She glanced at the guards again before continuing. “Last week, General Bhagat, the division’s commanding general, authorized several teams to leave the base to hunt down and destroy foreign military personnel actively jamming radio signals near us. We believe that they were successful as the communications have improved markedly in the last day or so.”
The colonel spread her fingers wide on her desk and looked Hannah in the eyes. “I don’t know what the CG will do with your information, or even what he can do to be honest, but now that we can communicate with the fast-movers I guarantee you that he’s going to want to hear what you have to say.”
12
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
MARCH 5TH
“Ain’t this some shit?”
Jake glanced over his shoulder to try to see which one of the men had said it, but he couldn’t figure it out. He’d have to make sure that Sergeant Turner discussed the sensitivity of their situation later on so they didn’t offend these people.
The platoon walked in a staggered column, only about a meter apart. It went against everything Lieutenant Murphy had been taught about patrolling at West Point and in Ranger School, but he’d purposefully allowed the bunching up of his men. It was much easier to keep track of everyone in the close confines of the market. He wasn’t expecting much trouble, but they didn’t need someone getting snatched from the rear of the group.
A market had been erected in the shadows of Manhattan’s high rise buildings. Vendors sold fish, scrawny vegetables, malnourished live animals in cages, and random junk that might have been useful to someone living without power for over a year. Armed men brandished knives and blunt weapons openly at each of the stalls, watchful, but not overly menacing.
“Hold on, Sergeant Turner,” Jake said, raising a hand. “I need a minute.”
“Shit,” the older man grumbled, then called out, “Okay, everyone. The LT is gonna try to get some information. Keep your heads on a swivel.”
Jake walked over to a stall where a pretty young woman sat on an old milk crate. Surrounding her were probably a hundred bottles of water stored in all manner of containers. She stood quickly and Jake noticed that she was fairly clean, compared to most of the people he’d seen.
He pointed to a bottle and asked what was in it. “Are you fucking dumb?” she asked. “It’s water. Do you want it?”
“Ah… Where’d it come from, and is it clean?”
“Don’t play stupid, soldier-boy. You know it’s clean. Jefferson wouldn’t allow our permit if we sold shitty water.”
“Jefferson?”
Her guard turned slightly toward him and leaned over menacingly. “Are you interested in buying the lady’s water or not? If you aren’t, move along.”
“I don’t have any money…” he admitted.
This sent both the woman and the guard into hysterical laughter. After a moment of deepening redness on Jake’s cheeks, the girl composed herself. “We don’t want your damn money, fool. What do you have to trade?”
“I like that rifle,” the guard said, pointing his police baton at Jake’s suppressed M-4. “Had one almost just like it when the force was still operational.”
“Not happening,” he replied. “Um, I have an MRE that I could trade in exchange for a jug of water and some information.
The two of them conferred for a moment and then the girl picked up a small plastic water bottle. “Deal.”
“No way,” Jake said. He pointed at the milky white gallon jug. “I want that one.”
The two began talking secretively again. Then she set the water bottle down and picked up a larger one, which looked to be about twenty-four ounces, but not the one he’d pointed to. “This is the best I can do.”
“It’s water,” Jake said, emphasizing the word. “The city is surrounded by it. I can just go—”
“It’s water,” the girl mocked. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is down at the waterfront? The Reapers, the Killers, the Bloods, the Crips, the Latin Kings…everyone hangs out down there looking for their next victim. We have to contract out armed guards—additional armed guards—to escort us down there, just to get the water. Then I have to trade for stuff to burn so I can boil the water. It’s a whole operation, just so I can get some dick playing army to complain about my prices.”
Jake tried a different tact. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m Jake, you are?”
“Connie. Do you want the damn water or not?”
“Yes, please,” he answered, slipping his pack off of his back. “Who is this Jefferson guy?”
“What the fuck game are you playing, bro?” the guard asked.
“What?”
“You guys a new gang looking to make a name for yourselves?” the guard inquired as he pointed at Jake with the baton once more. “You got the hardware.”
“We’re here from the United States Army,” Jake replied in confusion.
“Yeah, we’ve heard that before, pal. What are you really doing all dressed up like you’re going to war, asking about Jefferson?”
Jake understood then. “Ah. Um, no. We really are from the Army. We came in by boat a couple of days ago. We’re trying to get up to Columbia University to help find a cure for the virus. Figured there might be a chance that some scientists or students are left alive that could help out.”
“Wait, you’re serious?” Connie asked. “There are still people—regular people—outside of New York?”
“There are. Not many, but we have a lot of
