For several seconds, no one in the lot answered. Wendell was shaking hard enough for Louis to feel it through his jacket. Then a man called from outside.
“If Louis Collins is inside, identify yourself!”
Louis shouted, “What do you want us to do?”
“Tell me where Louis Collins lived.”
Louis hesitated. “Beverly Hills, California.”
“Good. Then don’t shoot the man on your porch. We’re with the Florida Defense Brigade. We’ve been looking for you since dawn.”
Wendell made a low sound and began to shift. Louis pressed the Colt harder against his back.
Gladice leaned toward the doorway. “How did you find us?”
“Command told us you were in Alabama and headed south. You picked a bad time to cross the border.”
Louis thought of the pizza shop in Richmond and the man who had carried their message across the street. He had delivered it to the Dominion Embassy and Florida command had received it.
Angelique said quietly, “It’s them.”
Gladice kept the rifle raised. “Could be a trap.”
The man outside spoke more sharply.
“Do you want to stay in that church all day or do you want to get out of Alabama before it turns into something worse?”
Louis glanced at Wendell. His face was gray, and sweat ran from his temple.
“Take him back,” Angelique said.
Gladice opened the door wider and seized Wendell by the shoulder. She and Louis dragged him backward into the church. Once he was inside, Gladice kicked the door nearly shut and aimed through the remaining gap.
“Name!” she called to the men outside.
“Staff Sergeant Gabriel Morris!” came the answer.
“Unit!”
“Florida Defense Brigade, 3rd Recon Detachment!”
“Prove it.”
Cloth rustled outside. After a pause, Morris said, “Look low and left. Don’t expose more than your eyes.”
Gladice dropped to one knee and looked through the gap between the door and frame. After checking the patch, she said, “Patch is correct.”
Angelique nodded. “They’re ours.”
“Or they found a dead FDB man,” Gladice answered. She remained beside the door. “I still want more.”
“Tell me the Oath of Service, now!” she called.
Morris answered immediately.
“My place is earned in service.” He spoke clearly across the lot.
“Say something blasphemous,” Gladice added.
“Fuck the Holy States,” said Morris. “And their god too. Now can we talk about getting you out of here before the local boys decide they want to ask more questions?”
Louis looked at Angelique. She nodded.
“Alright, we are going to open the door,” Louis said. “Don’t point your guns at us when you enter, okay?”
“Understood.”
Gladice looked at Louis. She kept the rifle ready and nodded.
Angelique opened the door. The porch was bright in the afternoon sun. One of the militiamen still lay near the rail where he had fallen. Another lay farther out near the steps. Flies circled the blood. Beyond the porch, three men in Florida field gear stood spread across the lot with their rifles at the low ready. All three watched the doorway. The man in the center stepped forward.
Morris stopped two steps inside the doorway. His gaze moved over Gladice’s rifle, Angelique’s shotgun, Jennifer by the left aisle, and Wendell standing beside the door with his hands bound in front of him.
Gladice lowered the rifle. “Sergeant Morris.”
Morris gave her a brief nod. “Sergeant Simington.”
“Mr. Collins, Miss Bourbon.” Morris looked at Jennifer. “Who’s that?”
Jennifer stared back and said nothing.
Louis said, “Our friend.”
Morris gave no reaction. “We were told three. We counted four.” He looked toward Wendell. “Now five, with an enemy combatant.”
“Complicated afternoon,” said Louis.
“Yes, sir.” Morris nodded. “Glad to see you alive.”
“Who shot the militia?” Louis asked.
“Our sniper. Local boys weren’t happy to see us on their road.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course, sir.” Morris looked toward the back of the church. “We have to move now.”
Louis lowered the pistol. His hand ached from gripping it. Morris gestured. The other two Florida soldiers entered and checked the windows and the rear of the church. Both looked tired. One of them was thin, fair-haired, and very young beneath his helmet. He looked twice at Louis, and his ears reddened.
Morris said, “Take what you can carry. Leave the rest.”
Gladice gave a short laugh. “We’re pretty light already.”
“Good.”
Louis holstered the M1911 at his waist and took the cane. Morris noticed.
“You injured, sir?”
“Nothing broken.”
Morris nodded. “Good. Then keep up.”
As they reached the door, the young Florida soldier stepped into Louis’s path, then stopped.
“Sir,” he said.
