Chapter 12: The Quest

The additions to the cabin started in earnest the next morning with everyone but Catalina and Miller dragging the heavy logs down to the staging area, using a sled to help them along. The rain had passed with thunderous booms in the night, and the ground had dried out as the sun rushed quickly to warm the late-May air.

Miller started to work on marking cuts needed in the existing structure, the design minimizing the impact to the cabin as it stood then. Catalina helped sew thick curtains which would cover the hole while they worked on the additional rooms.

June rushed in with hot weather, and they sweated as the new additions came together fairly quickly. By the 11th of that month, the work was nearing completion, enough for Miller to proclaim, "we go' this from 'ere, Major. Whenever ya feel ya gotta go, ya go."

Hitch had admittedly become restless for information about Willow. Miller and he had each spent some time at the radio, but they heard little of immediate interest on the rare times the weak signals made their way deep into the mountains. He couldn't help the growing belief, though, that his daughter was alive.

He took Diego hunting a few times over that period, hoping the young man would be able to go out with Kim-Ly should Miller take ill or otherwise be unable to be out in the bush so long. Diego was still learning his aim, but he killed a couple of large does between several misses, so there was some hope.

He also continued to drill Kieu-Linh on basic tactical movements, impressing upon her how easy it was to get turned around in a fight, how often one could misunderstand enemy movements and suddenly be behind the opponent's lines. He showed her how to plan ambushes and reinforce foxholes, how to flank positions, and how to estimate the distance to parts of the battlefield which might not be visible. He also taught her how to bark or whisper orders, depending on the situation, and how to utilize runners and subordinates in each situation. There was a lot of crawling in the mud involved in all of it.

Hitch had been forming a plan about how to get west, but, like any plans laid out with such uncertainty, it wasn't likely to hold long after they'd departed. He wanted to travel north as fast as possible, his best, albeit outdated, information suggested that the armies fighting for the group out of Chicago which still claimed the United States mantle held much of the grasslands of Kentucky and points north. He thought about all the miles this would force them to go away from the most direct routes, but the benefit was that, if they made it, they had a reasonable chance of moving through friendly territory all the way to Denver, the first place he wanted to reach in their search for his daughter.

He'd discussed using his truck, which was still near the bunker, to move faster, but he knew gasoline would be difficult to come by, and it made them stick out anywhere the truck wasn't recognized. If locals had switched allegiance as Javier had suggested, it made it harder to pass through without drawing attention to themselves.

Of course, humping it over rough terrain was going to take a much longer time. Depending on the weather and how often they have to travel through hostile territory or across treacherous ground, it could easily take a month, even two. And they'd have to resupply en route, there was no chance that they could carry everything they needed, which, at times, would probably mean stopping to hunt.

Hitch worried, though, that the reports of their rifles would bring attention. In the mountains, before he'd chosen his final bunker site, he'd scouted some distance around to be sure he had a small measure of sound protection from those dwelling closest and from major roads. Even though he was certain people had heard him, he had avoided drawing direct attention which led others to investigate the sounds. The same was true for Miller, who knew the surroundings and had shown Hitch where to hunt to keep the sound exposure to a minimum.

Regardless, on June 14th, Kieu-Linh and Hitch stepped off with extended farewells and a lump in the teen's throat. Even with her eagerness, it was harder to leave her parents than it had been when she'd stayed behind with Hitch the winter before. She understood the risks she was taking, that those might be the last moments she ever saw them, the uncertainty of their quest weighing heavily with the knowledge that they might lose their lives along the way.

But she was tough, Hitch's young wife, and once they were past the unmarked bounds of her parents' land, she showed her excitement and confidence once more.

"Wait here, I just want to take a look," Hitch whispered, looking down the low hill to the dark house below.

They'd been on the way north for eight days, somewhere near the border between Kentucky and Tennessee. After a small detour around Knoxville when it was clear the Empire had massed forces there, they'd moved mostly due north without issue.

Kieu-Linh said softly, "okay. I'm ready."

