“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby.”
Clayton laughed, and soon Billy joined him as they started back down the dugout.
Will joined Dieter, Alethea, Betty, Ward, and a handful of Exiles as they sifted through the ruins of the farmhouse. Each one found different little treasures partially burned. Will was collecting the pictures of the family from the dining room. They were all damaged, but some were still worth keeping.
Everyone looked toward the sound of the ambulance pulling up the driveway. Nobody moved toward this strange, out-of-place vehicle. Two Exiles got out of the cab of the ambulance. Dieter recognized one of them as Rick. Rick saw Dieter and walked toward him, his hand extended.
“Dieter, what the hell happened?”
Dieter shook Rick’s hand. “You can guess. What are you doing?”
Rick smiled and looked at the Milfords, who by this time had moved toward the ambulance. He walked to the back of the vehicle, where the other Exile, Enos, had already opened one of the doors. Rick opened the other, and they reached inside the ambulance.
Devin pushed himself up on his elbow. “Let me try to… sit up,” he said refusing the assistance. “Don’t take me out on the stretcher.”
Enos hopped inside the ambulance and helped Devin sit up.
There was anxiety on all the Milfords’ faces. So much tragedy had left them wary of something like this. Alethea first caught sight of Devin bending out of the back of the ambulance, being helped by Enos to sit there.
She rushed to him. “Devin! My God…”
Devin grinned weakly as she rushed into his arms. “Hi, Ali.”
The others rushed around him, helping him to stand. Will stood back, watching. Devin was not certain what kind of reception his father might have for him.
“Hi, Dad…”
Will looked at his son and smiled. “Welcome home, son.”
He walked up to Devin and embraced him. The others stood close by watching this touching moment, one which had been so long awaited.
“Let’s get you inside.” Will held on to Devin’s right arm. As they moved slowly, Devin noticed the shell of the burned house.
“My God… the house.”
“I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you,” Alethea quipped. “Your old room isn’t quite ready.”
Devin felt incredibly weak and dizzy as he leaned into his father for support. “We’ll take you down to the cellar. It’s better than you’d expect.” He smiled at Devin and gave him a quick hug around his shoulders. “We’ll be rebuildin’ soon.”
The Milford meat-packing plant was a large two-story building, corrugated metal from top to bottom. The factory-window glass was webbed with wire, giving it the look of a state penitentiary. The walls were straight, the comers of the building sharp; it possessed an overall boxlike shape without character or architectural style. The loading docks were falling apart; it was almost impossible to think that they had ever been used. The place was like a deserted tree house, beaten, weathered, and uncared for.
Inside the packing plant, the residue of its past could be seen in the empty and rusted hooks and the conveyer belts, long since split and broken.
Several people sat around a circle listening to the tinny sound of a small transistor radio. Kimberly sat next to Jeffrey, who held the receiver. The group listened intently.
It was a Natnet announcement of the bombing of the Capitol the day before and the murder of more than a hundred members of Congress. The official report announced that American Resisters were guilty of the attack.
Everyone in the group was horrified, their faces twisted with despair.
“Why, how could anybody do such a thing?” It was one of the camera crew that had been in the psychiatric ward earlier.
“Like a wounded animal biting itself,” Ken said quietly. He was another member of the camera crew.
“We’re going insane, all of us—Resisters, collaborators…” said a woman from the group.
“Sure gonna make people think twice,” Ken said, shaking his head.
“Think twice?” Jeffrey shouted.
“About supporting any kind of resistance,” Ken continued.
“I think people might just line up behind this new Heartland deal pretty fast.”
“Andrei used to say that American resistance was like the outlaw theater we did.” Kimberly spoke quietly. “Fun and just a little daring, but ultimately safe.”
Jeffrey stood, his body rigid, his face angry. “I’m going to Milford. I don’t believe all this crap, I don’t believe it about me, about a lot of folks I know, and a lot I don’t know. And I don’t believe Devin Milford’ll want to roll it up.” He searched the faces of the group intently. “I don’t, that’s for sure,” he added dramatically.
Kimberly stood beside Mm. “Can I come?”
Jeffrey smiled and looked at Ken, who shrugged and stood.
“Sure can. You and any of the rest of you who want to give it a longer ride.”
Everyone in the group stood except for one man.
“There ain’t nothin’ I can do in Milford I can’t do in Omaha,” he said, shaking his head.
The group started to walk toward the front of the warehouse. Ken turned to the man and yelled, “Stay tuned.” His words reverberated off the tin walls for several seconds as Jeffrey and his cohorts hopped into their cars and sped away.
Chapter 15
Marion was glad to receive the morning telephone call from Andrei.
“Andrei, I’ve been trying to reach Petya. I can’t get through.”
Andrei hesitated a moment. “Yes. How are you, Marion?”
“I hope you are not part of this conspiracy…
“What do you mean?”
“Devin has escaped. And the experimental conditioning unit has been compromised. Somehow Amanda Bradford was taking a public relations tour or something—the whole thing was photographed by a crew.”
“Well, simply censor it, I don’t see what harm is done,” Andrei said with studied nonchalance.
Marion struggled to maintain control. “It’s an obvious attempt by Peter Bradford to damage me. Well, he’s going to find things are a little more difficult than that. I’ve called a general strike. And we’re moving to take control of as many facilities throughout the area as we can.”
Andrei’s voice grew sterner. “You’re overreacting again.”
“We’ll see. I demand that you allow me to be put through to Petya. I want the SSU forces throughout the area on alert—and prepared to support the party—and you know that Petya will do it. And don’t try something to prevent me.”
“Marion,” Andrei said evenly. “Samanov is dead.” Marion sat back, stunned. Her face was ashen. “You’re lying.”
“I wish I were,” he said hoarsely.
The tone of Andrei’s voice told Marion that he was not lying. But the terrible fact of her lover’s loss was momentarily subsumed by her compulsion to solve the immediate, problem. “He can’t be dead.”
“There will be an announcement later in the day. Not just about Petya. I’m sorry.” Andrei’s tone softened. “I know you… that there were strong feelings between you.”
Marion nodded absently, as though he had just reminded her of that fact. “We loved each other,” she said quietly.
“I’m sorry.”
“And the SSU?” In an instant she was back to business, unable to let go of the immediate situation.
“I will retain exclusive control of the units,” he announced. “I will need them—all of them in America. You’ll soon understand why.”
Marion sat at her desk, listening to his words impassively.
“Marion,” he continued. “Find a way to reconcile with Peter Bradford. Believe me, it is best for both of you.”