The White Fox Chronicles (12 page)

T
he blistering sun beat down on them without mercy. The hot air was thick and still and every breath was a struggle. There was no shade in sight, nothing but shimmering white sand for miles in any direction.

The horse stumbled and dropped, first to his knees and then all the way down. Cody stood facing him, tugging on the reins. “Come … on. Don’t quit on me now.”

Mike barked and nipped halfheartedly at
the horse’s back feet but the exhausted animal wouldn’t budge.

Cody stopped pulling. His arms ached and every movement was a strain. A trickle of salty sweat ran into his eyes. He didn’t try to wipe it away. Instead, he slowly crawled to the horse and started unloading the canvas bags and boxes that were tied on its back.

When he finished, Cody lay down beside the horse to take advantage of what little shade its body offered. The dog joined him.

“I really got us into a jam this time, Mike.” He ruffled the dog’s ears. “Maybe what we need to do now is take a break. Just a short one …” He put his arm up to shield his eyes from the sun’s fierce rays.

They had started across the sand more than two days earlier. Cody had hoped that this route would prove to be a shortcut to his destination in the desert.

But he’d been wrong. Now he was smack in the middle of seemingly endless dunes that led nowhere. Lying on the searing gypsum, he could feel his thoughts slowly slipping into
delirium and he struggled to keep himself alert. Think, he chided himself. If you lose it now you’re done for. Don’t forget who you are and why you’re here. There are people depending on you.

“I
say we go ahead with our plans. Now that we have the guns and grenades we need …”

“No, Landers. They belong to the kid. As much as we need the stuff, we better wait and see what he was doing with them. Chances are he was carrying those things to someone who needs them a lot worse.”

Landers spit on the ground in disgust. “Come on, Jake. What would a kid be doing with this kind of equipment unless he stole it?
He was probably on his way to sell it to the highest underground bidder. I say we take it.”

The tall gray-headed man named Jake pulled the hood of his sand-colored poncho back and turned to look at the boy sleeping on the cot across the room. “If my hunch is right, that’s no ordinary kid.” He put his hand on Landers’ shoulder. “Before we can do anything, we’ve got an army to train. Let’s get to it.”

Landers rolled his eyes and held the tent flap open. “Some army. A couple of old men and a handful of homeless kids.”

Cody had listened to the entire exchange but thought it best not to let the men know he was awake until he was a little more sure of his surroundings.

After they left the tent he opened his eyes. He was lying on a hard cot inside a large off-white canvas tent. There were a desk and two chairs in one corner and a locked trunk near the back wall.

Carefully he rolled off the cot and crawled to the door. It was late afternoon. He could
see that the camp was small and was set up on the edge of the sand near several trees and a small pool of water.

Outside he could hear the men barking orders. Cody moved away from the door. There was nothing here to tell him where he was or what kind of people had found him. His eyes fell on the trunk. He edged over to it and reached into his shirt pocket for the piece of wire he always carried.

Expertly he picked the lock and swung the lid open. Inside were maps, clothes and a picture of a tall man standing beside an F-119, the same kind of plane his dad had flown.

“Find anything in there that interests you?”

Cody spun around in a crouched position, his hands up ready to defend himself. The man in the picture was standing in the door with his arms folded.

“Not much.” Cody straightened. “Where am I and why did you bring me here?”

The man unfolded his arms and moved to one of the chairs. “You are in the camp of what’s left of G Company, United States Army. I’m Jake Christmas, Major. And I rescued
you because you looked like you needed it. Now, you answer my questions. What’s your name and what in Sam Hill are you doing out here alone carrying that small arsenal?”

Cody chose his words carefully. “My name is Cody, Cody Pierce. I’m on my way to … help some people out of a bad situation.”

Jake sat quietly for a few seconds. He watched Cody warily. “I’ve seen the wanted posters on you. You’re the White Fox. They say you escaped from one of their toughest prison camps and that you might be responsible for blowing up a weapons storage facility and killing the Republic guards who were stationed there.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear.” Cody tried to act nonchalant. “Listen, I really appreciate your bringing me here. I would probably have died out there. Maybe sometime I can return the favor but now I need to be on my way.” He paused. “Did my horse and dog make it?”

