Time of the Draig Read Free Page A

martial law from getting out of control. Besides, that learning experience served her well, as she had had to do the same thing four other times. There was no way she would let anything happen to Boomer.
    Five years later, the war still raged. Theorists were right when they said no one would win World War III. Maybe there was a country that would survive and go on, but it wasn’t hers. The military press releases always put a positive spin on everything, as morale needed to be high. She had hacked into enough classified data to know the war was over; the former USA had lost, even if they hadn’t surrendered.
    Samantha sighed and breathed in the stale recycled air. Her line of thinking only broke her heart and made her miss her parents even more. Her mom had died in the initial attack on the Pentagon. Her dad’s transport plane had been destroyed eighteen months earlier, supposedly by enemy missiles, something no one could prove. The general was too outspoken against the new regime. He wanted elected officials in office, not a power-hungry military. She assumed he had spoken up one too many times.
    As she reached for the door release pad, Samantha gazed longingly at the bed. It had been too many nights since she had slept more than a handful of hours. Her shoulders squared as determination again filled her being. She knew the planned course of action was what her father would ask of her because they had once had the theoretical conversation. While the risks were immense, there was little to no choice. Something needed to be changed, and he had been right-UNK005 had no business in their world. The object in question was the only reason the whole of the country hadn’t been destroyed. Every other remaining power wanted its untapped potential for its own.
    Her hand fell away from the door as she turned, and she took the fourteen steps to the kitchen. She grabbed the last item in the freezer, one homemade blueberry muffin. The canned blueberries had cost her months of saved ration points. A horrible day in the lab had resulted in a baking fiesta. Sometimes control came from manipulating the simple things.
    She smirked at the solitary item. Boomer had lousy control. There had been forty-eight of them two weeks when she made them. No sense saving the last one because there won’t be anyone here to eat it tomorrow.
    As she entered the lab, Boomer smiled at the item in her hand. He knew what it signified: the last day here. Samantha sat at the desk where she had spent the last four years, ten months, and sixteen days. Guilt washed over her before she made the conscious decision to send it away.
    “What do we need to talk about?” she asked with a deliberately flat voice, knowing they were being monitored.
    Boomer answered, “Transfer orders came in for me today. Tomorrow morning at 0800 I’m to report for transport.”
    “Where?” she asked, without betraying the fear the orders brought.
    “It just says to report for transfer, not where,” he answered without inflection.
    She knew no printed destination usually meant a one-way ticket to where the latest round of ground fighting was taking place. Once again her conscience nagged her. Boomer deserved a choice. In order to offer him one, however, they needed to talk freely. With a click to the mouse, the quiet lab blared with heavy guitars and percussion. The singer crooned about getting a bullet blasted through his head; she understood the feeling. While she truly feared little, the bullet would find her head if she failed in her secret mission. But then, the bullet would eventually find her simply for not delivering the results the United Forces demanded.
    As the violent music soothed something deep inside, she was finally ready for the conversation. Samantha looked at Boomer and was certain no one could overhear their silent talk; they both had become very adept at lip reading given the circumstances. She mouthed, “It’s up to you. Do you want to come with me, or do you