“A bad feeling like, oh, God, this is the truth?” I asked him. He nodded.
I thought about the different cells I’d seen and the big expanses of empty land between them. Could some people still be hiding away, self-sufficient, after all this time? What would happen if we found some?
54
BECCA
“OKAY,” I SAID, PUTTING ON my best leader voice. “Let’s stop and rest for a minute.”
Nate’s determined trudging came to a slow halt. His face was damp with sweat and he looked a bit greenish. But that wasn’t why I had stopped.
“We must be just a mile or so from the cell,” Mills said.
“Yep,” I said, checking my rifle and slinging extra ammo around my shoulder. “But this is a nice acre or so of winter wheat, perfect to hide and rest in. Just watch out for snakes. Probably too cold for them, anyway,” I added as an afterthought.
“Okay, so we’re resting,” Mills said, “in this nice field of wheat. But why? Just because he’s dead on his feet?” He pointed his gun at Nate and I knocked it down so hard that its barrel tip jammed into the dirt.
“I wasn’t gonna shoot him,” Mills protested.
“Don’t point your weapon at anyone in the squad,” Bunny said, leaving the “idiot” silent.
“We’re resting because Jolie and I have to make a little side trip,” I said, motioning to Jolie to arm up. She nodded, watching my face.
Mills and Nate looked surprised, so I quickly explained about the United outpost we’d seen.
“We should all go!” Nate protested, and I just looked him in the eyes until his cheeks reddened and he sat down, furious.
“Jolie and I are just going to run over and check things out. You three will stay here and protect each other. I have my comm if you need anything, and we’ll be back before dark. Most likely.”
Leaving Mills and Nate both pouting in the field of winter wheat, Jolie and I trekked toward the trees, where there’d be some cover. As we walked, I told her what was going on, just moving my mouth, not making any sound. She nodded her understanding.
When we were within shooting distance of the outpost, I looked through my field glasses and saw that really, it was damn small. Weirdly small. The bunkhouse was barely bigger than an outhouse and could hold no more than six soldiers. Maybe eight. There was a ten-foot chain-link fence topped with razor wire, but we could get through that. The most interesting thing was that between the small bunkhouse and the other building that I assumed was an office of some kind, there was an old-fashioned whipping post. No one in our cell ever used one anymore but there was one here and it had a man tied to it.
I turned to Jolie and mouthed, “He’s not in a United uniform.”
She spelled into my hand, R-E-S-C-U-E-?
I grinned and nodded my agreement. We sat very still, hidden by trees, and watched the place for more than an hour. There seemed to be no more than six United soldiers—one in the office, one on guard, one yelling at the tied-up man, and one in the back, peeling potatoes. I assumed two were sleeping in the bunkhouse, waiting for their turn to be on guard.
We timed our attack well, taking out the guard and the cook quietly with a choke hold and rifle butt to the head. I searched the guard, but he didn’t have ID or any useful intelligence. He did have a pistol with a sound suppressor, which I liberated. From there we used wire cutters on the fence, glad it wasn’t electrified, and crept in. My shoulder hurt from where the wolf had bitten me, and in the back of my mind was the knowledge I had to get food and help for my team ASAP.
Right now the only thing keeping me going was adrenaline, and that would wear off soon enough. Jolie and I headed to the bunkhouse, using signals.
The door to the bunkhouse was unlocked, and those two guys never felt a thing. This was starting to feel too easy. We opened a bunkhouse window just a slit and gave each other a “ready” nod. Then I picked off the guy yelling at the man on the whipping post, dropping him mid-rant. The last United soldier ran out of the office, gun raised, but Jolie was ready and shot him before he had time to get a shot off.
From there we went to the office and shot up their communication equipment, screens, computers, etc. Only then did we approach the man.
He wearily looked up, his face lined with pain, and then we were all surprised.
“You’re kids,” he said hoarsely.
“So are you,” I pointed out.
55
HE WAS A BIG KID, the way Tim was, over six feet and with the muscles of a farm boy. We got him out of there as fast as we could, weaving ourselves through the trees and making our way back to the others. A few times we had to catch him before he fell over, but we gave him water and the last of my protein bars, and he stumbled through the woods much like Nate had: almost silently.
So he had some training.