“And if and when that happens, I suspect I’ll be seeing the two of you again,” Grimaldi said wearily. “You may return to your rooms or your work now. And you, Sumae, had best collect anything else you might have hidden around the building.”
Sumae held her glare on Candace for another heartbeat, then tried to transfer it to Grimaldi. But Grimaldi wasn’t sixteen, and he’d no doubt been glared at by experts. Sumae’s expression faltered as her glower bounced harmlessly off the stone that his face had become.
“Yes, sir,” she muttered, and slunk away out of the room. Candace triumphantly snatched up the dusty jar of pickles and followed.
“And so begins another glorious day in Moldavia Los Angeles,” Grimaldi said with a sigh.
“So it does,” Orozco agreed. He and Grimaldi had their differences, God knew, but Orozco had always respected Grimaldi’s insistence on handling these disputes personally, instead of hiding behind his desk and title and foisting the unpleasant duty off onto someone else. “Let’s hope things go uphill from here.”
“I don’t think they will,” Grimaldi said. “I talked to Evans and Kemper last night. They’re pretty sure they’ve seen your empty-revolver gang before.”
“Over on the far southern edge of the neighborhood,” Orozco said, nodding. “Yes, I got the same thing from Hamm.”
“Which means those kids were not, in fact, the new gang Nguyen and his buddies spotted on their way in yesterday afternoon,” Grimaldi said. “Which means that group is still out there, and we’re eventually going to run into each other.”
“I’ve already doubled the sentry shifts and put two of the fire teams on quick-response,” Orozco told him. “Unless you want to go out hunting, there’s not much more we can do.”
“We definitely don’t want to go looking for them,” Grimaldi said firmly. “The lower the profile we can keep, the better.”
“Agreed,” Orozco said. “Unfortunately, we’re about five years past the low profile stage.
Everyone for ten or twelve blocks around at least knows we’re here somewhere, even if they don’t know exactly which building we’re in. We have to assume our newcomers will try to pick up as much intel as they can on the territory they’re trying to move into.”
“Fortunately, everyone who knows we’re here also knows that everyone who’s tried taking us on has lost,” Grimaldi said. “Maybe they’ll be smart enough to learn from the mistakes of others.”
“We can hope,” Orozco agreed. “But in case they don’t—”
He broke off as the door was suddenly thrown open, and Mick the Binocular-Breaker ran into the room.
“Sentry signal,” he said, panting. “Four and one.”
“Damn,” Orozco snarled as he rose quickly from his chair. Four and one was a positive threat coming from the north. Ten to one it was Nguyen’s gang. “Chief—”
“I got it,” Grimaldi interrupted. He was on his feet, checking the chambers of the shotgun he kept under his desk. “Get to the entrance—I’ll roust the fire teams.”
Ninety seconds later Orozco was back at the archway. Kyle and Star were already there, Kyle with Orozco’s M16 gripped in his hands.
“They’re coming,” he reported tightly.
“I know,” Orozco said, stepping to the arms locker and pulling out their one true sniper rifle, a Remington 700 with a Leupold VX-1 scope “Are they visible?”
Kyle stepped beneath the archway, leaning cautiously out from behind the building’s broken facade.
“Not yet,” he said. “They may be on the other side of that broken truck three blocks up.”
“Take this,” Orozco said, taking the M16 from Kyle and handing him the Remington in exchange. “Go to the sniper nest.”
Kyle’s forehead creased uncertainly as he fingered the Remington.
“Evan’s a better shot than I am,” he said.
“Evan’s not here,” Orozco said. “You are. Get going.”
With a grimace, Kyle nodded and headed across the street, Star right on his heels.
Orozco waited until the two kids had disappeared into the sniper’s nest. Then, checking the M16’s clip and chamber, he settled in to wait for their visitors.
He had received one follow-up report from the sentry, and was waiting for a second, when they arrived.
In impressively sophisticated military fashion, too. The sentry had said there were ten of them, but only four came striding into Orozco’s view along the street, spaced far enough apart that they couldn’t be taken down in a quick four-shot. The other six weren’t visible, but Orozco suspected they could see him, or at least they could see the building’s archway. Backup forces, ready to provide covering fire or a second attack wave, whichever was needed.
Not that the first group wasn’t a wave and a half all by itself. Orozco counted ten heavy weapons among the four men, plus holstered sidearms and whatever hidden grenades or knives they might be carrying.
They were well-armed, well-trained, and at least slightly better-fed than the average L.A. citizen.
If they had been a new gang trying to move into the area, Orozco would have been worried.
But they weren’t a gang. The red sashes tied around their sleeves showed that. They were, in fact, Resistance.
Which made it even worse.
“Morning,” Orozco called courteously, keeping the muzzle of his M16 moving gently back and forth between them. “Just passing through?”
“Mostly,” one of them said. He was a big black man with a fringe of a beard and a totally bald head. Along with his guns he was also carrying a couple of ammo packs, but he didn’t even seem to notice all the weight. His eyes flicked once to the M16, then came back to Orozco’s face. “You must be the Orozco everyone talks about.”
“Sergeant Orozco, actually,” Orozco said. “Formerly of the U.S. Marine Corps.”
The other gave a snort that seemed to double as a laugh.
“That supposed to impress me?”
“Just want to make it clear I know how to use this,” Orozco said, hefting the M16 a bit. “You have a name?”
“Barnes,” the man said. He nodded toward the red armband. “This is my unit.”
“Yeah, I see it,” Orozco said. “Is that supposed to impress me?”
“It should,” Barnes growled. “We’re the ones keeping Skynet off your back.”
“Or you’re the ones drawing Skynet’s fire onto everyone else,” Orozco countered. “That’s the way a lot of people around here see it.”
Barnes gave him a long, measuring look.
“You can’t be that stupid,” he said at last. “Not if you were really a soldier.”
“Marine,” Orozco corrected automatically.
“Whatever.” Barnes nodded past Orozco’s shoulder.
“Mind if we come in? We’ve got some snacks to share out with your people in there.”
Orozco suppressed a grimace. He’d called it, all right, straight from the top, the minute he’d seen those red armbands. These guys were here to recruit.
Grimaldi, if he were here instead of up on the balcony, would absolutely forbid them to pass the archway. He saw the people of Moldering Lost Ashes the same way he’d seen his inventory list back in the day, and he took it badly—and personally—when any of them chose to leave. The best thing Orozco could do right now would be to send Barnes and his team away.
And then, Orozco’s eyes fell on all the weaponry the men were carrying.
A hard knot settled into his stomach. Recruiters didn’t lug that much stuff around. Not if all they were doing was looking for fresh faces and able bodies.
Something was about to go down. Something bad.
And if Barnes’ recruitment pitch meant even a couple of the people here got out before it was too late…
“If you’re here to sign folks up, you’re going to be disappointed,” he warned. Some people, he knew, worked better and harder if you told them something couldn’t be done. Barnes looked like that type. “But if you want to try, it’s your time to waste.”