FREEDOM FIGHTERS by Tracy Cooper-Posey

Vistaria Has Fallen Book 3.0

Military Romantic Suspense Novel

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Excerpt

EXCERPT FROM FREEDOM FIGHTERS
COPYRIGHT © TRACY COOPER-POSEY 2018
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Carmen stopped hating Garrett long enough to dig into the battered backpack hanging from her shoulder and hand him the wad of Vistarian currency. He took it from her silently, then handed it to the man sitting on the other side of the little, scratched table.

Hernandez Garcia took the cash and looked at it. “Are you sure, señor?” he asked Garrett. “I am a loyal Vistarian. I would give you these things if you must truly have them.”

Carmen scowled at Garrett and turned to look out the window of the small house they were in. She stood next to Efraín, who was their sentry this time. Efraín had his rifle cocked and the butt resting on his hip as his gaze flickered from point to point across the landscape outside.

“Still okay?” Carmen asked in a murmur.

“Still okay.”

Behind her, Garrett spoke to Hernandez patiently. “It’s better that you have a way to explain to the Insurrectos why you lost your phone and your laptop. This way, you can tell them that some strange people paid you a lot of money for them.”

“Why can I not say that they were stolen? It’s such a lot of money, señor!”

“Because if they were really stolen, you would have reported the theft to the community station as soon as they went missing and you would inform the telephone company, too. That would make the phone and the laptop useless to us more quickly that we would like.”

“Then I will tell the Insurrectos nothing!” Hernandez declared.

“Garrett,” Carmen said warningly. They had been in the house far too long already.

Garrett glared at her with flint gray eyes and turned back to Hernandez. “If you say nothing you will be declaring yourself a Loyalist.  They’re still hanging anyone they think is a Loyalist without benefit of a trial.” He shook his head. “Take the money, Hernandez. Then you will merely look like an enterprising Vistarian.”

Hernandez nodded. “I will do what you say, señor. But it troubles me to do so.”

“Troubled is a condition I can deal with,” Garrett said, standing up. “Dead, I cannot cure.”

“Garrett,” Carmen urged him once more.

“Take a pill,” he snapped at her, in English. He picked up his rifle and slung it over his shoulder so it hung low on his back.  Then he dropped the grubby serape over the top and donned the straw cowboy hat he favored. The scrubby growth on his cheeks and chin that he never bothered to shave grew in much darker than his blond hair.  With the hat, he didn’t look foreign at first glance. Foreigners were unknown on the streets of Vistaria’s cities and towns these days.  The beard also hid most of the scars on his face, which would make him memorable.

The serape was an indeterminate gray-green color. The stripes of wool were once brighter and more varied. Time, dirt, smoke and sweat had turned the serape into a muted, dirty and disguising garment. It didn’t look like camouflage, but it worked just as well to hide Garrett among the trees.

Carmen stuffed the laptop and cellphone into her backpack, then tucked her own rifle back over her shoulder and checked the safety on the Smith & Wesson. She wore a light jacket that came down to mid-thigh and hid the gun on her hip.

Efraín kept his gaze on the window while they prepared.

“Efraín?” Garrett asked softly.

“Clear.”

With a last nod at Hernandez, Garrett stepped out of the house, taking the lead. Carmen followed him out and moved to his right flank, quartering the area without turning her head. It was clear, as advertised.

Relaxing only a little, she hurried after Garrett. He was already striding down the steep hill toward the trees. They had left the rest of the unit on the outskirts of town, in a tucked-away glade on the edge of the tree line. Only three of them heading into the town had been a risk, but larger numbers would have drawn attention.

It was an overcast day, with an iron-gray sky that promised rain. The heat had not let up for more than a week. It was the dog days of summer. Until she had moved to the States to study, Carmen hadn’t known what that meant. Now, moving through damp air bereft of the smallest breeze, her body sticky with sweat, she thought the name was perfect.

They maintained silence all the way out of Cerro Ciudad, which suited Carmen just fine. She glared at Garrett’s back occasionally. He watched their route ahead. For all she knew, he also watched through the back of his head and sideways. Garrett had instincts that had saved them more than once. She always monitored him to catch his first twitch of alarm.

There was no one on streets. It was siesta time and although a town this high up in the foothills wouldn’t need to sleep away the heat of the day, the habit was ingrained. They made the clearing without alarm.

Angelo moved across the clearing and touched Carmen’s shoulder. That was all he did, but Carmen could feel Garrett’s scowl in reaction.

The eight of them moved through the trees, skirting the town. Their progress was nearly silent. Carmen was still learning how to place her feet and avoid branches that could snap. She was a city girl, while all the others except Garrett had grown up in the south end of the island. Hiking silently through scrub was built into them.

Garrett, of course, was a freak of nature. He never made a sound when he was moving.

When Carmen stepped on leaf litter that was drier than it looked and crumpled loudly, he glared at her over his shoulder.

She stuck her tongue out at him when he turned back.

The current camp was a mile south of the rail line and almost directly due east of the town, Cerro Ciudad. It was too close to Cerro Ciudad, but it was in an unexpected place. They had been camped there for nearly two months and hadn’t seen a single patrol.

The Insurrecto patrols swept farther east into the flatlands.  They didn’t seem to think a Resistance camp at higher elevations was possible. Either that, or they were too lazy and didn’t want to scramble around the knees of the mountains looking for them. Whatever the reason, it made life easier for Garrett’s unit.

As they drew farther away from the town, they relaxed their guard. Angelo fell back to the end of the line, where Carmen was checking their rear. He smiled at her.

He was a very typical Vistarian—tall, with clear olive skin, black hair and eyes and a nice smile. Carmen smiled back at him. He was a good fighter and he took care of her in bed. It wasn’t his fault that she often felt fifty years older than him, even though they were the same age.

“I found some coffee in that village we passed yesterday,” Angelo said. “I thought we could make some spiced coffee when we get back.”

“We don’t have any nutmeg. Or ginger or cloves,” Carmen said.  She spoke in a soft murmur. Her feminine voice was pitched higher and travelled farther, or so Garrett had warned her, more than once. “But I like coffee straight,” Carmen added.

Angelo grimaced. “American style,” he said, with a sniff.

Carmen laughed softly. “American style coffee got me through five years of college.”

“Miss Brainiac,” Angelo teased, using the English word. It was one of the few he knew.

Garrett whistled softly to get their attention. He held up his fist and they came to halt, listening hard.

After forty seconds, Carmen heard what Garrett had detected. There was a train coming from the south.

“Unscheduled,” Angelo breathed.

She nodded. An unscheduled train could mean many things, but for sure, the Insurrectos were behind it. They didn’t let anything run on the tracks without their say-so.

Garrett waved them closer, so he could talk without shouting. They gathered around.

“Let’s hitch a ride and find out what’s on that train,” Garrett proposed. “Go.”

Carmen began to run at as close to a full sprint as she could manage, heading downhill toward the tracks which were glinting through the trees, just ahead. There was no danger of being heard with a train clanking and groaning.

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