Dead of Night Page 24

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Stewart said, finishing off his own mug of tea. ‘Even now, even with that humiliation, I wish you guys had come in earlier. It could have made a big difference.’

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  His eyes flashed at me. ‘No, you don’t know. I don’t mean to get pissy, but you don’t know.’

  I just nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. I don’t know.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, leaning over again to look at his grandson in the living room. ‘I can’t help it; I’m sorry. You see, it all has to do with little Jerry over there.’

  Something cold started tickling the back of my throat. ‘His parents?’

  ‘Yes,’ Stewart said quietly. ‘My daughter, Kelly. And her husband, Ralph. She went to school in Manhattan, learning about sculpture. Met up with a nice fella named Ralph Powell. Got married and came back here, opened up a little studio. He worked on-line for some brokerage firm, got to work out of the house. Beautiful little house, beautiful little boy.’

  I kept silent, letting him tell the story. He took a breath. ‘They’ve been missing ever since the troubles. I keep telling Jerry, don’t worry, your mom and dad, they’re on vacation. They’ll come back when they can. But I don’t know how much longer I can keep telling him that. I... I just don’t think it’s going to end right. And you want to know why?’

  ‘Tell me,’ I said.

  ‘Because in some people’s eyes what Kelly did was a crime. And her crime was to marry a black man from New York City and to have a child with him. And in those people’s eyes that’s a crime worth being killed for.’

  ~ * ~

  I helped Stewart wash up the dishes and then we went out to the living room, where Jerry was enraptured, staring up at the colors on the television screen. Tucker was on a dog bed of sorts, snoring fitfully. Stewart said, ‘You OK, kiddo?’

  Jerry still stared up at the screen. ‘Yep.’

  ‘Tucker OK?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Stewart said, ‘We’re going upstairs for a couple of minutes, so you stay down here, right? And remember, stay away from the windows.’

  “K, Grandpa.’

  Stewart managed a smile, glanced at me and said, ‘Come along. Let’s go upstairs and see what’s going on in the world. Maybe then we can figure if it’s safe to get you out of here.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  I followed Stewart up the narrow wooden staircase, past little framed sketches of skiers hanging on the right-hand wall. At the top we went straight through to a small room filled with radio gear. A quick glance to the left and the right showed a bedroom on either side. With my UN-trained investigative know-how I figured which one belonged to Stewart’s grandchild by the toys on the floor. In the small room were three metal tables, each set against a wall. There were a couple of amateur radios set up on two of the tables, and in front of them was an old office swivel chair, its back repaired with some gray duct tape. There were maps on the wall as well, ranging from one of the world to some that depicted the several counties in this part of New York state. Stewart flipped a few switches and sat down. I perched myself on a corner of a desk and watched closely.

  ‘Nice old stuff, huh?’ Stewart said. ‘That’s what saved it, when the balloon strikes came. Old electronics could muddle through better than the newer stuff. That’s how some of the militia units communicated with each other at the start, when they started setting up roadblocks and such. The old gear still worked, while the newer stuff—belonging to the cops and National Guard units—got fried.’

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be a microphone,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t need one,’ he said, rotating a dial slowly. ‘You see, Samuel, I don’t particularly care to talk to people. I’m just a goddamn big snoop, that’s all. Used to be I’d get a kick from catching some obscure regional station in China, or an American task force in the Persian Gulf, but fortunately—or unfortunately—the really interesting stuff now is nearby. So I don’t have to worry about getting a weak signal. The thing today is, I take a gander at what’s going on out there, then I can get an idea of how safe it might be before you start walking.’

  ‘All I need to know is how to reach the highway,’ I said. ‘If I get there, then I’ll just hang tight until a UN convoy comes by.’

  Stewart turned in his chair, looked up at me. ‘Where the hell have you been the past few days? Under a rock?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ve been running through the woods, being chased by your gun-toting neighbors. And I spent a couple of days at a militia camp, held prisoner, seeing lots of nice touristy things. Like men being shot in the back of the head for the crime of being in this country without your militia’s permission. So I haven’t really been up on the news.’

  ‘Well, bully for you, sport, ‘cause things have really gone to the shits for you UN folks these past few days,’ he said. ‘Like I said, the armistice has collapsed here and in a few other states. Which means some of the resettlement camps are under siege, your UN investigators have scurried back to their base camps, and the open highways—like the one nearby that you’re so goddamned keen to visit—have been closed.’

  ‘What broke the armistice?’ I asked.

  ‘Some militia leader in another county — probably a used-car salesman in his previous life—was captured by one of the arrest squads working for the War Crimes Tribunal,’ Stewart said, adjusting a dial on one of the consoles. ‘Thing is, his militia unit was under the impression that he was traveling under some sort of protection. Like a get-out-of-jail-free card. So they shot up a UN convoy. Then some other militia units, not particularly liking the armistice in the first place, decided to get in on the action.’