“Sorry, I had to put your horse down. He was all in. But your dog is fine. He’s pretty
tough. One of the kids is taking care of him. About returning that favor …”

Cody cocked his head suspiciously. “What do you want?”

“Right now, if you feel up to it, I’d like you to take a walk through camp with me. After that, we’ll discuss how you can pay me back.”

T
he bright sunlight made Cody squint. His eyes still burned from hours of staring at the glistening white sand.

His initial impression of the camp had been correct. It was on the fringe of a sand dune with only a handful of tents in a semicircle around a central compound.

Jake stopped on the edge of the grounds. A short stocky man with light brown hair cut in a flattop was standing in front of a group of kids, holding Cody’s machine gun and explaining
how it worked. They were all wearing lightweight sand-colored ponchos.

“Come on.” Jake motioned for him to follow. “I want you to meet my … soldiers.” He led Cody to the man who was doing the talking. “Captain Landers, meet Cody Pierce. Cody, this is Doug Landers, my next in command. And this”—he swung his hand around—“is all that’s left of G Company.”

Landers shook Cody’s hand stiffly while the others crowded around.

The shortest boy, who Cody guessed couldn’t be more than ten years old, weaseled his way in front of the others. A long black curl fell down on his forehead and he blew it off his face impatiently. “If you don’t want your dog anymore I’ll take him.”

Cody raised an eyebrow. “I suspect that’ll be up to him. Mike sort of goes where he wants.”

Jake laughed. “This is Davey. He could talk the stripes off a zebra.”

A tall African American boy stepped close. “How come you’re so stupid you got caught out in the dunes?”

Cody squared his shoulders and stared
evenly at the boy. Finally a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I guess it was kind of stupid, wasn’t it?”

The boy relaxed and grinned. “I’m Damian but my friends call me Slick.” He introduced the rest of the kids, pointing out each one in the circle. “This is Matt; he’s so serious because his dad was a captain and he thinks that makes him regular army. Nick Trujillo is the pretty boy in back. The redhead is Trisha. She’s the only girl in camp. And this hero is Patch.” Slick stood behind a younger boy who wore a round brown patch over his left eye. Slick slapped him playfully on the back. “He got a little too close to an exploding grenade.”

Cody smiled. So this was Jake’s army. He thought back to when Colonel Wyman had told him that kids weren’t really needed in this war. Cody gave them all a friendly glance. “Nice to meet you guys. And thanks for putting me up. I appreciate it.”

“Well, I guess that’s everybody,” Jake said pleasantly, “except for the Smiths. If you’re hungry we’ll go to the mess tent and you can meet them. They do all the cooking, take care
of the bees and generally look after everyone in the camp.”

“Bees?” Cody looked at him curiously.

“It’s a hobby of theirs. They started with a nest of wild ones. Now they have several hives. We don’t mind because it keeps us in fresh honey.”

Cody followed him to a tent with large screened windows. Three metal folding tables with benches sat in the middle and at one end hanging from a hook was the carcass of a large African oryx antelope. Eighty years before they had been planted on a missile range in New Mexico and now they were everywhere. Two elderly men were busy skinning it.

Cody stopped when he saw them. The men were identical. They were slight in build and their skin was brown and dry like overdone bacon. Their faces were lined and the crevices in them so deep it was hard to see the color of their eyes.

“Cody, this is Tom and Joe Smith. No one around here can ever tell them apart, so if you want one of them just holler ‘Mr. Smith’ and you’ll get an answer.”

“This the kid you found when you were out hunting?” one of the men asked.

Jake nodded.

“He stayin’ for supper?” the other one questioned.

“He hasn’t said yet.” Jake turned to Cody. “Are you?”

“Am I invited?”

“Don’t have to be invited around here.” One of the twins started carving on the carcass again. “All you have to do is show up to the table.”

“In that case,” Cody said, rubbing his empty stomach, “I’m staying.”

