“Not really. But I’ll make it, I guess.”
Avery’s rustling through his bag alerted us that he was awake. “Did you ask Kelley how the power was knocked offline?” he asked with a yawn.
“You should be sleeping,” I told him.
“I am good. Did you ask her about the power?”
“She didn’t know about an EMP or anything like that. Kelley’s job was the Grays, and she barely knew anything about them. And Bob knew less than she did. Both were adamant about not knowing the power being knocked out.”
Avery started to speak but stopped. He then started again. “The Order’s leadership structure reminds me of Nazi Germany during WWII. There was a hierarchy—”
“No history lesson, son.”
“Especially a Nazi history lesson,” I said.
“My point was going to be everyone below the Fuhrer could not or was at the very least hesitant to make independent command decisions. That is all I was going to say.”
Sam sighed and grumbled something under his breath. Probably curse words.
Weighing in, I said, “Well, Nazis aside, there is a definite compartmentalized chain of command, and the way I see it, it was designed for one reason and one reason only: secrecy.”
Avery replied with a grunt. He had turned his focus back to the phone. Apparently, that didn’t interest him.
“What do we do ’bout the Patch?” Sam asked.
“I’m worried about our friends,” was all I could manage. In all actuality, I was very much fearing for their safety. The Order knew they were there, and they were looking for ways to use the Grays.
“We can’t leave ’em ’ere. We gotta try somethin.”
“Yeah,” I sighed.
“Food, kerosene, and water will be a thang real soon.”
“Barrow is too hot to do anything at this point. I think we have to let them know we haven’t forgotten about them and maybe give them a rifle or two to defend themselves until we can figure a way to transport everyone,” I said.
“We ain’t goin ta be able ta use the ice road, you know ’at, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “They’ll be all over it looking for us.” I finally had to yell to get Avery’s attention. “How unsafe would it be for us to drive on the unmaintained ice?”
“Huh?”
I repeated what I’d already asked him three times. Without any thought at all, he said, “Yes.”
“Really?” I asked.
Avery groaned. “The prior weeks’ temperatures, I believe, were well below average. Even with the above average temperature for the last few days, it almost certainly is safe to cross the ice. It, however, will be a very rough ride.”
“There you have it, Sam. Should be safe…”
In the dim light I could see the disgust on Sam’s face. “Should is ’bout all we can ’spect at ’is point.”
“We go, then,” I said.
Off in the distance, I swore I saw headlights. I pointed in the direction, but Sam said he didn’t see them. Avery, from the back seat, said I was, “Seeing things due to hyperarousal.”
“Damn, son, you have dick problems.”
I looked at Sam.
“It is PSTD related.”
“Well, Doctor Avery, I think I’ll be okay,” I said.
Avery huffed. “I would not place too much confidence in that.”
Finding a five-acre island on a sea of ice, in the dark, and without an ice road to lead us there, was going to be next to impossible. I did have one trick up my sleeve, though. I had the GPS unit Miley gave me, and, unlike the large, expensive unit in the Ripsaw, it still worked. The problem was since the Patch was man-made, it didn’t show up as a landmass on the GPS unit. Luckily for us, we had Avery.
He had, well, because he was Avery, decided it a good idea to memorize the coordinates of the Patch. When I asked him if he had any ideas on how to find the Patch, he gave me an odd look and replied, “Do you want longitude/latitude or DMS?” I didn’t know what DMS meant, so I asked for the longitude/latitude.
I found out later that DMS was the initials for degrees/minutes/seconds.
Avery was spot on. The clearing sky and the towering derrick lay just up ahead. Sam Expertly guided the Ripsaw up the side-entrance ramp and expertly wheeled us over to the open portion of the Patch. We waited for someone, friend, or foe, to be curious enough to greet us. No one came.
“What we do?” Sam asked.
“I guess we fucking check,” I said.
Sam searched my face as if it were a puzzle he was trying to solve. My outburst of anger had perplexed him. “Okay,” he replied, calmly, like he knew I was about to lose my shit and didn’t want to be the catalyst.
I saw the first body, maybe a hundred feet away from the Commons. I was pretty sure it was a Gray, as it was not adequately clothed for winter in the Arctic. I rolled him over, and he had taken a round to the forehead. For a split second, I thought I could be wrong. The Patch had the Polar Bear gun. I knew several other people, even though the rules strictly forbid it, also had weapons. Maybe they fought off the Grays. A few seconds later, as I was still lingering over the dead Gray, Sam’s grief-soaked curses told me my newfound hope was misplaced.
Not in any hurry to get there, I ambled to where they lay and where they appeared to have been executed. Sam was on a knee, looking at one of them. He rolled her over, exposing her face to me. I gagged.
“Olivia, son, ’ose bastards shot her in the head. She was innocent as ’at snow she layin in. How in the world?”
Once I emptied my body of the few nutrients it had left, I croaked, “Let’s check the Commons and leave.”
“’Is is ’at easy for you?”
“No.”
Sam shook his head. “It’s easy ta talk ’bout thangs. Here is what the Order done ta us. Look ’round. All our friends is stone-cold dead.” He spit. “And here you are tellin me ta hurry ’cause ’em sonofabitches might be here.” He stood up, his back arched, and posturing for a fight. “Good.”
“Sam,” I said.
“Come on, you mother-less son-of-filthy-Korean whores!”
“Sam, please.”
He finally turned to me. “It just ain’t right is all.”
I watched out of the corner of my eye as Tish walked through the bodies. She stopped at one of them and looked down, only pausing for a tick before turning in our general direction. “I’m going to check the nest for survivors,” she said.
“Titouan will you go with—”
“I got it,” she said, interrupting me.
I waved her to go before turning my attention back to Sam. “I’m sorry.”
He tugged at his pants. “I know.” He then wiped his face before finishing, “What you reckon ’bout Jack?”
“Hope. That’s all we got.”
On the way over to the Commons, Sam v-lined to the lean-to. I followed, Titouan and Avery falling in just behind us.
Outside the side entrance to the lean-to lay a body. Thankfully, we didn’t recognize the dead man. Whoever he was, he had been shot at least twice: Once in the face, the shot nearly taking off his left jaw, and the other bullet looked to be shot from the rear, taking out a significant portion of his forehead.
Once inside, the overwhelming stench of urine and feces filled my nostrils, causing me to puke once again. “You see those bullet holes?” I asked, wiping the putrid liquid from my mouth.
Sam’s face glinted with the look of hope as he asked. “You reckon somebody was hidin in ’ere?”
“Is that a hidden room?” Titouan asked.
I ignored Titouan. “Maybe whoever it was took that guy out,” I said, pointing towards where the dead-man lay outside.
“I hope whoever it was shot more ’an ’at bastard.”
I wanted to part with a bit of hope that Jack was still alive and that maybe he was the one who killed the man, but I didn’t allow myself. Still, it was clear that someone had hidden in the lean-to. I nodded my agreement for what Sam had said.