Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (23 page)

Ruth rejoined them then, placing a tray of cold cuts, cheeses, and stale bread on the table.
 
"It kind of just happened…" she said, wiping her hands on her apron.
 
"And the longer he stays in power, the harder it will be to get rid of him."

Denny sighed.
 
"This is worse than the Russians."

John nodded.
 
"Takes the appetite away doesn't it?"

Denny stared at the plate of food in front of them as Ruth wrung her hands.
 
His stomach rumbled, but he wasn't hungry.
 
Trying to force the anger back in its dark place inside his heart, he reached out and made himself a sandwich.
 
He had to keep up his strength.
 

John stared at the plate in front of him, absently picking at his own sandwich.

Denny closed his eyes and savored Ruth's homemade raspberry iced tea.
 
He didn't realize how much he had missed tasting something—
anything
—other than water and jerky.
 
He slowly chewed the sandwich and swallowed.
 
He looked at John.
 
"You look like you want to say something."

Denny's neighbor cleared his throat.
 
He pushed his plate away.
 
Holding his gnarled hands on the table, John spoke in a quiet tone: "I don't think you fully understand what we're up against, Denny.
 
Townsen has taken control.
 
The mayor's just a puppet."
 
John shook his head.
 
"They've got guns, they got food, and supplies.
 
Hell, half the town is on the brink of starvation.
 
You think those people will want to fight against all that?
 
Townsen knows it, too—he's giving food to anyone who rats on the holdouts.
 
The only hope people in town have to survive is to join with Townsen, or at least tolerate him 'til spring."

Denny thought for a moment.
 
"That's why no one did anything.
 
They're too desperate or scared to try."

John sighed.
 
"That about sums it up, yes."

Ruth, hovering behind her husband, untied and re-tied her apron for the fifth time.
 
"Denny, you don't need to go out there on our account.
 
We're fine.
 
They don't even know we're here…"

John reached up and took his wife's hand.
 
"Ruthie's right, son.
 
We still have radio contact with our kids, so we know the grandkids are alive and safe.
 
So far, no one's had any cause to run into Townsen and his goons."

Denny took another bite of the sandwich.
 
"So far."
 
Suddenly the food tasted like ash.
 
His appetite gone, he pushed his own plate away and washed down the last of his aborted meal with more tea.
 

"Staying safe is not the point.
 
None of us will be safe from that man.
 
We allowed him to bully us in better times.
 
We excused his behavior because he was the local rabble-rouser.
 
We excused the violence against his kids because he was a friend of the mayor."
 
Denny leaned back and instinctively turned south toward the burned-out husk of his house.
 

"He burned my house to the ground, John.
 
His son threatened to
kill
you, right on your own front porch!
 
That whole family is nothing but trouble.
 
If Washington backs him…" Denny clenched his fists on the table.
 
"Someone has to
do
something."

"Denny, I'm afraid there's not much to be done.
 
For all intents and purposes he runs this town now.
 
What with Bridger dead and all.
 
He was our last hope for somebody to put the brakes on this train wreck."

Denny stood and paced, thinking.
 
Someone had to take action.
 
But what action?
 
And who?

If most of the town sympathizes with Townsen or at least sides with him, it will be difficult.
 
One false step, one casual comment and someone would tell him everything.
 
I have to be careful.
 
First order of business is recruiting…

"I don't like what you're thinking, son," said John.
 
"You helped out when those Russians came through—we know what you did, and it's a miracle you survived.
 
But those Rangers you were with…them army boys are long gone, Denny.
 
They got bigger fish to fry now."

Denny stop walking and stared at John.
 
"Why are you so quick to give up?
 
This is your town, too."

Ruth shook her head and dabbed at the corner of her eye with her apron.
 
"It's not our town anymore, Denny.
 
They think were dead, remember?"

Denny pressed on.
 
"And you're okay with the rest of the town rallying behind your murderers?" he asked, his voice rising in anger.
 
"Well I'm not.
 
And I can't stay here."
 

He gestured at the Andertons' underground shelter.
 
"Don't misunderstand me, I'm more than grateful for every kindness you've shown me.
 
You've allowed me to escape the wilderness and come back to reality.
 
You probably saved my life…"

"Well, you helped me build this place," said John looking around the bunker with fondness in his eyes.
 
"Without your help this wouldn't exist, so you saved all our lives.
 
Between that and fighting the Russians, I say we call it even."
 
When Denny said nothing, John sighed again.
 

"I see you're set on doing something—probably something foolish."
 
Denny opened his mouth to speak when John smiled.
 
"I'm not all that ashamed to admit that if I were younger, I'd be tempted to do something foolish myself.
 
But those days are long past gone, I'm afraid.
 
I don't know how much use I'd be to anyone right now."

An idea formed in Denny's head.
 
"You could be of more use than you know.
 
If we're going to start some kind of resistance, we'll need secure communications.
 
You can be that link."

John frowned and shot a glance over his shoulder at Ruth, who had moved away to begin cleanup.
 
