Savages (23 page)

“I think I’m being followed?”

“Where are you?”

I told him.

“On my way,” he said.

If he was two minutes from the east gate, then he was five minutes from me. I picked up my pace.

The farther and faster I walked, the more sure I became there was trouble in my road. Fleeting shadows detached from walls and disappeared in the warren of buildings and dilapidated equipment. I wished I was still wearing my NVGs.

A rock bounced off a rusty dumpster ahead of me. A bird call sounded in a place no bird would dare roost. Like most post-Outbreak towns, anything that walked, swam, crawled, slithered, or flew was a part of the food chain. And that included birds. Feathered creatures may not be as smart as humans, but they know enough to stay away from places where they are hunted.

If only I were as wise as a pigeon.

I headed toward a crumbling warehouse ahead on my right. The change of direction was the signal my pursuers had been waiting for. They emerged from the darkness like a pack of hyenas, slinking and wary, knees bent, weapons held low.

I had my rifle close to hand, but did not want to fire it if at all possible. The noise would attract the attention of the guards, which I did not want. I stopped, reached under my left shoulder, and put my hand on the butt of my pistol. It had a suppressor and a full magazine, much better suited for this kind of work.

“Stop right there.” The voice was low, laced with authority, and sounded young. I kept walking.

“I said stop.”

I drew my pistol and aimed in the general direction of the voice. The ring of dark shapes kept pace with me and began to close in.

“The first one of you within ten feet gets a bullet to the face.” They still tracked me, but moved no closer.

“Just drop the pack,” the voice said. I could almost make out his face. He was shorter than me, lean as a stick, and in his right hand, I saw a flash of metal reflect the dim starlight. “We want your trade, not your life.”

“You’re not taking either one. Leave, or I start shooting.”

A vile little laugh. “No you won’t. That’ll attract the guards. Besides, there’s a lot more of us than there are of you. You might get some of us, but not all. And if you want to shoot, you’ll have to stop walking. We’ll be on you in a second. Now drop the pack. Last warning.”

I did not have time for this. Rather than slow down, I sped up to a run, aimed, and fired. There was a dull crack and the clang of the slide going back and forth. The source of the voice dropped without a sound, the bullet taking him through the head. The rest shouted in dismay and closed in.

I fired three more times, and three more shapes fell. A knife found my right side but deflected off the upper receiver of my rifle. I bumped the attacker with my shoulder, and as he fell, I aimed backwards and let off two more rounds. A shocked scream of agony told me at least one shot had found its mark.

Three more closed in from my right. There were pounding footsteps behind me. I stopped short, waited half a heartbeat, and lashed backward with an elbow. The three on my right skidded to a halt, my elbow met flesh and bone, and I felt teeth shatter against the thick cloth of my bush jacket.

“Grraaaghh!”

A piece of metal clattered to the ground. The other three pursuers had shifted direction and were coming in fast. Decision time. I could focus on the three incoming targets, but that meant the one behind me could grab me and throw off my aim. If I went down, I was done. So even though he was probably unarmed, the owner of the broken teeth was too much of a risk to let live. I put the suppressor to his chest and fired once. He made a choked sound, staggered backward, and fell.

The other three faltered when I aimed at them. I could see their faces now. They were young, no more than teenagers. Greasy, pimpled faces, scraggly facial hair, torn and ragged clothes, and malnourished cheekbones standing out sharply under wide eyes. Before I could stop myself, I fired twice.

The closest kid took two in the chest. His face scrunched in pain and surprise, he stepped back once, and went down. The other two looked at him, then at me.

“I told you the answer was no. You can’t have my property. Leave now and I’ll let you keep your lives.”

There were no words, no begging, no apologies. They simply turned and ran like animals at a fresh kill when the bigger predators show up. For a moment, I thought about turning around and seeing if the others I shot were as young as the dead kid in front of me, but decided against it. I had seen enough tonight, and knew I would be seeing it for a long, long time.

