I didn’t even bother to turn around. My screens showed that Amos and Jagger had both fired, taking down someone. “Secure the area,” I said over comms. “Call in Medic.”
“Hand of the Law and Medic are busy in town with Marconi’s diversion,” Jagger said.
“Bloody hell.So we’re on our own.” I leaned down and helped people up until I found the woman who had spoken to me earlier. I offered her my hand.
Her breath caught when she moved. “Broken ribs,” she said, matter-of-fact, as she stood.
“Do you know where the medical supplies are stored?” I asked. “Water? Food?”
“Yes.” She lifted a hand as if to point, but her fingers were swollen and twisted, broken and left to heal out of shape. They looked as if she had tried to set the bones herself. “In that RV.”
“Do they have a med-bay?”
“Yes. Rudimentary. A first-generation MBB. For battle triage and stabilization only.” That was medical and soldier jargon. When I looked at her, she said, “I was a nurse. My name’s Gretchen.”
“No. Youarea nurse. Those men? They didnottake away who you are.”
Her eyes passed through a series of changes as the words settled into some wounded place inside her. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and instantly dried. She looked away.
I carefully didn’t touch her. “Hey. See that woman?” I pointed to Cupcake who was striding through the carnage with a tread that radiated rage. She passed a downed man, and when he twitched, she pulled a weapon, shot him in the head, and reholstered so fast the motion was nearly invisible. I was so proud of her. She stopped and picked up something from the ground near her target. I tapped my comms to include her. “Her name is Cupcake. She can do anything,anything,that needs doing. You two get things organized—med-bay, water, and food. Make sure the children are cared for.”
Cupcake stopped in front of me. “Gretchen is a nurse,” I said to her. “She knows where everything is.”
Cupcake and Gretchen exchanged nods. Cupcake held open a long jacket she had picked up from the ground, standing back like a servant or a gentleman in an old film. Gretchen eased her broken hands into the sleeves and pulled the front together. Cupcake leaned forward slowly and offered flex ties. “I can secure the front,” she said gently.
“Thank you,” Gretchen whispered.
“Jagger,” I said into comms, pointing. “Clear that RV. There’s water and medical supplies in it.”
“Roger that.” He bounded up the steps. Shots rang out. Jagger returned fire once. Twice. Two bodies flew through the air and landed in a heap, moaning.
“Those men?” I nodded to the injured bad guys. “You can have them. Your kidnappers and abusers are yours to do with what you want.”
Gretchen looked up at me and something fierce crossed her face. “Good. But it will never be enough.”
“Get your people organized,” I repeated. “Get them help. We can call in the sheriff in the morning.”
“Make sure it isn’t Deputy Darson. He’s a regular.”
“Is he now? I wonder how that will go over with the officer whose wife died out here.”
Gretchen’s voice was emotionless when she said, “Who do you think killed her?”
I cursed and walked away, leaving her and Cupcake in charge. They began issuing orders, taking over medical care, and apportioning food and water. I shut down the chatter. I tried not to look at the former prisoners, but an idea sprang up and wriggled in the back of my brain like a worm on a hook. I looked at the dead men. Three were wearing washed-out night camo.
I told my suit to soften. It didn’t. I tried a couple different words, and it was still battle hard.
Jagger was chuckling into my earbuds. “Try ‘Pliable Mode.’”
I did, and the suit went back to pajama soft.
“Tents and RVs are cleared,” he said. “Bringing three bad guys. Where do you want them?”
“Truss them to the big tree near the fire pit. Add any who are wounded but still alive. They belong to the women and children they hurt.”
I felt Jagger’s reaction roil through the nanobots that connected us. “Roger that,” he said softly.
With security in place, Jagger and Amos disappeared into the brush, carrying equipment that would ping and locate the Simba—assuming that the information we had on the main battle tank’s location had been accurate. Assuming the Simba was anything more than a bit of imagination, battle legend, and wishful thinking.