  I shook my head. ‘NATO units and arrest squads versus the militias. Doesn’t seem to be a fair fight.’

  ‘You’re right, but for the wrong reason,’ Stewart said. ‘The militias don’t think it’s a fair fight either. But the way they see it, if they keep on sniping and harassing the UN, sending body bags back to Europe and New Zealand and elsewhere, then the home governments will get tired and bring their boys home. Then the militias can get back to what they do best: killing their neighbors who just wanted some help. All right, let’s see what we’ve got here.’

  Stewart looked at a small open notebook, made another adjustment, ‘I like to keep track of the stations I’m listening to. OK, here’s the first one. A militia station, a few towns over.’

  He turned up the volume and I leaned forward, listening to a man’s hurried voice.

  ‘... Heavy casualties at Bremerton. This message is for the Second New York Activists. I repeat, the Second New York Activists. Your message is as follows: Tango, Tango, Bravo, Foxtrot, Charlie. Repeating again, this is for the Second New York Activists: Tango, Tango, Bravo, Foxtrot, Charlie.’

  Stewart turned his head my way. ‘Get a lot of messages like that. Code.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘These guys are organized, aren’t they? They set up codes, already in place, just in case. That way, they can communicate without worrying about being monitored.’

  ‘Shhh,’ he said, ‘they’re still yapping.’

  He boosted the volume again and the voice said, ‘Another warning to our brethren near the Finger Lakes district. Armored units are reportedly moving in your direction. Repeating for the Finger Lakes district. Armored units, possibly Polish, are moving in your direction. We’ve got word that these units are sticking to back roads, avoiding the main state highways. All right. And a report in from Vanson’s Volunteers: they successfully ambushed a UN convoy heading along Highway Fourteen. Congratulations to Vanson’s Volunteers. And I’m Lieutenant Henry, reporting to you on Radio Free USA. Pass the news along, patriots, pass the news along ...’

  Stewart pursed his lips, moved the dial and said quietly, ‘Not good, hearing those clowns. Let’s see what the UN has to offer.’

  A woman’s voice, more modulated and professional than her competition: ‘…Food-dis
tribution centers at Hopkinton, New Canaan and Riley have been temporarily closed. Please stay tuned to Radio Pax, Albany, for additional information. At the top of the hour today, Radio Pax will again broadcast those areas under safe UN control. If you are not in one of these safe areas, please be assured that the UN Force in the United States will reach you and your family. In the meantime, if you are under some type of threat or hostility, remain calm. Help will be coming to your vicinity. Retreat to a basement or a secure room. Stay away from windows. Do not travel. Listen to this station for further information. Again, this is Radio Pax, Albany…’

  Stewart gave a snort of disgust, flipped through the dials again. ‘Not to worry, the woman says. Chaos is set loose upon the countryside, and neighbors are killing each other because of their place of origin. Help will get there eventually.’

  As the nearest UN representative, I kept my mouth shut. I knew the history of peacekeepers and peacemakers over the years, from Rwanda to Liberia to Bosnia and now the United States. Most times the UN were just like overworked police: by the time they got to you, the best they could do was bury the bodies and tidy up the countryside. But Stewart was leaving me alone. He just went back to his radio consoles.

  ‘Ah, first real good bit of information’ he said, moving the dial slowly with his thick fingers. ‘Hear that?’

  I strained to listen but could only make out the hiss of static. ‘No. I don’t hear a thing. Just white noise, that’s all.’

  Stewart grinned. ‘Yeah, and that’s good. One of the worst militia stations was broadcasting on this frequency, inciting people to rise up in arms and fight the oppressor, whoever the oppressor of the hour happened to be. They went off the air during the armistice but came right back again a few days ago. Real vile stuff—I’m just glad to hear them silenced. Gives me the idea that maybe somebody saner is gaining the upper hand.’

  ‘Where were they located?’ I asked.

  He kept fiddling with the dial. ‘About three miles down the road. So maybe things are clearing up. OK, just one more station, for the hell of it. Let’s hear some of your countrymen.’

  And then came a cultured voice that I recognized from one of the morning news shows on the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Hearing that older gentleman’s voice on the boring and bland and wonderful CBC suddenly made me so homesick that I wished I had never even heard of the UN or UNFORUS.

  ‘... UN headquarters in Geneva is reporting that the general armistice has been successfully reestablished in the states of Michigan and New Hampshire, and that negotiations are continuing in the states of New York, Vermont, Kentucky, Tennessee and Texas. Scattered outbreaks of violence among militia units and supporters of the UN intervention are also continuing in those states, sources said. Meanwhile, hearings on the UN intervention and the terrorist attack on Lower Manhattan and the aerial bombardments last spring are continuing at the American Congress on Capitol Hill, while the President of the United States continues to remain in seclusion at the presidential retreat at Camp David. In national news, the Prime Minister stated today that Canadian military units will remain on duty at all border crossings to the United States for the foreseeable future. The opposition leader, Mister MacDonald, stated that—’

  Stewart switched off the station and said, ‘Well, I think things are about as good as they can be right now. Having the armistice take effect again in Michigan and New Hampshire is good news. Hopefully, they can straighten out the mess here in a few days or so. Even if our glorious President sits on his hands and says and does nothing.’

