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Diane went and sat next to her. In spite of the way she was acting now, Emma wasn’t a spoiled brat. It was clear she was missing Brandon and her father and no doubt still dealing with the shock of what had happened back at the cabins.

“I know how you’re feeling,” Diane said, “but compared to other people, it could be a lot worse.”

“We’re locked in a dusty apartment without running water with no way of getting out.” They were on the second floor with windows facing the street, but climbing out of them without being seen wasn’t a realistic option. Especially since it meant getting shot on sight. For a moment, Diane’s attention was directed outside where the loudspeaker was reminding the residents of Oneida to obey the authorities and turn in any and all weapons.

“You’ve got a roof over your head,” she said at last. “And a father who’s still alive.”

“Yeah, how do you know he’s still alive?”

“I just do.”

“You mean the same way you know God exists?”

“Not faith, honey. All I can tell you is your father’s making preparations to help free us. But we all need to do our part.” Now Diane was whispering. “But Brandon and Natalie don’t have a father anymore. So the next time you’re feeling like you’re hard done by, you just remind yourself of the sacrifice that they’ve made.”

A knock came just then before the door opened. The locks had been removed and reinstalled on the other side. As comfy as it was, there was no fooling—this was still a prison.

“Who do you think it is?” Emma asked, fear creeping into her face.

Diane looked back at her with a matching expression. “I told you we all had a part to play. This is mine.”

Chapter 32

John entered the command tent to find Marshall alone inside. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” John said.

Marshall looked weary, as though the weight of the entire country were resting on his shoulders, a feeling John hoped to never experience again. “What is it?”

“I’ve come to understand that this camp was thrown together out of necessity, but without knowing how long it will take to overthrow the Chairman and reclaim Oneida, we may need to start making some long-term plans.”

That the camp looked like a hobo town from the Great Depression wasn’t a big surprise, although it was clear that few people knew how to fix the problem.

Marshall’s eyes narrowed. “What do you have in mind?”

John told Marshall about the pot farm he’d discovered and the books on hydroponics.

“I think we can use the information there to begin growing our own food, rather than relying on captured supplies. It’ll help boost morale as well as the soldiers’ health. You could also make some improvements to your clean water situation. I see a lot of men and women in camp using iodine tablets and bleach to purify water. Some boil it, sure, but I think many see the first two methods as quicker and more convenient. They don’t realize those were really meant as short-term solutions. I noticed some ceramic candle filters in that first truck we inspected. It wouldn’t be too difficult to get a number of fifty-five gallon drums and create a nice, simple filtering system. Besides, it’ll do away with needing to gather stones, sand and charcoal. The improvement in taste will help too.”

Ceramic candle filters were short, cylindrical devices that could be attached to the bottom of a water drum. Pores in the shell were small enough to block bacteria while still allowing water to pass through. The colloidal silver kept bacteria from growing on the shell while the activated carbon inside absorbed dangerous chemicals and impurities.

“I think that can work,” Marshall said. “Although, God willing, we won’t need this camp for much longer.”

“I hope you’re right, but what if you do?” John asked him. “I’m just as optimistic as the next man, but a healthy dose of realism never hurt. That’s why I’m also worried about the sleeping conditions. I don’t see why we can’t look at building some simple barracks where people can sleep. We can model them after the Iroquois long houses which slept dozens and kept them warm through the winter months.”

Marshall let out a raspy laugh. “John, you’ve going Native on us.”

“I use what works,” he replied, ignoring Marshall’s slight dig. “When it came to survival and living off the land, the Natives sure as heck knew what they were doing. Take crops for example. They used an ingenious technique called the Three Sisters. Corn, beans and squash. Each one complemented the other. Since the beans needed tall poles to grow on, they were planted next to the corn. In turn, the bean roots captured nitrogen helping to enrich the soil for the corn. The squash was then planted between the rows of corn and beans. The shade from their leaves helped the corn’s very shallow roots and kept the ground moist, which in turn favored the growth of the beans. A perfectly circular system.”

“Okay,” Marshall spat, throwing up his hands in surrender. “I’m sold. All this talk of food is making me hungry. I’ll get someone on it in the next day or two.” His eyes fell to John’s tactical vest and the S&W on his hip. “Moss has the kinda guts most men dream of,” Marshall said. “But there’s one thing he doesn’t have. Something you can’t teach.”

“Experience and wisdom?” John answered.

Marshall nodded. “I wanna make you my number two, John.”

“But you won’t,” John said. “And you shouldn’t. I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes. This isn’t about validation or ego for me, although I appreciate your vote of confidence. You know why I’m here.”

“The same reason we’re all here, John. But I respect your position.”

The two men shook hands.

“When this is all over where you gonna go?” Marshall asked him.

“I’m not sure,” John answered. “I wanna say back home to rebuild. I mean, that’s the right answer. It’s just I don’t know where home is anymore.” He drew in a deep, stinging breath and held it for about as long as he could. After letting it go, he found Marshall standing there, watching him curiously. “What about you?”

“There’s only one thing I’m aiming to do before I die,” Marshall told him. “Give my wife and son a proper burial.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know they’d passed. When you mentioned we’d all suffered loss I just assumed they were being held in—”

“And a perfectly normal assumption that would be. The Chairman’s responsible, so we have common cause there, no need to worry. But Jane and Greg are lying in a pair of unmarked graves on Cedar Ridge. Wasn’t time to give them the burial they deserved. That’ll come later, once we free Oneida from that tyrant.”

“My son’s name is Gregory too,” John offered and for a reason he couldn’t explain, something as simple as a name made Marshall’s loss seem all the more devastating.

Chapter 33

The guard led Diane to a small greasy spoon called Fran’s Diner on the corner of Main and Church. The sun had already begun to set, dousing the streets in creeping darkness. A flickering light from inside the diner told her someone was inside, waiting for her. After opening the door, the guard ushered her inside. Diane entered, her heart thumping in her neck. Tucked into the brim of her panties was the paper pouch with the crushed Ambien. The knife was wedged into the tall boot on her right foot. The act had made walking a little awkward, but so far she’d managed to avoid drawing suspicion.

For a moment, Diane wondered whether the restaurant was empty. Then in a corner, sitting at a table with the warm glow of a single candle, she spotted the Chairman. Next to him were two men in dark suits, standing rigid and yet nearly invisible. One of them was black and thick with muscle, the other white and shorter by a full head. It didn’t take her long to determine they were either military in plain clothes or Secret Service. Figuring out which wouldn’t be easy.