American Apocalypse Wastelands (30 page)

We had approximately twenty-five miles to go as the crow flies. A lot of it was uphill and then back down again. We followed deer trails, old logging roads, and paths that should not have existed for any reason I could imagine. These were not the trackless woods I had read about in the West. People had been walking them for centuries, if not a millennium. We passed house foundations and stubs of chimneys in the middle of nowhere. We scared
deer in places that were still barely hunted. We saw a black bear cross the trail a couple hundred yards in front of us.

We made wide detours around any house or trailer we saw. Most of them were occupied; we usually could tell from the chimney smoke. A couple of times distant dogs barked at us, or we heard shots from someone hunting. At night we made a fireless camp. The only time we made a fire was at lunch.

Ninja and I didn't talk a lot. Well, I didn't. He did. I would listen, make appropriate responses, and let him ramble. He wanted to discuss the mysteries of the universe. I didn't care about them anymore. I had once, I suppose. We all do at some point in our lives.

I didn't define my world, or myself, by what I was looking for. If anything defined me, it was what I was running from. I had no desire to discuss that with anyone, not even Night. I wasn't even sure I wanted to think about it. Ninja enjoyed talking, though, and I was okay with that.

Late in the afternoon of the second day we came out on the side of a ridge and saw the town below us in the distance. The scattered farmhouses grew thicker. In the distance we could see a newer development that looked to be from the boom years. The shells of fast-food places and gas stations stood at intersections. Then it thickened into a town about three times the size of ours. It was the county seat, so the downtown section had a few more blocks of business and housing.

A large trailer park sat at the opposite side of the town from us. The state had purchased a number of FEMA trailers and set up temporary housing; that was at least
four years ago. They wanted to run their own state camps for those in need, but the money for the program dried up after the first year.

I pulled us back a bit, and we sat down to look at the map. There was only one main road in and out of town, which made the orientation easier. We were a bit off from where I wanted to be, so we kept going for another hour until I thought we were in a good place to scout from without being spotted.

I was secretly impressed we had come out as close as we did. Deep down inside I would not have been surprised if we had wound up ten miles from where we wanted to be. Navigation by map and compass still seemed a lot like magic to me.

 

The house I hoped was the sheriff's was below us and in the middle of a cornfield. The hills were clear-cut to about a quarter mile from their tops. This was pastureland down to the start of the flat land, which had all been planted in corn, ready now for harvest. This town was at a lower elevation than ours. Back home, our corn was already in. We had timed it right. Another week and our cover would have been gone.

“So how are we going to be sure that's the house, G?”

I had been looking the house over with the binoculars. “Well, there is a sheriff's car parked in the driveway. Damn, it looks like he has someone posted outside.” I was also not thrilled to see a couple of kids running around. It hadn't stopped the sheriff from raiding our place, but I didn't want to go shooting into a house with little kids in it. I passed Ninja the glasses.

“He has kids there, G.”

“Yeah, I know. We're going to have to move down to the intersection and check the street signs.”

“What if they're down?”

I had to bite off the irritation that I was starting to feel. “Then we watch and see who gets in the car tomorrow morning.”

I could hear the defensiveness in his voice. “G, look, I just want to make sure, okay?”

I laughed. “I know. So do I.” He looked relieved to hear that. “We should also plan some kind of exit strategy. They are going to be pissed off after we kill his dumb ass.”

“Yeah. Then again, we might be doing them a favor.”

“That kind of luck I don't want to count on.”

 

We waited until nightfall to hike through the cornfields to the intersection to check the signs. We wore our night goggles, which was cool but also very weird. After the novelty passed, I found I didn't like them, so I took mine off. I felt I could see better without them. Plus, they messed with my depth perception and made me feel disconnected from the world. Just more plastic gun shit.

The corn was over our heads and I swear it was talking. There was no wind, yet a constant barely audible crackling and popping surrounded us once we got into the field. The combination of the corn hemming me in and the sound of it talking spooked me. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic, and I was very happy when we came to the end of the field.

The street signs were still there. We were in the right place. When we got home I was going to suggest that we pull all of our signs down. Why make it any easier for people who weren't local?

We turned around and headed back without talking. Max had impressed on me that if we used more than a few words once we started an op, then we had talked too much.

When we got back, I could tell Ninja was tired and I let him sleep first. I sat up and watched falling stars and thought about how we were going to do this.

When it was time I kicked Ninja's boot and told him he was up. Then I crawled into my bag and went to sleep. It wasn't a peaceful slumber.

I dreamt I was being hunted through a cornfield and the corn kept reaching out to grab me. I would slash my way through it but it was slowing me down. Whatever was coming for me was gaining on me, and I knew when it caught me I would be torn asunder. That is exactly what I heard in my head. A voice like crackling electricity warned,
They will tear you asunder!
I was glad when Ninja kicked my feet and whispered, “Get up! We got something!”

He handed me the binoculars. I saw the sheriff step out of the house and climb into the back seat of the squad car that was parked there. The same deputy we had seen walking around outside yesterday got into the driver's seat. They pulled away, and the driver switched on the lights. I checked my watch: 0645. The sheriff was an early riser.

I told Ninja, “We go on half rations starting now. We are going to have to bag some squirrels or waste a lot of deer meat on the way back.” Inwardly I was kicking myself. We should have hunted on the way here, but I was in too much of a hurry. Or we should have brought more food.
Was I even fit to do this?

Ninja interrupted my self-hate session. “So what's the plan?”

“We set up at the intersection.” I watched the squad car stop at the four-way stop. “We ambush them. Kill them. Take the car and drive home.”

He nodded. “Okay. That sounds good. What if he doesn't come by at the same time tomorrow?”

