Will to Survive (24 page)

“We thought that if it was the foundation on which our great country was built, it was a good enough place to start our community,” the other man said.

“None better,” Herb agreed.

“We wouldn't have survived without Herb's expertise and foresight,” I said.

“Are you a former military man?” the colonel asked Herb.

“Intelligence.”

The colonel laughed. “Some people think military intelligence is an oxymoron.”

“What you've done here would certainly prove them wrong,” Herb said.

“We're just trying to do the right thing.”

“That's our goal and our strength,” Herb said. “And part of doing the right thing is trying to help other people.”

“Perhaps we can help each other,” the colonel said.

“I would assume that fuel is a problem for you,” Herb said.

The colonel didn't answer.

“Those old planes must be pigs on fuel. And while being on an island gives you protection, it limits your ability to get gas,” Herb continued. “I think we could help.”

“Do you have enough fuel to spare?”

“Fuel is always going to be an issue, but we need our friends who believe in fairness and justice to be secure.”

“From what you've told us, it sounds like we don't have anything you need, so what could we give you in return?” the colonel said.

“This isn't about trading,” Herb said. “This is about us helping our neighbors. It's just good to know we're not alone.”

“You have a friend here,” he said. “And it isn't just us. There are other communities out there that have the same vision. We've established a loose alliance of sorts. There were a dozen of us, but now with your neighborhood and its allies there are thirteen of us.”

Herb smiled. “Thirteen … like the thirteen colonies that formed this country.” He paused. “It happened once. I wonder if it can happen again, this time in miniature.”

“Why couldn't it?” the colonel asked.

“When I go back, I'll talk to our committee to make it official,” Herb said. “To formalize the partnership.”

“I'd also invite you to join with us when we meet with our other allies.”

“We'd welcome the chance to be part of that,” Herb said. “Right now, though, do you think you could give us a tour?”

“I'd be proud to show you what we've accomplished.”

“While that's happening, do you think you could also have one of your mechanics go over my plane with me?” I asked.

“Certainly. Are you having mechanical problems?” Colonel Wayne asked.

“We were shot at,” I said. “I think a bullet or two went through the wing as we were passing over the city.”

“Was it random fire from the ground?” He sounded concerned.

“From the ground but not random,” Herb said. “We knew the person doing the shooting. He raised us on the radio before he took a couple of potshots at us.”

“So not somebody you'd count as a friend,” the colonel said.

“That's a bit of an understatement. He was a member of our community who violated our code and had to be expelled.”

“What did he do?” the colonel asked.

“He's a murderer. He killed innocent people outside our neighborhood. He was up for trial when he killed his guards and escaped.”

“And he radioed up to let you know he was going to take a shot at you?”

“More a combination of taunting us and trying to keep us in rifle range. What he didn't realize is that he gave away more information than he should have,” Herb said.

“What sort of information?”

“For starters, up until we heard his voice we didn't even know for sure if he was still alive. Now we know that, if what he says is correct, he's the new leader of the Division.”

“The Division!” Colonel Wayne exclaimed.

“You know them?” Herb asked.

“We were told stories from survivors coming out of the city. From what we heard they were run by ex-military, and they were ruthless and extremely dangerous.”

“They were both,” Herb said. “And that's why we had to destroy them.”

“You destroyed them? But you just said this man was running them,” the colonel said.

“If he's telling the truth, he's running the fragment that survived. He may also have recruited others. We neutralized the bulk of the Division's forces when they moved to attack our neighborhood, and then we destroyed their compound, scattering them.”

The colonel looked impressed.

“If they have re-formed, they would become more dangerous under this man's leadership. And, as we know, there is more than one danger out there. To overcome those dangers, we have to become even stronger—with your help.”

“Sounds like we have lots more to discuss as we start on the tour,” the colonel said.

 

23

I stood just to the side of the wall and watched as the Mustang raced along Erin Mills Parkway and then lifted off. I had to admit to a little plane envy. Not that there was anything wrong with my Cessna, but it would be incredible to fly a plane like that—to have not just the speed and ceiling and range but also the machine guns in its wings. I'd love to be up in that and have Brett take a shot at me. I could swoop down and reduce him and those go-carts to flaming rubble.

The plane—with one of the islanders' pilots at the controls—did a quick flyby as it circled back toward the island airport. Their planes had been regular visitors to our neighborhood, and ours to theirs.

As I walked down the hill toward my house I thought about what the island colony had accomplished. Their planes impressed me, of course, but they'd done much more than take advantage of the air museum.

They had put sufficient land under cultivation to feed all three thousand inhabitants. They were all housed in a combination of the hangars, the terminal itself, a number of small island homes, and some new buildings they'd put up. Each had been subdivided so that every family had its own small living area. Once winter came, it'd be easier to heat them all.

We weren't so fortunate. Spread out in typical suburban homes, we were going to have trouble adequately heating them all. I knew there were already plans under way to house multiple families in places that had woodstoves or high-efficiency fireplaces.

Water collection and distribution was also easier for the islanders. They'd hooked up a generator to power a pump. It brought water from the lake for all their irrigation, drinking, and sanitation needs. Nobody was carrying heavy buckets. With our boundaries extending to the Credit River, however, we hoped to have a similar system created for us.

My thoughts were interrupted as I walked into our house and was greeted by the sound of crying. It was loud, almost hysterical wailing, the way Rachel or Danny would cry if they were told that something had happened to Mom or Dad.

