“Am I… am I a prisoner?” Laura asked, her head spinning in confusion.
The men laughed patronizingly. “No, of course not; no more than we are. You’ve been rescued.” The man focused on Laura’s shocked expression. “Does this look like a prison? You’re safe now.”
Laura stepped back and allowed herself time to survey the space. She noticed a covered window on the far wall. The short man caught her gaze and followed it. He waved a hand toward the thick drapes. “Yes, it’s okay,” he said. “Please, have a look.”
Laura backed away then slowly stepped to the wall, casting a wide berth around the two strangers. She put her fingertips to the heavy drapes and pulled back the fabric.
Bright sunlight bled into the room as she peeled back the curtain. Laura moved and pressed against the glass. She was in a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. In front was a lawn of thick uncut grass and a car in the driveway on flat tires. Along the blacktop surface sat a row of cookie-cutter homes, garbage stacked along the curbs. Beyond them, she could see a tall fence. It didn’t look natural, its material smooth and out of place; not metallic, but not wood or stone either. “We have some work to do, but this community will do nicely. We have full support from the Creators.”
Pressing close, in the distance she could see people walking the tree-lined street—all women and children. More of the figures in gold sleeves wandered among them, all being watched over by the large, more stout creatures. She was in a community, but she didn’t recognize any of it. She looked back at the men. “What is this place?”
“It’s a start.”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Jacob, Rogers, and James now lay shivering in damp grass, a dense fog rolling into the valley out of the surrounding hills. Fire glowed in the distance, the woods fully engulfed and no teams of fire fighters to battle them. Through the warm tones of the fire, Jacob could see the glistening frost on the grass. He wished he’d taken the time to wear warmer gear, the dirt and blood-covered blouse and armor doing little against the chilled morning air. His food was gone, and only a tiny bit of water sloshed around in a near-empty canteen.
Their packs had been left back in the thick of the woods. All they carried now were their rifles and ammunition. They’d spent the night in the foundation of a burned-out gas station, cautiously moving to their current spot long before dawn. This bit of real estate was on the approach to a small village. They’d seen lights there from the high ground and, from markings on the trails and vehicle traffic, believed that’s where the captives were taken.
James was on watch, and Jacob knew he should sleep, but between the shivering, ache in his belly, and the restless thoughts, he found it impossible. He lifted his head and looked to the western horizon; there was still no sun. He forced a roll and felt the dog move anxiously behind his calves. No pause in the big man’s heavy breathing beneath his poncho liner, Rogers ignored his movements.
Cautiously working to his side, he pulled up the binoculars from the grass to his front and surveyed the terrain. James positioned them on the slope of a ridge, distant from the village. They lined up so that a far off streetlight was directly ahead, like a beacon, guessing at what the terrain would bring in the daylight. With the coming of dawn, Jacob could just barely make out the manmade shapes of walls and peaked roofs. A lone street lamp illuminated an iron gate maybe a half mile from their hide.
Suspiciously, there were neither people nor the Deltas—or more deadly Red Sleeves—in sight. Several vehicles had moved down the road in both directions, both entering and exiting the gate. Jacob wanted to get closer, attempt to enter the gate or climb the wall, but Rogers wouldn’t allow it. The plan was to lie in overwatch and develop a strategy. They were on their own, and no help would come if they were compromised.
James edged closer and looked over the same space. “If they have sentries out, they must be behind the walls.”
“Can this be done?”
James furrowed his brow as he focused on the far off gate. “I guess that depends on what we plan to do.”
“If you all aren’t talking about coffee then shut the hell up,” Rogers mumbled, moving under the poncho liner. He pulled back the blanket and tussled to his side before propping up on his elbows.
The sun was slowly breaking the horizon. Jacob watched as the black shapes became a large, gated community. A tall fence moved out to the left and right. A well maintained blacktop road met the gate. He was punched on the shoulder and caught Rogers handing him a small hunk of jerky. Jacob grabbed it and stuffed it in his cheek before putting his eyes back on the binoculars. “When do we go down?” Jacob whispered.
“Pssst,” James hissed. “We got movement.”
Jacob saw a vehicle convoy approaching the gate; the tickle in his ear let him know it was their vehicles. Four personnel carriers in a straight line, they slowed and stopped just short of the gate. A red-sleeved beast exited the first carrier and bound to the gate, pushing it back, allowing the convoy to enter, and closing it behind the last vehicle.
“Strange… they opened the gate themselves, no guard posted,” Rogers whispered.
Within minutes the tickle was gone, and they were again alone in the high grass.
James sighed and backed away, catching Jacob’s stare. “What?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, Jacob, but this isn’t going to work,” James whispered.
“Now hold—”
Rogers tilted his wrist, looking down. “He’s right, best case we get everyone killed. They’re running some sort of base out of there. We can’t take it alone.”
Jacob turned to Rogers. “Like you said… no guard.”
Rogers grimaced. “That just
