Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (22 page)

"I've never bailed on a mission like this before, Reginald."
 
Jayne frowned at the camera as she watched Reginald and the two women.
 
"Are you even listening to me?"
 
She rolled her eyes.
 
"Fuck."
 
The screen went black as she hung up.

Reginald unbuckled his belt as Charlotte and Vivian turned their hungry eyes upon him.
 
He grinned.
 
"What a marvelous idea…"

C
HAPTER
21

Salmon Falls, Idaho.

D
ENNY
CLICKED
HIS
RADIO
twice and waited.
 
He peered around the cool, misty, pre-dawn darkness.
 
Hidden in a small copse of pines, he was sure no one could see him—but he couldn't take any chances.
 
He remained as still as possible.
 
Townsen had people looking for holdouts.
 
Denny would never forgive himself if in their zeal to track him down, he ended up leading them to John and Ruth.

The smell of blood, tangy and sharp in his nose, reminded him of his hunger.
 
The field dressed mule deer at his feet would feed the three of them for the next month.
 
He planned to harvest a few more to help out the people in town displaced by the fighting.

Leaves rustled at his feet and the hidden hatch slid away, revealing a dark, narrow stairway.
 
Five steps down, glow tape illuminated the treads.
 
One last check of his surroundings and Denny disappeared into the stairwell, hauling the dressed deer on his shoulder.
 

He couldn't relax until he heard the muffled clank of the locking mechanism after the secret door had closed.
 
He dusted off the few leaves that fell in after him and slid the deer carcass down the stairs to the bottom.
 
A light blinked on in the darkness and illuminated the reinforced-steel door leading into John and Ruth Anderton's bunker.

The door opened and John squeezed through.
 
"It's about time!" he said, relief written on his face.
 
"Ruthie was getting real worried about you, son."

Denny grunted.
 
More like
you
were worried.

"Here, let me help," said John, reaching for one of the three large sections of deer wrapped in camouflage tarp.

Once the meat had been stored away inside and everyone supplied with a cup of steaming hot coffee, Denny relaxed into his chair.
 
He relished the furniture for a moment, then wiped the grime off his hands with the damp cloth Ruth provided him.

"I'm afraid you may have to stay with us for a while," announced John abruptly, as if he could no longer contain the words.
 
"Townsen has stepped up his efforts—they've hunted down just about everybody out there."

"There's a list now," clucked Ruth from the kitchen.
 
"It's horrible.
 
They're throwing entire families out of their homes at gunpoint because of rumors and jealousy.
 
Can you believe it?
 
They're a bunch of vigilantes and criminals…"

Denny paused, his cup halfway to his mouth.
 
The silence that descended upon the little room was deafening.
 
He had known things were bad, and he knew that the unsettled state of national politics after President Barron disappeared would lead nowhere good, but he hadn't thought things could unravel so quickly.
 

He took a sip of coffee.
 
He had to admit, even though Townsen was out of control here, he still had faith the government as a whole was working
for
the people, not against them.
 
They were all Americans whether they sided with Harris or Barron.
 

True
, he told himself,
Barron's people gave weapons to Townsen and his band of thugs, but everyone knows Sheriff Bridger will be back soon and things will return to normal.
 

Hell, we beat back an entire Russian army.
 
Half the town lay in smoldering ruins and so many friends and family were dead it would take them a month just to finish burial services.
 
Denny considered Townsen's power play as a temporary drama, not the new norm.

"She's right," said John.
 
He wrapped his hands around his own coffee cup.
 
"Things are moving fast.
 
I've been trying to contact you, but…"

"Trying to hunt with the radio squawking in your back pocket is kind of counterproductive," said Denny in a flat tone.
 
"I checked when I could."

"Son, we made the emergency times and frequencies part of our plan…if you had gotten hurt…" John looked at Ruth.
 
She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

Denny looked at the table.
 
He could feel his cheeks warming.
 
"I'm sorry."
 
He looked up to meet John's eyes.
 
"I never meant to put anyone in any danger.
 
I needed time alone.
 
I needed to think—to figure out what to do next."

John waved off the apology.
 
"Did you find your path?" he asked over the rim of his coffee mug.

Denny looked down at his own mug.
 
"I can't be sure.
 
Things are so…"

"Yeah," agreed John.
 
He sighed.

Denny leaned back in his chair and stretched, feeling his spine pop. "It was refreshing to get out away from town, to be alone in the woods.
 
But I'm so tired."
 
Denny took another sip of his coffee.
 
"I'm tired of people coming into our town and trying to take over.
 
First it was the Russians.
 
Then it was that guy from DHS with all the guns and food.
 
Now it's Townsen…"

"Will it ever end?" moaned Ruth.

John looked at his wife.
 
"It will, dear, it will.
 
When enough good men like Denny stand up –"

"And you," Denny added.

John shook his head.
 
He smiled sadly and said, "I fought my war, Denny.
 
This fight belongs to your generation.
 
