Clothed with the Sun by J.B. Simmons

Author:J.B. Simmons [Simmons, J.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-02-26T16:00:00+00:00

THE CAPTAIN LED Sven and me to the back of the plane, where a ramp had opened and extended onto the shore. A green military truck was waiting on the ramp.

“You brought this?” I asked.

The Captain rubbed his hand along the bar across the vehicle’s open top. “It’s normal stock for the plane, but Sven stripped it. Now it has the best tires and engine of today, without an ounce of working circuitry.”

We loaded in, and the Captain drove onto shore.

“Wait here,” Sven said. As the Captain stopped the vehicle, Sven gestured toward the plane. It shut its doors like a clam, drifted away from shore, and then sank underwater. “No one will find it until we return.”

“Well done.” The Captain sounded almost happy as he drove away. Maybe he liked the fresh air. The view over golden plains to immense mountains to the west probably helped, too. No wonder my father had wanted land out here.

As we barreled through the open country, I felt a million miles away from yesterday. It felt harder to steer my path without Ronaldo around; he’d been like my rudder while adrift at sea.

“They’re also precept holdouts.” Sven’s words caught my attention. He’d been telling the Captain what he’d learned about the couple that maintained my father’s ranch. My ranch. “The government’s list of holdouts is getting shorter, but cities are still the focus. Remote places like this”—Sven motioned around us—“are last in line for mandatory precept sweeps. I figure it’ll be done within a couple years. Despite lacking precepts, though, these two have logged some unusual activity.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Their supply orders,” Sven answered. “They’ve gotten way more food than two people could eat in a year.”

“Maybe they’re stockpiling for a disaster?”

“Maybe,” the Captain said, doubtful. “We just need a few days to set up for our mission. No matter what these people are hiding, it’s safer here than in DC.”

The Captain went on to explain that, once we arrived, he would pretend to be my personal assistant. Sven would be a consultant from one of my new tech startups. I’d be myself, the inherited landowner coming on a whim to see his ranch.

The sun was an orange ball hovering over the mountaintops when we first saw the herd of cows. A man on a horse waved and rode toward us. As we got closer, he took off his cowboy hat. I’d never seen anything like it, except in clips from old movies.

“Hey there, strangers,” the cowboy greeted us with a half smile. “What brings you out here?” The man had bright blue eyes, blonde hair to his shoulders, and a wide jaw.

“To see some beautiful country,” the Captain answered, climbing out of the vehicle.

The cowboy swung off his horse and began pulling off his worn leather gloves. “You’ve come to the right place.” He held out his hand to the Captain. “I’m Tristan Baines.”

The Captain shook his hand. “I’m Prescott Walker. You can call me Scott.” And just like that, I learned the man’s name, or at least a name he called himself.

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