“We pull back and see if we can bag a deer. This is a cornfield. There have to be a few survivors wandering in to graze. Then we come back and wait.”

“Okay,” he shrugged, “whatever. I know you got it under control.”

 

The next morning we set up in the field. The plan was so simple I didn't see how it could fail.

There was no traffic. None. It was entirely possible that the clip-clop of horse hooves would become more common than the sound of automobile engines in the next few years. The sheriff was on time. The rotating lights were easy to spot through the rows of corn.

I yelled, “Go!” and we popped out of the cornfield and opened fire. I'd had us sit back about eight feet in the cornfield so we wouldn't be seen. Ninja was to my left. But we were too far back and had to take too many strides to get to the road.

The driver saw us and punched the gas.

He accelerated and was already fifty feet down the road when we cleared the corn. I had to take an extra step to clear Ninja, who was firing three-round bursts into the back of the car.

I took an extra second and aimed at where the driver's head should be. Then I started walking toward the squad car, pulling the trigger with every step. The car slowed
suddenly and rolled to a stop after crossing into the other lane. That BAR sure was a showstopper.

I looked over at Ninja, who looked back at me and said, “Well . . . shit.”

We approached the vehicle slowly, separating just in case. I heard the engine hissing and thought,
Not good.
The back window was completely blown out, as was the front.

That's when the sheriff rose from the dead—or at least from the back seat. He got off two rounds before I blasted back and he disappeared from sight. I charged the car, vaulting from the bumper to the trunk, and put two more rounds into his body.

I stood there breathing heavily for a couple seconds. Then I realized there was no Ninja.

Where the hell was he?

I turned around. He was sitting in the middle of the road holding his right arm, his M-16 lying where he had dropped it.

“Shit!” I leaped from the car and raced over to him. “Where're you hit, Ninj? Talk to me!”

“My arm. It really hurts, G.”

“Don't worry, Turtle, I'll fix it. C'mon, let's get you off the road and out of sight.” I helped him into the cornfield and sat him down. Then I raced back to get his weapon.

“Okay, let's get you out of the armor so I can take a look at this.” I eased off his vest, wincing mentally as he winced for real. The shot had missed the bone, which was good. I tried to remember what Donna had taught us about treating this kind of wound.
Shit
. I knew I had to stop the bleeding and watch for shock.

“How bad is it, G?”

“Not bad. Not bad at all. Probably have a cool scar.”

“That's good.” He tried to smile.

Looking at him I suddenly realized he wasn't even eighteen yet.

“You're going to be alright.” I fished out his med kit and started to work on stopping the bleeding. We had some fancy blood stopper in a foil envelope. It was effective, but hard to find and expensive. When I finished, I had him lie back and raise the arm above his head.

“Hold on. Let me see if I can start the squad car.” I ran back, opened the driver's door, and dumped the deputy on the ground. Then I slid behind the wheel and turned the key. It was already turned. I switched it off and back on. Nothing. Not good. I smelled gas, too.
Very not good
. I got out of the car and hustled back to Ninja, trying to think of a viable Plan B. Hijack a car? Run for it? Both?

“C'mon, Ninj. I need you to sit up. I am going to put your vest back on.”

“We going to make a run for it?”

“Going to have to. At least get away from here and find a vehicle. Then get you home.”

I went through his pack and got all the food. Then I quickly dug a shallow hole and buried his pack. “Don't worry,” I told him. “We'll get you another one.”

He grinned wanly. “I did pretty good, didn't I?”

“You sure did. Without you it wouldn't have worked.”

I slung his M-16 over my shoulder and gave him a hand getting to his feet.

“Okay, we are going to head over the hill and start looking for a farmhouse with a car. With a little luck we
will be home in an hour. We just have to get across that pasture before anyone comes.”

He nodded. I took one more look at him, and then we started back through the cornfield. We were taking the fastest way, which meant going back the way we had come. It also meant leaving an obvious trail, especially since Ninja was not really worrying about where he put his feet. He was moving, though; that's all I needed of him right now.

We had cleared the cornfield and were halfway across the pastureland when we had to stop. Ninja was looking a little gray. We decided we would sit for just a minute. We heard the sirens at the same time.

Ninja spoke what I was thinking. “We're fucked, aren't we?”

“No. We just got to move.”

He nodded his head.

I put him in front of me.

“Head for the tree line and don't look back, bro.” I was the one doing the looking back and not liking what I saw.

Three squad cars pulled up to the scene. Two deputies jumped from each of the first two cars. The third driver was alone, probably the supervisor. They checked the deputy on the ground and peered into the car, where the sheriff lay.

“Freeze, Ninj!” If they didn't see us, they might think we had driven off. One car raced down the road toward the sheriff's house. Then I saw one of the deputies point into the corn. He went to the trunk of his squad car and reappeared with a pair of binoculars. I watched as he started sweeping back and forth.

“Please, God,” I prayed, “let me get Ninja home.” God, as usual, was not listening to me. What a surprise. I watched as the deputy swept across and then came back to us. We stared at each other across the distance until I flipped him off and put away my binoculars.

“Time to run, Ninj.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

We were almost to the tree line when I heard gunshots. We were not the only people in the world with M-16s, and they were using theirs. It gave us the extra jolt of energy we needed to get to cover.

Fuckers
, I thought. I steadied the BAR on a tree branch, compensated for shooting downhill, and shot Binocular Man in the chest with the third round. They were all wearing vests, but the BAR would pierce everything but the best quality. Plates might stop it, but wearing plates was rare. The weight was just too much for day-to-day work. I hit the next deputy low in the throat. That was a spectacular mess. The other two dropped behind their vehicle. I put a couple rounds in the engine and it was time to move again.