My heart pounding, I raced to the kitchen and saw the social worker, Maureen, and Lori sitting at the kitchen table with Danny and Rachel. But it wasn't any of them crying. It was coming from another room. What was going on?

All four of them got up and came toward me.

“Where are Dad and Mom?” I asked.

“Your mother's in the other room,” Lori said. She gestured toward the dining room, where the crying was coming from. “And your father—isn't he away with Herb on that overnight trip to the island?”

“Yes, but—”

“Your parents are okay,” Maureen said. She understood my concern.

“What's going on in there?” I questioned.

“I'm going to take the twins to my house,” Lori said. She took Rachel by one hand and Danny by the other. I would have expected Danny to resist having his hand held, but he allowed himself to be led away.

After they left I turned to Maureen. “Now can you tell me?” I asked.

She motioned for me to come with her. I stepped into the dining room and staggered to a stop. My mother was at the far end of the room with her arms wrapped around two young children. The older kid, a boy, was the one who was sobbing hysterically. He couldn't have been any more than seven or eight. On the other side was a girl, younger, maybe five, who was just staring blankly into space over my mom's shoulder.

They looked the same, like brother and sister, but I didn't recognize them. And I knew everybody in the neighborhood, or at least I thought I did. They must have been from one of the outlying communities.

Maureen walked over, bent down, and talked to my mother. My mother tried to get up, but the boy clung to her desperately. His face, his eyes were so full of pain that I had to work not to look away.

Finally he went to Maureen as she took him in her arms. The girl showed no reaction. It was as if she didn't register anything—not even her brother's screams and sobs.

My mother came to me as Maureen walked out, holding the brother with one arm and the hand of the little girl with the other. The cries deadened as the front door closed, but they were still audible for another few seconds, fading away finally to nothing.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Their parents were killed … right in front of them,” she said.

“What?”

“They were killed by Brett.”

“Brett? Brett was here?” I felt panic begin to rise.

“Not here. He killed them out there and then basically dropped the children off close to our gates and told them to come here,” she said.

“But wh-why would he do that?” I stammered.

“He wanted them to deliver a message to us.”

“What?”

“He pinned a letter to the girl's shirt and sent them to give it to us.”

My mind spun. How could that be real? I must have heard her wrong.

“It's hard to believe that anybody could do that,” she said. “He put a gun to their parents' heads and just shot them … right there while their children were watching. It's just … just…”

“Evil,” I said. “There's no other word.”

In a world where so much was beyond belief there was now a new horror for me to think of, and maybe it was worse, more evil, than all the others I'd experienced.

“What's in the letter?” I asked.

“That's what makes it all even stranger. He's demanding that we give him food and supplies.”

“Why would we give him anything?”

“There's also a threat: that if we don't give him what he wants, he'll do more harm.”

“We're ready for him,” I snapped.

“It's not us he's threatening to harm.”

I didn't understand, and asked to see the letter.

“It's, um, not here, Adam,” she said.

“Where is it then?”

She hesitated. “It's with the judge.”

I shook my head. “No it isn't, Mom. Why are you lying to me?” It wasn't just Herb who could read minds.

She didn't answer, but it was clear she was feeling guilty that she'd told me a lie.

“Did he threaten me and our family?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“That's nothing new,” I said. “But there's something else in there that is new, isn't there? Keeping it away from me doesn't protect me. I need to know what he wrote.”

She looked like she was on the verge of tears. “The letter is addressed to you.”

“To me? Did he address it to the little prince?”

“How did you know?”

“He called me that when he came and took me away that night and then on the radio in the plane. Can I see it, please?” As soon as I asked I almost regretted it. I wanted to see the letter, but at the same time I wanted my mother to keep telling me I couldn't see it.

She pulled it from the inside of her jacket. It was a manila envelope splattered with red—dried blood. She turned it over and there in a childish scrawl were the words
For Adam, the Little Prince
. She held it out to me and I hesitated before I took it in my hand. It felt heavy, almost hot to the touch, like I was holding all that anger, that evil, in my fingers.

“You can't believe what he writes, and you can't take it personally,” she said. “It isn't true.”

“Whatever he wrote is true to him.”

I turned it over, trying to avoid touching the dried blood, and pulled out the letter. It was lined paper, the type that was in every school notebook I'd ever used. It was crudely folded and I opened it up to reveal the same stunted handwriting that was on the envelope.

Hello, Little Prince,

I'm sure you're surprised to get a letter from me. After our little conversation in the airplane I wanted to make sure to write you now and again to let you know I'm alive and well. I hope you enjoyed meeting my two little mailmen—or should I say mailpersons because I wouldn't want to offend your great sense of political correctness? It's one of my life goals to someday live up to your standards, to be a little prince just like you.

Strange thing is that while everybody in my life would have liked me to become more like you, instead you became more like me.

Those words sent a chill up my spine.

It sounds like you really did enjoy killing those two idiots I sent with you to steal the plane. And they were idiots, weak-willed idiots. They died because they were too stupid to live, so they deserved what they got. Don't feel bad about killing them … Well, I know now you probably don't. You probably had to pretend that you felt bad, and maybe you did at the beginning, but you know you enjoyed it. The way you know you'd enjoy killing me. At least those idiots served a purpose. They gave you the taste for blood. You learned how sweet it is, how powerful it is.

But we can never be friends, Little Prince. There's only one way for this to end, with one of us dead. It's going to be you. But first I'm going to do to you what I did to those two kids today: I'm going to kill your parents right in front of your eyes. Then I'm going to kill you, slowly and painfully.