Storm clouds, p.14
Storm Clouds, page 14
He nodded.
“I said, do you understand?!”
“Yes!”
Indigo nodded to Vincent, who followed her as she headed inside.
Thirty minutes later they emerged, most of the blood and grime washed from their faces and arms. Indigo had torn an old shirt into strips to bandage Vincent’s wrist tightly and had then fashioned a sling from a faded pillowcase.
Liam was exactly where they had left him. She stood over him with the automatic rifle slung over her shoulder and the shotgun in her hands. Vincent had a threadbare backpack on his back which Indigo had packed with meagre supplies and some water she was able to pilfer from the cabin.
“We’re leaving now Liam. I want you to stay on your stomach until the sun is high in the sky. If you come after us, I will shoot you in the face, got it?”
“Yes Ma’am. I promise I will. I mean I won’t... I - I won’t come after you!”
“Good.”
With that, she nodded to Vincent, and they made their way out of the yard. With the loss of Bowman, his men and the Hummer, there was now no way to meaningfully continue the hunt for the children. That fact, coupled with Vincent needing medical attention for his arm, prompted Indigo to make the difficult but inevitable decision to turn for home. It was now up to Isaac and Ben to bring the children back.
*
Isaac and Ben lay prone in the overgrown field, spying on the gates of Catskill in the bright sun. The Englishman nudged Isaac with his elbow and when he turned his head, pulled out a small pair of brightly colored binoculars from under his shirt.
Isaac’s eyes widened.
“Where the H did you get those?”
Ben grinned.
“Bike shop, along with the bedrolls. They’re more toys really, but they do work.”
“Amazing,” Isaac said, accepting them gratefully and focusing them on the town below.
At some point, walls had been built around most of Catskill. It was uneven, and rough, but looked to be about ten feet tall at its lowest points and was constructed of what looked like anything the inhabitants could get their hands on. In the section they were viewing, they could make out cars, bricks, wire, rocks, and furniture.
The gate was as wide as the main street and was open but well-guarded.
“Looks like they've got armed people on the walls too,” Isaac murmured, adjusting the focus. “I count maybe five men that I can see, all with rifles, but they’re fairly spread out.”
Isaac noted the way the men paced along the top of the walls with an air of bored routine. His gaze went back to the gate. A steady stream of scruffy, dangerous-looking people passed in and out, some on foot, some on horses or horse-drawn wagons. From their vantage, it was impossible to guess the town's population, but the activity suggested it was thriving.
“We need to get inside to scout. I want to see where they keep the kids they abduct, in case we miss them on the way in,” Isaac said. “But we'll never get past that checkpoint without a damn good story.”
Ben chewed his lip in thought before replying. “What if we pretend to be new slavers looking to join up? New blood coming in to seek opportunity.”
Isaac considered it. The lie could certainly gain them access, but it was risky. If their story didn't hold up under scrutiny, things could go bad very quickly. But without connections inside the town, they were short on options.
“Alright, we'll try it,” Isaac decided. “Just follow my lead if they start probing too deep.”
After hiding most of their gear under leaves, they made their way onto the road and walked casually towards the front gate. Isaac adopted a cocky swagger as they approached, mentally prepping the details of their cover story. He figured that the ability to exude dangerous confidence was going to be critical.
One of the guards, a burly boy of about eighteen with a crewcut, waved a woman through with her donkey then headed their way as Isaac and Ben drew near.
“That's far enough,” he grunted. “State your business in Catskill.” His flinty eyes looked them up and down suspiciously.
Isaac met the guard's gaze and kept his body language relaxed. “We're here to join up and hunt slaves,” he replied. “Came up from New York City looking for work.”
The guard considered them critically. “Oh yeah? What makes you think we need more slavers?”
Isaac shrugged as if the question bored him. “Heard you’ve been moving into New Hampshire and Massachusetts. Also heard the Chinese want more. We figure supply and demand means you do…”
“You hunted before?”
