Conflicted Home (The Survivalist Book 9) by A American (learn to read books TXT) 📕

“What about that one?” Aric asked, pointing at the Cuban.

“He’s more willing to talk. Just a soldier. They were told they’d be able to walk across the country. Apparently, the Russians and the Cubans got together to carve up the east coast. The Ruskies also had a deal with China, giving them the west.”

“Was he spotting for them?” I asked.

Sarge snickered, “Yeah, he was. Still won’t admit that.” He nodded to the beleaguered Cuban and added, “But he did. They were working together.”

“What about the guy working on the net?”

“Oh, the Chinaman.” Sarge looked at Aric, “You were right about him. He was who you thought he was.”

“I knew it was him. I saw his body. If he was still around here, then others probably are as well,” Aric replied.

“Well, he ain’t around anymore,” I said. “Shane and Shawn put his ass in the dirt.” Micha looked up briefly before dropping his head again. “That’s right, asshole. We bagged him too.”

“What do you want to do with them?” Sarge asked.

I thought about it for a moment, considering the options. I thought back to the bombing in the park. About what happened there. The stinging smell of alcohol mixing with the acrid smell of smoke and metallic odor of blood and flesh. The crunch of glass under my boots as we walked around the scene. It was so much like the last scene at the park, the one that killed Bobbie.

It was almost like stepping back in time. Like revisiting a nightmare in troubled sleep. The image of Bobbie’s charred and smoking body as I slowly pulled the zipper up over her face. I remembered the image of Danny’s hand, the missing fingers and the rivulets of tears cutting through the black dirt and filth on his face. Then of my girls sitting on the couch and Little Bit looking over her shoulder and asking me if she were going to die too.

As I was considering all this, my radio crackled. It was Shane. “Morgan, we’ve got issues.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“People are gathering; they’re saying the attack was the Army’s doing. They’re nearly rioting.”

I looked at Sarge, “What the hell are they thinking? That we did this to ourselves?”

“Someone is stirring this up. I don’t think they came up with it on their own,” Sarge replied. Sarge scratched the stubble on his chin. “Ask him to get Cecil to calm them down. He’ll be able to handle this until we can get there tomorrow morning.”

I nodded and relayed the statement to Shane, telling him to get Cecil to try and calm them down. He agreed and said they could handle it until tomorrow. “It hasn’t gotten out of hand yet,” he replied.

I looked around the room. At the men hanging from the rafters, the others, Mike, Ted, Doc and Dalton watching them from the perimeter. Settling my eyes on Micha, I said, “We’ll take them to town tomorrow and hang them in the park.”

Sarge’s head bobbed as he processed this. “It’s good. It’s good and proper.”

Then Micha’s raspy voice broke the silence. “And what good will that serve?” I looked over to see his eyes cast up as he was too weak to lift his head. He shook his head from side to side. “We,” he started to say, then glanced at his Cuban compatriot before correcting himself, “I am worth more alive than dead.” A slight smile cracked his lips. “I know what’s going on. Where,” he jerked his head towards the Cuban, “the rest of them are.” His smile spread, “where the Russians are.” He was playing his ace, or so he thought.

Sarge’s cackling cut the weight of the moment. I was thinking about what Micha had said. But Sarge wasn’t impressed. Instead his head rocked back and forth. “Thank you!” He shouted. “Thank you for giving me that. I was wondering just where the limit was. Just what you did indeed know.” Sarge rose to his feet. “But now I know.” Sarge looked over at me and said, “Don’t worry. By dawn, we’ll know what he knows.”

Fear washed over Micha as he asked the question for the answer he already possessed. “What? Why? Why not keep me alive?” He seemed to find strength and started to fight against the bindings. “You can’t kill me! You need me!”

I stepped past Sarge and close to Micha’s face. I leaned over and looked into his eyes. I knew how he’d managed to this point. How he would so easily, quickly, cast his allegiance to the strongest.

“You know the problem with selling your morals?” I asked. “Eventually there are no more buyers. I always wondered why you bothered me.” I wagged my finger at him, “Something about you always ate at me. Watching you slink around, and now knowing you were making deal after deal to keep yourself safe and comfortable.” I grabbed his chin and lifted his head. “But there are no more deals. You cannot take this and turn it into a better situation for yourself. You’ve burrowed your way in for the last time. Tomorrow, you will hang.”

Micha glared back at me. I could see he was trying to formulate his response. But he wouldn’t get the chance to issue it. Sarge stepped past me, clapping my back as he did. “Tomorrow is a long way off and we’ve got a lot to do,” he said as he gripped my shoulder and turned me away from Micha. “Go on and get some rest. Tomorrow, in town, he’s yours. But tonight,” Sarge said as he looked at Micha and added, “but tonight, his ass is ours.”

A fear washed over Micha’s face and his tongue flicked out of his lips as a lizard would. “I’ve already told you everything I know.”

As I stepped away, Sarge snorted, “Well now, we know that’s not the case,” Sarge looked past Micha to Dalton and added, “don’t we?”

Dalton nodded grimly, “Indeed.”

“And I believe you are well