in horror. Slaves. In twenty-first-century America. It sounded so absurd, so impossible. But the Bear was a straight shooter—the straightest of shooters—so just like that, she lost all her reservations about the deal with New Liberty. It could be tough, taking out raiders, but she looked forward to it now. She’d happily send them all to hell with the White Horde.
The catwalk led to a long hallway flanked by doors. Some hung open, and Jenn peeked inside. More people lay on blankets, mattresses, or cots. Others played games or read books. One family boiled a pot of water with a portable stove plugged into the wall.
Electricity. Nice. Wasteful, maybe, but nice. Jenn should’ve brought her phone.
At the end of the hall, Austin unlocked a pair of doors. “I’ve got two empty rooms. It’ll be a tight squeeze for fifteen of you, but take it or leave it. There’s no extra bedding, so I hope you have your own.”
“We do,” Dylan said. “And it’s plenty of space. We’re used to sleeping packed like sardines at our barracks.”
Austin spun his key ring on his finger. “That’s it, then. We allow weapons inside. So long as you’re respectful and don’t get into trouble, we won’t have any problems. Once you’re all set up, my wife will bring you some dinner. We’re on strict rations, so don’t expect a buffet.”
Dylan shook his hand. “Thank you. We appreciate the hospitality.”
The Bear replied with a shrug and led them back to the gate. There, he told his guards to find a place for the trucks, then left without saying goodbye.