“We've done our share. Bagged plenty of game.”
“This ain't gutting deer we're talking about here,” the guard scoffed.
“Even better,” Ben added with a cruel smile. “More fight in the ones that can scream and beg.”
Isaac kept his face neutral and nodded.
The guard considered them another moment before finally stepping aside and waving them through. “Ask for Liu at the fighting pits. He's always looking for new blood.”
“Will do,” Isaac replied. He hid his disgust at the mention of fighting pits as they strode through the gates into Catskill.
The winding streets had a sinister, oppressive feel. Hostile-looking people eyed them with suspicion from doors and alleys as they passed. They were deep in the lion's den now, surrounded on all sides. One misstep could spell disaster.
“Where do you think they'll be holding the kids when they get here?” Ben murmured, tense as a drawn bowstring. “We need to locate that before anything.”
Isaac scanned the buildings cursorily as they walked. “My guess would be close to the fighting pits if we assume that they are using slaves for that particular sport.”
They followed Main Street deeper into town, feigning the casual interests of newcomers taking in the sights. Along the thoroughfare, many of the original buildings survived. A mix of homes and residential buildings and living quarters above dusty businesses. Many repurposed stores displayed tools of violence rather than trade, but interspersed with those were eateries and bars.
The number of people began thickening the further along they got, and raucous laughter from up ahead drew their attention. Ahead, a large building stood. It was bordered by plywood and chain-link fences nearly ten feet tall and topped with razor wire. The jeering and sounds of celebration seemed to carry from the rear of the ominous structure.
“I'll bet money that's the place,” Isaac muttered. “Let's slip down that side alley and try to get a peek inside.”
Hugging the shadows, they crept along the alley trying to find a gap in the fence. They didn’t, but about halfway down, Isaac spotted a small dirty window a few feet up. He gave Ben a leg up so he could see over the top of the fence and into the window. Ben gripped the top of the chain-link panel, pulling it down and craning his neck to peer within.
Isaac heard his friend's breath catch sharply. “What do you see?” he asked in a tense whisper.
When Ben looked down, his face was like stone, eyes blazing with fury. “Cages filled with kids and adults. This is it.”
“Let’s walk around the perimeter,” Isaac said, easing him back down. “We know where to hit them now when the time comes.”
Ben simply nodded, bottling his rage in silence. They crept along towards the rear where the laughter and conversation carried. Here the noise of the crowd was deafening but the chain-link fence was covered in burlap sacking and all but impossible to see through.
“Rip his goddamn head off!” someone roared as more voices were raised.
“The fighting pits?” Ben asked. His question was punctuated by a scream of pain and the deafening roar of the crowd.
Isaac nodded grimly.
“Let's get clear out,” Isaac urged, sensing Ben's desire to do violence matched his own. He gripped his friend's shoulder firmly. “We'll make these bastards pay soon. But not today.”
They continued around the perimeter until they came to the main entrance of the building. Now they could clearly see the main arena, which was essentially a big open-air square adjacent to the buildings the slaves were housed in and surrounded on three sides by bleachers. A tunnel through the middle bleacher led to the slave holding area.
As they made their way past, they took in the carnival-like atmosphere, disgusted that people who had lived through so much would be entertained by such a horrible sport and the trade behind it.
Main Street was more crowded than it had been even ten minutes earlier, and fifty yards further along, the street narrowed into a bottleneck heaving with people.
Isaac pointed to a side street.
“Let’s go down there, we can turn right onto the laneway that runs parallel to Main behind these buildings.”
“Great idea.”
The sun now hung low in the hazy sky, casting long shadows. Ben and Isaac moved swiftly down the side street and turned into the quieter lane, their footsteps echoing off the rear of the dilapidated buildings. Now that they knew the location of the slave pen and had a more concrete understanding of what awaited their children if they didn’t rescue them, they felt an urgency to get out of Catskill.