"I don't know, Denny…we've been through a lot lately…I'd hate to get involved in something only to have the thunder drop on our heads."

"I'm not talking about sending refugees to you, John.
 
I'm talking about you being a communications hub.
 
No one knows you're alive.
 
So no one knows where you are—we can use you as the link that holds everything together.
 
To insulate everyone, we pass everything through you.
 
No names, just a voice."

John leaned back in his chair and rubbed the stubble on his chin.
 
"It has possibilities…"
 
He glanced at Ruth again.
 
"If any of your hypothetical cells get cracked, the only person they'll know to look for would be me.
 
But unless they have pretty sophisticated equipment, they won't have any idea where I am."

"What are the chances Townsen has that kind of equipment?"

John frowned.
 
"Well, if he's taken over the town's supplies and what's left of the police station, he'll have some decent rigs.
 
Will he have something that'll be able to track me down?"
 
John shook his head.
 
"No.
 
I've been active in the HAM community for years—I know what this town has and doesn't have.
 
We're too small to warrant the sophisticated gear necessary to hunt down pirate broadcasters.
 
That's something for the FCC."

"And these people you talked about, the ones loyal to President Barron? Did they bring something like that with them?"

John looked up from the table and met Denny's eye.
 
"I don't see why they would.
 
There's no threat out here and there's no reason for anybody suspect one.
 
They walked into this town on a velvet welcome mat.
 
Sure, they've been hunting down anybody loyal to Harris, but so far all they been doing is marking houses and dragging the loudmouths away."

Denny sat down at the table and poured another glass of iced tea.
 
Resolution filled the void in his gut with an iron weight.
 
"Have you heard from Anse?"

John smiled.
 
"No, but I think that's a good thing.
 
From what I can tell, nobody's heard hide nor hair of him.
 
His name's been on every list Townsen has published, so I don't think they got them yet."

Denny nodded.
 
"That's good—he was never adept at keeping his mouth shut.
 
If I can find him, I should be able to tap into his network.
 
He called out a good number of men who rallied to fight the Russians."

John grunted.
 
"Most of their names are on the lists, too.
 
But those lists have been getting smaller and smaller."
 
John's shoulders drooped and he stared down at his hands.
 
"I'm afraid they've been catching a lot of people."

Denny flashed a grin.
 
"I know most of Anse's friends.
 
They're not exactly the type to be caught unawares and taken prisoner by a bunch of drunks led by Townsen.
 
No, Anse went to ground and took his friends with him.
 
I have to find them."

Ruth looked at John who returned her solemn gaze.
 
He cleared his throat again and placed his hands on the table.
 
He did not raise his eyes to meet Denny's.
 
"Well… If you're dead set on getting yourself killed, I suppose this is as good a reason as any."

"I never said I wanted to get myself killed—" began Denny.

John smiled sadly.
 
"I'm afraid that'll be the result if you try this.
 
But, I can't stand by and let you do it on your own."

"So you'll help?"

John shot another look at Ruth.
 
After a moment, she slowly nodded and turned back to her work, shoulders tense.
 
"We'll help," John said.
 
"We will.
 
But I need to make one thing clear right now—I will not sacrifice the safety of my wife or my family for anything or anyone.
 
Even you."

Denny nodded somberly.
 
"I would never expect or want you to, John.
 
You're the closest thing I have to family and I would never put you at risk.
 
I can see you're uncomfortable with this idea, so let's just forget about it—"

"Let's not get hasty.
 
I said I would do it, but I have to tell you, in all honesty I'm not happy to get involved in this at all.
 
However, that doesn't mean I want you to go off half cocked and alone."
 
He rubbed his chin in thought.
 
"I can at least put you in touch with some of the louder dissenters.
 
And there's a large network of HAMs that are…" he glanced at Ruth, "survivalist-minded, if you know what I mean…"

"What
do
you mean?" asked Denny.

"I don't know where your friend Anse is, or most of
his
friends…but I can point you toward a couple deputies that managed to lie low during all the recent hullabaloo."

"I thought Sheriff Bridger had most of his force down south?"

"Oh he did, but one of his deputies is a friend of my eldest son.
 
Griswold.
 
His wife took sick when the first cases of the flu hit town.
 
Sheriff Bridger gave him permission to stay behind and look after her."

"And he hasn't moved against Townsen?"

"No," said John.
 
"Frankly, I was surprised to find out he's still alive.
 
He must not have caught it or he'd be sick or dead by now.
 
He lives in the section of town destroyed by the Russians.
 
I didn't think anybody had survived over there…"

Denny stared at the table, reliving the night of the final air strike that sealed the Russians' fate and broke the occupation of Salmon Falls.
 
He remembered glass and wood and bits of houses in the air.
 
He remembered the fire, the noise—the roar of the jets as they flew overhead.
 
Most of all, he remembered the looks on the faces of the people who flooded the streets and tore the Russian survivors to pieces.
 

Denny looked up and blinked.
 
"I think I'd like to talk to this deputy."

C
HAPTER
22