“H
ave a chair, Cody. Captain Landers and I have a proposition for you.”

Cody chewed his lip and settled down in one of the hard wooden chairs in Jake’s tent.

Jake paced the floor twice and then stopped in front of him. “First let me tell you that just because I saved your life, your dog and your supplies—not to mention the fact that we fed you—I don’t want you to feel obligated to do what we’re about to ask.”

Cody’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not so sure I like where this is heading.”

Jake grinned, then took a deep breath and ran his hand through his gray hair. “The captain and I need your help.”

Landers cleared his throat. “And your weapons.”

Cody shook his head. “I’d like to help you out but that stuff is earmarked. I have a private score to settle with the CCR.”

“We could take it from you,” Landers said irritably.

The chair Cody was sitting in creaked as he leaned back against the tent wall. He fixed Landers with a quiet look. “I can absolutely guarantee that you wouldn’t have them long.”

The tension in the room was thick. Landers started to say something, then let it die off.

Jake broke the silence. “We have no intention of stealing anything from you, Cody. We’re all Americans here and we’re all working for the good of what’s left of our country. Captain Landers was out of line.” He unfolded
a large map and smoothed it out on the table. “Will you at least listen to what I have to say?”

“Sure.” Cody let his chair drop. “I owe you that much.”

“Here’s our location.” Jake pointed to a spot on the map. “The CCR doesn’t know we’re here yet. They never fly over because there’s nothing out here in this desolate area they want. We’re still careful, though—just in case.”

“Is that why you wear those light-colored ponchos?” Cody asked.

“Right. They blend in with the sand.” Jake pulled up the other chair. “This”—he pointed to a dark barbed line on the map—“is the Turbo Track. The CCR has been using it to transport supplies to outposts and camps in the desert.”

“I’ve heard of it. When I was in the prison camp most of our supplies came off that train.”

“So far the CCR has only used the Turbo for minor things like supplying the prison camps, so none of the U.S. resistance groups
have bothered with it. But now we’ve received word that in two weeks’ time a large shipment of raw trilithium is coming through.”

“Whew.” Cody’s eyebrows went up. “The CCR must be building a few more nukes.”

“They’ve taken over a nuclear laboratory in New Mexico. The shipment will be sent there on the Turbo.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” Cody shrugged. “Tell Colonel Wyman and the army to come over and take out the train.”

“The problem is that we already sent this information to the higher-ups last month. But the first date we had was false. We took a squad out to stop the shipment and the CCR was waiting for us. The information was planted. They wanted to see what we would throw at them before they sent the real shipment.” The creases in Jake’s forehead deepened. “We lost most of the company. Those kids outside lost their parents on an empty run.”

“I don’t get it,” Cody said, frowning. “Won’t the army send you more troops for
something this serious? Heck, they could do a hit-and-run in a chopper and put a stop to it.”

“The word from headquarters is they don’t have enough men to spare for something they’re not absolutely sure of.”

“Are
you
sure?” Cody asked thoughtfully.

“My source is the best there is—me. I can’t tell you how I know. I just do.”

“Do you have a plan?”

Jake sighed. “Not really. The kids are great but they don’t know anything about fighting. Landers and I were going to have to use them anyway, at least as backup. I felt we had no other choice—that is, until now.”

Cody ignored the last part of Jake’s statement. “What did you have in mind?”

“The Turbo stops here to fuel up.” Jake pointed to a black square on the map. “That’s where we hit them the last time. But now we know they’ll be ready for us. So Landers came up with the idea of waiting until they were on the way out of the fuel depot to attack. The train will be moving but not too fast.”

“Good idea.” Cody nodded. “Then you can target just the cars you want.” He stood up
and studied the map. “Right about here”—he tapped the map—“you could unhook a few of the cars and let the end of the train go. If there were any troops on them, they’d be stranded in the desert.”

“Hmmm.” Landers rubbed his chin. “Not a bad suggestion.”

“The Smiths are our drivers,” Jake cut in. “We were planning on having them meet us here, outside Tingley, where we’ll offload and then bring the stuff back to camp until headquarters tells us what to do with it.”