The laneway narrowed, and in the distance, they saw where it ended abruptly, truncated by the crudely constructed wall that ringed the town.
For a moment Isaac thought they might have to turn back, when he spotted the entrance of a dark alleyway twenty feet from the dead end.
“There!” said Isaac. “That should take us back to Main Street just before the gates.”
“Yes!” said Ben.
They rushed towards the opening and ran headlong into two figures coming the other way. All four stopped abruptly just avoiding a collision, but only Ben and Isaac wore identical looks of horror.
Two Chinese soldiers stood in front of them, rifles slung casually over their shoulders, one with a harsh-smelling cigarette dangling from his lips. The smoker laughed, while his friend swore in what Isaac recognized immediately as Mandarin.
“What’s the hurry lads?” asked the one with the cigarette, in a clipped British accent. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke skyward.
Both were shocked, but Isaac was the first to gather himself.
“Sorry! We were hoping to see a slave fight before they finish up.”
As if to emphasize his point, the distant crowd erupted in a raucous cheer.
“Do you hear that, Isaac?” Ben asked, hiding his own British accent with a terrible American one. “We’re missing all the fun.”
“Ahh, don’t worry, the main event won’t start till an hour after sunset, and it will go late. Our boss is the guest of honor.”
He stepped aside to let them pass while his stern friend gave his best impression of an Easter Island statue.
“Oh, great, thanks!” said Ben, slipping between them and moving on. He didn’t realize that Isaac wasn’t following until he heard him speak.
“Oh, who’s your boss?” asked Isaac, his tone friendly.
“General Hao.”
“Oh. Haven’t heard of him.”
“Yeah, he’s a big deal,” he finished his cigarette and threw it onto the ground before stomping it out with his boot. “He was the commander of our western forces during the invasion. Cigarette?”
“Come on, Isaac,” interrupted Ben. “We’re missing all the fun.”
Isaac held up his hand. To Ben it wasn’t clear if the upraised hand was meant for him or to pass on the offered cigarette.
“Wow, that is a big deal. Why is someone so important here in this shitty little town?” Isaac asked, feigning puzzlement.
The friendly soldier opened his mouth but was interrupted by a stern stream of Mandarin from his partner. The soldier rolled his eyes at Isaac.
“Sorry, we’ve got somewhere to be. Enjoy the fights you two,” he said, and followed his friend who had stomped off.
“Thanks,” said Isaac, walking on and catching up to Ben who had moved off with some urgency as soon as the interaction was over. They were almost to the end of the alley when a voice behind them yelled, “Stop!”
Ben and Isaac froze. They turned slowly, tense and ready for confrontation.
The chatty soldier was walking towards them, his open hand extended with something glinting in his palm. His rifle was still slung over his shoulder.
“Oh, my knife,” said Ben, in the fake American accent.
“You dropped it,” he said. “Be careful, you never know if you’ll need it in this place, it’s pretty rough.”
“Righto. Thanks!” said Ben, grasping it.
The soldier didn’t let go and gazed at him intently.
“Where are you from?” he asked Ben. “I haven’t heard anyone say ‘righto’ since I left England in 2016.”
“Oh, I’ve been all over the place since the Fall,” Ben blurted. “But I grew up in Canada, hey.”
“Oh, cool,” said the soldier, releasing the knife. “Well, see you around.” Ben pocketed the knife and mumbled another thank you as they parted ways.
When he and Isaac emerged onto Main Street, Ben stopped and leaned against a wall, blowing out a long sigh.
“That was close!”
“Canada, hey?” said Isaac, grinning. “And what was that accent? You nearly got us caught.”
Ben pushed away from the wall.
“Oh, I nearly got us caught? What was with the twenty questions for the bloody Chinese soldiers?”
Isaac laughed and put a hand on his shoulder. “All jokes aside, that was close. I can’t believe we ran into Chinese soldiers and lived to tell the tale.”
“Yes, the sooner we get out of here the better.”
