Chapter Six—Evidence Disposal

With the rains pouring down so hard, it was difficult to see up ahead. But that was a good thing, as it would keep Ichiro and Dawson concealed against Madison’s soldiers in the region.

They had killed multiple soldiers not long ago and surely their late arrival of wherever they had been going would cause more to come looking. In this rain, their bodies would be harder to find, and discovering the culprits even harder.

Ichiro wasn’t worried about being discovered. He was only worried about his actions possibly bringing down the ire of the army upon his community. But as they were all out of food, what was he to do? Nothing?

The headlights of vehicles appeared through the deluge. Dawson glanced at Ichiro and they seemed to share an unspoken thought.

That could be military.

And it seemed it was as the vehicles drove past them, the sounds of their tires splashing through the water.

The downpour was a torrential affair.

They both breathed a sigh of relief.

“A little further,” Ichiro said.

“I guess we’re going to be walking back in this mess, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Better wet than dead,” Dawson said.

Ichiro looked at him. “Where are your resistance friends located?”

John laughed. “Come on, Ichi. You know I can’t just spill the location—not yet at least.”

“Why not? You trust me, don’t you? And don’t call me ‘Ichi.’”

Wiping his damp brow, Dawson chuckled. “I don’t know. I’ve heard of spies about. That provisions truck isn’t the first one you’ve hit. Madison’s got her hands so full with the resistance; she doesn’t have a lot of soldiers to spare—making them easy targets.”

“It’s here,” Ichiro said as he pointed.

“There’s a gate.”

“It’s only a chain. Drive through.”

“All right,” Dawson said. “Hold on.”

But the force necessary to break the gate open was so slight Ichiro barely felt it as the chain snapped and the gate doors went flying inward.

“Now I will get out. You drive the truck off the pier.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“It is.”

John stopped the truck in a squeak of breaks. Ichiro opened the door and got out.

“See you in a minute,” Dawson said.

Ichrio nodded as he grabbed his assault rifle by the back grip and put his finger over the guard. As the truck growled and sped forward, Ichiro glanced about the shipping containers and the warehouses.

The place was deserted, as he knew it would be.

He watched as Dawson jumped out of the truck and it fell off the pier. It wouldn’t keep the truck hidden for very long, but at least the question of whoever killed the soldiers and sunk it would be obfuscated—most likely blamed on the resistance.

So far the small district of Uchimaya within the larger city of Kyoten hadn’t seen very much resistance activity, if at all.

Maybe it was about time that changed.

Dawson came running through the rain with is riffle in hand. “You know, Ichiro!” he said through the downpour. “You really should come back to the resistance outpost with me. We could really use a guy like you.”

Ichiro shook his head. “No.”

“But why not?”

In the summer, the days were stifling hot and the evenings cool. But this rain was a lot colder. After a time, Ichiro and Dawson would begin to shiver. If they stayed out in this weather, they could even get hypothermia.

“I belong with my community,” Ichiro said.

“They mean that much to you?”

Nodding, he said, “I have never belonged anywhere before—except for Uchimaya.”

“I can see that.”

“Come on,” Ichiro said. “We need to get back. Follow me. We will cut across the fields and head back.”

“All right!”

Ichiro sprinted out of the wharf and across the road with John close behind.