  ‘Based on what you’re hearing, when would be a good time to leave?’ I asked.

  ‘How does dusk sound?’

  ‘Not any earlier?’

  Stewart started fiddling with other switches on the radios. ‘The militias like to split their activities between daylight and darkness. I’ve found out that around dusk and dawn is when they’re on the move, getting ready to go home. That gives you more opportunities to slip through and make it to the highway—if that’s where you want to go.’

  I shifted my weight on the table. ‘Yeah, I’m still looking at the highway. Eventually the UN’s going to have to regain some sort of control, and the interstates are their best transport operation.’

  ‘All right,’ Stewart said. ‘Like I told you, the interstate is about—’

  A phone rang, startling me. Stewart turned in his chair. The phone rang three times, and then stopped.

  ‘Who could that—’

  He held up his hand so I kept my mouth shut. The phone rang again, five times, before stopping. And then it rang five times again. Stewart’s face seemed to turn gray and his body also seemed to sag in the chair.

  ‘Coded call, right?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So the militias aren’t the only ones using codes,’ I said. ‘Who’s calling you?’

  ‘A friend who, like me, isn’t associated with the militias.’

  I asked, ‘What does this code mean?’

  Stewart rubbed at his beard, ‘It means two things. The first is that you’ve got to get going.’

  I knew I should have stood up but I felt frozen to the chair. ‘And what’s the second meaning of that call?’

  Stewart looked right at me. ‘It means a militia unit is heading right here, right now.’

  ~ * ~

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Stewart got up and I followed him as he raced down the stairs. He talked over his shoulder at me as we went into the living room. ‘Because of who my daughter married, I’ve been on a list. Big deal. Half the county is on a list of some sort, especially those of us who fed or hid refugees from the cities when the shooting started. But we tend to know each other and we try to keep track of what’s going on. And part of keeping track is giving out a warning when the militias are on the move. Jerry.’

  The boy looked up from the television. He didn’t say a word.

  Stewart said, ‘Red alert, son. Take the dog and go down into the cellar. All right? You know the drill.’

  Jerry nodded and said, ‘Tucker.’ The English springer spaniel leaped up and followed him out of the room. I heard the noise of feet and paws slapping on wooden stairs.

  Stewart said, ‘Poor guy’s seen more crap in his nine years than some people have during their entire lives.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ I said.

  ‘And I’m sure of one other thing, and that’s that we’ve got to get you out of here,’ he said. ‘C’mon, not much time to waste.’

  We went into the kitchen and Stewart filled my water bottle, which he passed over to me. I put on my coat and slung my blanket roll over my shoulders. He said, ‘Sorry it can’t be dusk. OK. Here’s the directions. Back past the bam, go over the electric fence. Don’t worry, it’s not turned on. By the fence is an old bathtub. Used it for a while as a watering trough. From there, head up the hill. You’ll see the path. Get up the hill, keep on going straight. The trail will widen some. When you start coming down the opposite slope, you’ll spot the highway in the distance. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes away. Just try to keep moving in a straight line. You can’t miss it.’

  I held out my hand. ‘Thanks. I owe you a lot, Stewart, a hell of a lot.’

  He ignored my outstretched hand. ‘Remember we’re out here, OK? See if you can’t do something about that. And one more thing.’

  Stewart brushed past me, went to a closet beside the door leading outside. He opened the closet door, reached up and pulled something down off an upper shelf. Then he brought it out and presented it to me.

  A scoped rifle with a leather sling.

  I shook my head. ‘I’m UN. I’m not supposed to carry—’

  ‘Yeah, and our Declaration of Independence promised us life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and see where we are now. Look, you said this morning that you didn’t want to go back to the militias. Fine. But for God’s sake, man, take something so you can defend yourself.’

  It took about a second for me to make
up my mind, a second filled with memories of the Aussie television crew and Sanjay and the dead German pilot and Gary, the executed schoolteacher. ‘OK. You’ve convinced me.’

  ‘Fine,’ Stewart said. ‘Listen up, ‘cause we don’t have much time. This is a Remington .22 semi-auto.’ In his other hand he held a small box of ammunition, which he now popped open. He undid a screw assembly under the barrel and said, ‘Simple way of loading. Tube magazine, here beneath the barrel. Takes twelve rounds. Load them in like this, sliding in, one right after another. Then replace the tube.’