Their food was running low and this was the first chance to seek resupply. While they'd picked a few berries and found nuts to eat, they'd not stopped to hunt, not wanting to risk it in enemy-held territory. Hitch crept down to the backside of the modest house. It wasn't shabby or in ill-repair, though the grass was high and unkempt, a normal sight most everywhere. He could see where some of it had been tamped down as if by repeated foot traffic near the back entrance and around the side. It certainly suggested it was in use.

It was an hour or so before dawn, and it was the time, Hitch hoped, he'd have the best chance of scouting it unseen. He heard nothing after long moments listening, then tested the knob on the back door, which was locked. He eased around the side and found a window slightly ajar, screen in place, curtains fluttering just a bit with the warm breeze. Hitch listened again, but still heard no sign of occupants.

He moved to the front door, and it, too was locked. Hitch had years earlier stopped feeling guilty about stealing food or supplies. Sure, he understood that whoever lived there would have less, but back during The War, it meant his men didn't starve or freeze. They always came first, and now, so did Kieu-Linh.

He slid back to the window which was ajar, listened again, and tried to ease the screen out of its groove. It came free quickly, and he quietly set it aside, slipping his head in. He saw a bed, but there was no one in it, so he gently lifted his body inside and crouched beside the old low dresser nearby.

Still hearing nothing, he went room-by-room, and despite many obvious signs of recent use, no one was inside. He quickly moved to the pantry where he found cases of military field rations, likely of Mexican origin, wads of bandages, and candles. Hitch stuffed the bags he'd brought in with as much food as he could carry, saving room for a handful of candles, pushing bundles of bandages into what room remained. He slipped out of the window just as drunken laughter exploded up the hill.

In the direction he'd left Kieu-Linh.

Hitch shouldered the food and unholstered his M9, listening. He already had three strong, covered positions mapped out in his mind, snapped automatically as he'd come down towards the house. He moved to one quickly and crouched. He heard more laughter, then the sound of a bottle breaking.

Three men strolled down the hill a few dozen meters from where Kieu-Linh should have been waiting, hidden. Between two of them was a thin woman who was smiling and clearly drunk. The way her clothing was disheveled suggested they'd been doing more than drinking.

He waited until they passed below him and went into the house through the back. Hitch raced uphill and found Kieu-Linh a bit nervous but in control. "Let's move!" he said in a harsh whisper.

Despite the darkness, Hitch led the way up a long, gentle slope and down into a gully which ran parallel to the main ridge, then broke west where trees grew thicker near a small creek. It was over an hour later, as dawn began to glow, that they stopped to catch their breath. Hitch peeled open a ration package as Kieu-Linh did the same, and he couldn't help laughing that the Mexican MREs weren't much different than the ones he'd known, the food inside typically ranging from decent to nearly inedible.

Not that that stopped him from eating everything in the pouch and grinning at Kieu-Linh as he did.

Kieu-Linh spotted the US patrol before Hitch saw them. They had camped alongside an overground field in the night, just outside of Lexington, Kentucky, a place they hoped to discover was still in American hands. From there, they had planned to collect information and, hopefully, start moving west towards Denver. The patrol was a sharp-looking band of eleven men and women wearing green fatigues marching swiftly down a narrow, winding road, trailed by a Jeep with two men inside. The flag patch on their shoulders marked them as possible friendlies.

"What do you want to do?" Kieu-Linh whispered, "they might take us instead of letting us pass through."

"I know," Hitch replied quietly, "but at some point soon, we have to gather intelligence. Let's just watch a moment. Keep an eye out for flankers." He'd been over such concepts with her many times. Just because you didn't see them didn't mean a handful of scouts hadn't moved out to protect the flanks and spot enemy positions before the main body had passed into an ambush.

They crouched silently a while as the patrol headed north and disappeared around the bend. "I think we follow them carefully, let's see where they're heading." He stood and shouldered his heavy pack.

"Need to pee," Kieu-Linh declared, dropping her pack then sliding her pants down to her knees with one hand, squatting and pissing freely. She used a rag to wipe through her hairy crotch, then righted her jeans and retrieved the pack. "Okay."

They'd had no time or energy to make love on the trip, and Hitch was really beginning to miss that intimate contact with his young wife. Each night, they were tired from the travel and didn't want to risk being caught unaware in unknown lands. It had been tempting, to be sure, but they had yet to give in to those desires. He kissed Kieu-Linh quickly, and they moved ahead at a steady, measured pace.