I'm too old to be of any use to anybody…"

"Well, I wouldn't say that," chided Ruth as she kissed the top of John's head.
 
She turned and bustled back into the kitchen.
 
"You're handy at cleaning the dishes."

Denny frowned, thinking of the emotions that choked Ruth's voice.
 
His friends hadn't looked so upset since the Russians first arrived in town.
 
"Is the…sickness still spreading?"

John sighed.
 
"It's spreading, yes.
 
And people are dying."
 
He shook his head.
 
"The good news is, I heard on the shortwave that President Harris and the real government in Denver have found a cure, or a vaccine, or something to fight it.
 
They're distributing medicine all over the country.
 
I hope it gets here soon enough…"

Denny's brow creased.
 
"What about the guy from the Department of Homeland Security?
 
What about Townsen?"

John shook his head.
 
"Something needs to be done about them.
 
They're not alone.
 
From what I hear over the HAM net, towns like ours—all over the country—are going through the same thing," muttered John.
 
"It's crazy out there with people fighting for both sides against friends and neighbors.
 
It's a civil war, is what it is."

Civil war.
 
Denny mulled that thought over.
 
Names, facts, and maps flooded his mind.
 
As a history teacher, he what civil wars meant for people and what they cost.
 
On one of his longer overnight field-trips a few years back, he'd taken his AP US History class on a tour of the Shenandoah Valley.
 
The entire class had spent a week retracing the Wilderness Campaign, the final nail in the coffin of the Confederacy.
 

"Those who do not learn history, are doomed to repeat it."

"What's that?" asked John.

"Nothing," said Denny with a shake of his head.
 
"Just talking to myself."

John nodded.
 
"It's not like there's armies raging across the country or anything—but you saw how bad it got in town before you left.
 
Fistfights—even a stabbing. In Salmon Falls!"
 
John shook his head.
 
"Now we have two Presidents and one of them is offering food and weapons to fight the other—who's offering a cure for the flu… Things are kind of at a stalemate, but my bet is usually on the people with the guns."

Denny placed his hand on the head of his tomahawk, still strapped to his side.
 
The memory of the Russian paratrooper attacking him in the forest at the beginning of the invasion came back then.
 
"Guns don't always mean victory."

"Yeah well," John groused, "Townsen has the guns, the food,
and
the men.
 
What do we have?
 
A few scattered families hiding underground or in the forest?"

Denny frowned.
 
"I have to believe there's more than just a few of us willing to stand up—"

"Oh, I
know
there's more," said John.
 
"The problem will be organizing the volunteers and gathering supplies.
 
Winter's here, whether we like it or not.
 
The snow we got the other day is almost gone, but there's more coming, and you can take that to the bank."
 
John pointed his coffee cup at Denny.
 
"People will be more worried about getting their next meal than standing up to Townsen and his thugs.
 
This town barely survived the Russians, and now we're fighting the Korean Flu."
 
John shrugged.
 
"I don't know what else there is to do…"

Denny stood.
 
"The rest of the town can't afford to hide under the ground like
scutalawe
," Denny said.
 
"
I
can't."

John sighed and pushed back his chair.
 
"Somehow I knew you'd say that."
 
He glanced over his shoulder.
 
"Townsen doesn't know we're alive.
 
I'm sure he was the one—him and that damn kid of his—who burned our house down.
 
We heard people read the lists over the air.
 
Our names aren't on them—I'm sure they think we're dead."

Denny understood.
 
"I will do everything in my power to make sure they still believe that, but I can't stay here and hide.
 
I've got to do something."
 
He clenched his fists.
 
"This is our town.
 
We fought the Russians—we can't let someone like Townsen take over.
 
When the sheriff gets back—" Denny paused when John's face fell.
 
"What is it?"

"That was the reason I called you back Denny," John said.
 
"We got word yesterday—Sheriff Bridger's dead.
 
He got the flu and died down in Twin Falls.
 
Never made it back from that training exercise they all went to."

Denny's shoulders slumped, and he stared down at the half-empty cup of coffee of the table.
 
"I never thought…I mean he could have stopped…"

"I know.
 
Kinda took the wind out of all our sails.
 
That man was the toughest I've ever known.
 
He wouldn't have stood for this nonsense from Townsen."
 
John shook his head.
 
"He would've kicked Barron's stooge to the curb, along with the marshals they brought."

Denny narrowed his eyes.
 
"Marshals?"

John nodded.
 
"Townsen declared himself sheriff and got the backing of that guy from DHS.
 
Said it was an emergency measure."
 
John snorted his contempt.
 

"But there was no election!" cried Denny.

John shrugged.
 
"That DHS guy promised to hold elections once everything is settled down.
 
Said it was a Presidential mandate—whatever the hell that means.
 
Extreme times call for extreme measures," said John.
 
"Those were Townsen's words, not mine.
 
At any rate, he has the most men able to fight."
 
John shrugged.
 
"Wasn't much anyone could do about it."