“Um, about that—change of plans…”
Chapter 14
A thin fog hugged the surface of the Hudson River as Luke and Ragland broke camp. After a brief breakfast, they continued following the riverbank south, keeping the broad waters always in sight to their right.
Though the going was slower with the uneven terrain, Luke preferred it to risking the roads. This region had become more populated with unsavory types drawn by Catskill's illicit activity. The river and its surrounds would be a much safer conduit to the town.
By midday, the sun beat down intensely. They took a short rest in the shade of an ancient oak, drinking water sparingly. Ragland checked Luke's sutured wound, nodding in approval.
“Looks like it’s knitting nicely, I should be able to remove the stiches in couple of days. The penicillin seems to have done the trick too—no sign of infection.”
“Great,” said Luke. “Although, I might have a couple of more wounds by then.”
It was meant as a joke, but Ragland grunted, unamused.
“I’m going to take a looksee ahead while you pack up.”
When he returned, his weathered face looked pensive.
“Looks clear. We should reach a town called Hudson later today. It was a modest place before the Fall, a couple thousand folks maybe. If there is any sign it’s inhabited now, we should go wide around it.”
Luke considered this. “That's less than twenty miles from Catskill. We might be better off waiting near Hudson, then taking the backroads in from there tomorrow.”
“Not a bad idea,” Ragland agreed. “We'll need to pick an ambush point somewhere before the bridge into town.” He glanced meaningfully at Luke's leg. “Somewhere we can intercept them without having to give chase. I passed by Catskill about a year after the fall, I wanted to see the Big Apple. I'm thinking we hide in wait at the junction of the 23b and 23 before it leads east and then over the bridge into town. Theres an old gas station there, but plenty of thick wood around it.”
He sketched a crude map in the dirt, marking the junction. Luke swallowed the question he wanted to ask about New York, and studied it, eyes glinting.
“That could work. If we do it well enough, we'd see and hear them coming well before they reach us.”
“Exactly,” Ragland said. “If we leave before dawn, we can get set up in position and wait.”
Luke clapped his shoulder firmly. “Then that's the play. Let's get moving again—plenty of ground still to cover.”
They continued on through the afternoon, the sun dropping towards the western hills at their backs. At times the riverbank narrowed, forcing them to cut inland through dense woods before returning to its shore. The fading light and increasingly rugged terrain slowed progress.
Finally, near sunset, they spotted a cluster of buildings on the far bank—the outskirts of the town of Hudson. Ragland led them away at an angle, not wanting to come too close. Full darkness had fallen by the time they made camp in a secluded glen. A tiny fire was risked to cook a small turkey Ragland has shot earlier.
As they ate, an air of anticipation hung over the campsite. They were so close now to the end of their mission. Of course, a multitude of things could go wrong, and many scenarios rushed through Luke’s mind. Not the least of which was the fear that the Slavers had crossed the Hudson earlier.
“You don’t think they could have crossed further north, do you?”
Ragland shook his head.
“Unlikely. There was only one crossing between here and Albany. The Castleton-on-Hudson Bridge, and I know for a fact it’s out of action. Someone blew it up.”
“Oh… the Albany guys?”
“Maybe. Doesn’t really matter. Unless they found a boat or swam, they have to cross at the Rip Van Winkle.”
Luke nodded, mentally crossing one unwanted scenario of his list.
“Good. So, we end this tomorrow, one way or another,” Luke said at last into the silence. “I’m only leaving one of two ways. With our kids, or in a body bag.”
Ragland held his gaze for a few seconds then nodded.
“Never thought I'd ride into battle with the likes of you when we first met,” Ragland said with a ghost of a smile. “But for the record, I don’t plan to see either of us in a body bag.”
Luke grinned. “Likewise, old timer. Just try and keep up tomorrow.”
The light-hearted banter couldn't mask the gravity they both felt though. The next day would bring either salvation or tragedy. Jokes could not ward off that reality.