They followed the patrol at a distance for more than an hour before the soldiers slipped through three rings of concertina wire and between a large wall of sandbags. Hitch listened and could hear heavy machinery grinding in the compound which spread out over a large, flattened area, several football fields in size.

"James?" Kieu-Linh prompted him.

"I'll go down. You wait here."

"What if they don't let you leave... ?"

"We discussed that earlier. You wait at Point Beta for a week and go home if I don't show up."

"I don't like that plan."

"Me either," he said, "but we have to find out things we can't learn out here. We need to know what we might have to pass through."

"Yes, Sir," she said quietly.

"I'll be back. I love you."

"You better ... and I love you, too, James."

He'd left behind the rifle and M4 as well as his pack, slowly striding up the slight rise along the straight paved road, his M9 still tight against his hip. He was a Marine officer, and it would have made him feel unbalanced to remove it. Riflemen spotted him almost immediately and used amplified speakers to instruct him to stop. Hitch did as he was told and waited.

A Jeep approached and stopped fifty meters away, two soldiers stepping out and aiming their rifles at him. "This is a United States military facility," one man shouted through a megaphone, "this isn't a sanctuary for civilians. If you need assistance, you can seek it at Camp Nelson to the south."

"I'm a Marine officer, retired. I seek information."

"Are you armed?"

"Yes, my sidearm," Hitch replied.

"Slowly unholster your weapon and place it on the ground, then take five steps back."

Again, Hitch followed instructions despite how uncomfortable it made him to set the M9 on the pavement.

There was a pause, then the soldiers holding rifles on him advanced to within a few yards and stopped again. Another man moved to the side. "I'm Captain Patterson of the United States Marine Corps. Identify yourself, Sir."

"Major James Hitchens, formerly of 2-2-Bravo."

"What brings you here, Major?"

Hitch couldn't help chuckling despite the rifles aimed at his chest. "It's a long story. I need information. I'm trying to get west to join up with a Brigade fighting there. I have come up from near Asheville through Imp territory."

Patterson approached him and reached out a hand, "welcome, Major. I'm sure you understand why we'll need to be certain you are not a threat here."

"Of course."

He was patted down and one of the men took his M9. "I'd like that back before I leave," Hitch told the Marine who glared at him before sticking it inside the Jeep.

"Where'd you serve, Major?" the Captain asked as he walked behind and to the left of Hitch.

"Mead, the Colorado fights, Tulsa ... before that fell apart, then I went bush with some of my men and fought in the mountains south of here for a few years."

"Impressive. I was in Tulsa almost three years ago, briefly. Nobody there anymore, Imps not even paying attention to it."

"So they've withdrawn south?"

"Not exactly. Not enough troops to cover everywhere, so they pulled back to the oil and gas fields in Oklahoma and Texas, still holding on to the Colorado, Florida, hell, most of the Gulf States." The man paused, then asked, "how long have you ... been away, Major?"

"Six years since I left the fight and went to ground. I've only had bits and pieces since then."

"Not much has changed, I suppose," Patterson stated evenly, "other than the flare up in the west, we've been status quo since '29. The Imps don't move north, and we rarely probe them anymore."

They stepped through the opening in the wire and passed into the compound. The Captain walked ahead of Hitch and led the way, saying, "follow me, Major."

He was taken inside a small, portable building near the center and sat at a small table while Patterson disappeared. There was nothing on the walls, nothing to give him any sign of useful information.

The door opened and two women and a man walked in. "Major Hitchens," the first woman said, dark eyes hard and steady, "I'm Colonel Simpkins. What can we do for you?"

"I just need information, really. I'm making my way west, trying to meet up with the Denver Patriots or one of the Free American forces fighting out there. I don't know what I'm facing along the way."

Simpkins glowered a moment, then spit, "the Free Americans can go to hell, Major."

He didn't respond, long practice teaching him to avoid confrontation unless it was useful. He'd learned that the hard way when he was demoted before Third Colorado. "Ma'am?" he said instead.