Morris half turned. “Hayes.”
The boy swallowed. “Command asked for confirmation.”
Morris’s mouth tightened. Hayes looked at Louis. “May I have a visual?”
Louis nearly smiled. Hayes pulled a phone from his chest pocket, then hesitated. “My sister won’t believe me otherwise,” he muttered.
Morris said, “This is not a social club, Private.”
Hayes flushed. “No, sir.”
Angelique let out a brief laugh. Gladice leaned against the doorframe and almost smiled.
Louis said, “Just take the picture.”
Hayes lifted his phone. Louis stood in the church doorway with the cane in one hand while Hayes took the selfie. Hayes grinned, lowered the phone, and slipped it back into his pocket.
“Wonderful,” said Gladice. “Now let’s go before I shoot someone myself.”
They stepped out into the heat. The Florida vehicles waited beyond the rise, screened from the road by pines and scrub. Morris’s squad had parked them where the rise and trees concealed them from the road. One was an open-frame light tactical vehicle with several rows of individual seats beneath a roll cage, already facing south. The second was heavier and boxier. A medic knelt beside its wheel well with an open kit spread on a tarp. A body lay under another tarp beside him, the boots protruding from beneath it. One of the Florida soldiers brought Wendell out next, seized him by the upper arm, and shoved him down behind the heavier truck. Wendell grunted but did not struggle.
“Mr. Collins,” Morris said, pointing to the open tactical vehicle.
Louis turned toward it and kept walking. Angelique and Jennifer climbed into the first pair of passenger seats behind the driver. Gladice took one of the seats in the next row with the rifle between her knees. Louis climbed into the remaining seat with the cane. Pain shot through his knee as he stepped up, and he nearly slipped. Morris caught his arm and pulled him into the seat. The convoy pulled out at once.
Several Humvees and APCs with the Collective markings passed them in the opposite direction, heading toward the church. Looking back through the open rear of the vehicle, Louis watched the church disappear behind the pines. The vehicle followed the winding road south, using the rises and bends to break sight lines. The medic truck stayed twenty yards behind.
No one in the passenger rows spoke for the first minute. The vehicle rattled over the uneven road. Jennifer said, barely audible over the engine and wind, “Are we safe now?”
Gladice rested her head against the padded seatback and closed her eyes, then opened them again. “We’re safer.”
Angelique looked at Jennifer. “You did well.”
Jennifer looked down at her hands and nodded.
Morris called back from the driver’s seat. “We are taking you to a forward command point inside the Florida line. You’ll be seen by medical, debriefed, and then moved again depending on what command decides.”
Louis said, “And my father?”
“We will arrange a video call as soon as you arrive at the CP. If lines allow.”
“Thank you.”
The vehicle crossed a narrow bridge, then turned off the road into denser trees. Louis leaned back against the seat, rested the cane across his leg, and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes, Gladice was watching him. She rested her head against his shoulder, the rifle upright between her knees. After a while, she sat back and looked toward the road ahead.
They crossed into Florida without incident. Hesco walls and concrete barriers forced the road through a narrow checkpoint overlooked by a machine-gun position. Morris stopped beneath an inspection light while a sentry scanned his identification and confirmed the detachment over the radio. A steel road blocker lowered into the pavement, and the convoy passed through. After that, the medic truck turned toward a separate holding compound while their vehicle continued south.
Morris said nothing at first. Then, with one hand on the wheel, he said, “Welcome to Florida.”
Louis looked out through the open side of the vehicle. The land looked the same. The roadsides were different. On the Florida side, the ditches were cleaner, side roads were blocked or watched, and revetments and earthworks broke the tree line.
Louis raised his voice over the engine. “How many people were looking for us?”
Morris laughed. “Every recon detachment in the sector, apparently. Colonel Wainwright told us at briefing to watch for the three of you. Said it came straight from the First Consul. Highest priority.”
“Glad to know the war still has room for special errands,” Gladice said. “How bad is it?”
“Bad. It started fast. If we can hold the Panhandle, command will call that a win.” Morris kept his eyes on the road. “Texas is moving troops up from the rear to reinforce us, but most of them are still on the way.”
Gladice looked out through the open side of the vehicle. “We were going to end up fighting Dixies sooner or later. I’ve been waiting a long time for it.”
“They fired first,” Morris said. “One of our choppers was shot down this morning near the Oklahoma-Texas border. It was still inside Texas airspace.”
An alert tone sounded from the radio on the dash.
“Breaking news. The Holy States of Dixie has issued an official statement regarding this morning’s—”
Morris turned up the volume. Theodore Hargrove’s voice came through the speaker.
“—the devils of the so-called Free State have shed righteous blood and raised their hand against the covenant of Almighty God. Let every church bell ring! Let every faithful man report to his county command, and let every household prepare for sacrifice! By the authority vested in me before God and His people, I declare that a state of war now exists between the Holy States of Dixie and the Free State Collective—”
Jennifer went pale. Angelique leaned forward and switched off the radio. No one spoke much after that.
It was nearly dusk when they reached the forward command point. The command point occupied an old county school and the surrounding fields. The school’s gym served as intake. The football field had been marked as landing zones for helicopters. Along one outer fence, evacuees and low-level officials waited under guard with their bags at their feet. Dust covered their clothes. Morris’s vehicle passed the waiting line and turned into the old faculty lot. Two sentries stepped forward, saw his detachment patch, and moved aside. One of them looked over the passengers in the rear seats.
“Those are them?” he said.
Morris said, “Yes.”
The sentry straightened and raised a radio to his mouth. “Package is in,” he said. “All three.”
They were directed out as soon as the vehicle stopped. A medic and a Florida adjutant with a clipboard and badge lanyard were already waiting. A soldier took Gladice’s rifle and tagged it in front of her. Gladice watched without objecting. Another took Angelique’s shotgun and the radio. Louis’s Colt and Angelique’s knife were sealed in tagged bags for temporary storage.
“Mr. Collins.”
“Miss Bourbon.”
“Sergeant Simington.”
The adjutant checked each name against a sheet, then looked up. “You’ll be seen first. Medical, hygiene, meal, and command debrief in sequence. You’ll have secure quarters after.”
Morris said, “The fourth—”
The adjutant looked at Jennifer, then marked something on the sheet. “She’ll be processed too.”
Louis almost said something. He did not.
They were taken into the old locker-room corridor behind the gym, which had been divided into treatment bays and wash stations. A medic apologized and cut open Louis’s trouser leg, then unwrapped, examined, and rewrapped his knee. After pressing around the joint, he said, “You’re lucky,” and fitted Louis with a fresh support brace that smelled of new rubber.
Another medic checked the bruise on Gladice’s shoulder and cleaned a cut on her hand. She did not complain. Angelique stayed in one of the shower stalls for nearly ten minutes. No one hurried her. After washing, all four were given plain civilian clothes from the relief stores, close enough in size to wear. When Jennifer came out, her washed hair hung loose at her shoulders. Without her dress and arranged hair, she looked younger.
The adjutant returned with her clipboard. A captain from staff intelligence accompanied her. They stopped at the threshold of the wash corridor.
“Miss Hargrove?” the captain said.
Jennifer looked up. Angelique went still beside Louis. Gladice stopped tying her boot and raised her head. The captain stepped inside and stopped several feet from Jennifer.
“Jennifer Hargrove?”
Jennifer did not answer. She looked at Louis first.
“Yes,” she said.
The captain nodded. “You’ll come with me.”
Louis said, “Why?”
The captain looked at him. “Identity clarification.”
“She’s with us,” said Louis.
“Yes,” the captain said. “And she is also the daughter of Theodore Hargrove.”
Louis opened his mouth and closed. Jennifer looked from one face to another.
The captain said, “It is procedural. Please come with me now.”
Jennifer tightened her fingers around the rolled towel until they blanched. “Will I see them again?”
No one answered. After a pause, the captain said, “You will be briefed.”
Jennifer’s chin trembled, then steadied. She looked at Louis, then Angelique, and finally Gladice.
Angelique stepped forward. “Do not answer anything you do not understand,” she said.
The captain glanced at Angelique but did not respond. Gladice stood. “We will find you, Jenny.”
Jennifer nodded and looked at Louis again.
Louis met her gaze. “We will go to the Dominion together. You have my word.”
Her grip on the towel loosened. She lowered her head. The captain and adjutant moved to either side of her. They escorted her down the locker corridor and through a side door into the command section. After a few steps, she looked back once, then faced forward. Louis kept watching the closed door, though there was nothing left to see.
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