They were just kids.

I felt hollow inside. “So what? They’d have done the same to me. They left me no choice.”

They were just kids.

“Doesn’t matter. Gotta move.”

I set out at a jog. My feet pounded the road faster and faster until my lungs burned and my back hurt from the weight of my pack, but still I pushed for more speed. I was making too much noise, might be drawing attention to myself. I did not care. Running was all that mattered. But even as I ran, I was aware there are some things a man can never escape. They become part of you, a wire in the blood, and they never leave. I knew. I had plenty of them.

The east gate loomed up out of the half-burned buildings and empty houses and the stink of hopelessness. Finally, I slowed and holstered my pistol. I wondered how long it would take the others to arrive. I wondered how many people would die tonight. I wondered if Caleb had seen me and assumed his help was no longer needed and proceeded to the gate.

Mostly, though, I wondered how young those dead kids were, if anyone would miss them, and how many demons a man can harbor before they tear him apart.

Lena Smith waited at the gate with two men in black fatigues.

Caleb saw me coming and let out a low whistle. I followed the sound and saw him motioning to me from a ditch next to a scorched, collapsed cinder-block structure. Ducking low to avoid spears of rebar, I crouch-walked until I was close, then belly crawled next to him.

“She didn’t say she was bringing anyone.”

Caleb shook his head. “No way to know if they’re friendly. How do you want to play it?”

I thought a moment. We did not have much of a choice. By now, the guard captains must have figured out Carbondale was under attack. We had to get through that gate. “Stash the rifles and packs here. We’ll approach with just our pistols.”

Caleb pointed up. “Snipers in the towers. Four guards close enough to see us.”

“Nothing we can do about that.”

We backed off, emerged onto the street leading to the gate, and did our best to look like frightened townsfolk fleeing the violence. We ran at first, then slowed as we approached the armed guards. Lena recognized us and, while the two troops had their backs turned, placed a finger over her lips.

“Stop right there.” One of the guards raised his rifle.

We put up our hands. “I think we’re under attack,” I said.

Lena glanced up at the guard towers and made a cutting signal with one hand. At the same time, her other hand reached beneath her blazer.

“This gate is closed. No one in or-”

The man’s sentence was cut off by the report of a small pistol. As his legs went limp, Lena shifted aim to the other guard and shot him twice in the back of the head. Both men fell dead at her feet.

Shit.

My heart tried to climb into my mouth. Caleb and I produced our pistols at the same time and aimed at the guard towers. The snipers had just recovered from surprise and were bringing their rifles to bear. They never got a chance. Two simultaneous reports split the air from maybe a hundred yards away, high caliber rifles by the sound. The guard in my sights jerked, dropped his weapon, and fell out of sight. I shifted to the other tower. The guard there was already down.

I glanced at Lena. “Friends of yours?”

She nodded, her face stricken. “We have to go. Now.”

“Not without the others.”

“There’s no time.”

Her eyes went flat and she pointed her pistol at me. For a moment, I stared in shock, then felt anger boil up like hot steam. “What the fuck are you doing, Lena?”

“I’m sorry, but we have to leave. Now.” 

“Not gonna happen, lady.”

She took a two handed grip on the pistol. “It’s not a request.”

In my peripheral vision, I saw Caleb aim his Beretta at Lena’s head. “Drop the gun,” he said.

“No.”

“Do it now, Smith. You shoot him, you die.”

I put my hands in the air. It took every ounce of will I had not to dive sideways and put two bullets in her chest. “You’re making a mistake, Lena. He
will
kill you.”

She shook her head emphatically. “We don’t have ti-”

Crack-clang.
Lena shrieked and dropped the pistol from nerveless fingers. Her other hand came up to clutch her shoulder.

“You shot me!”

Caleb scanned the catwalk and noticed the other guards along the wall were looking in our direction.

“All I did was graze your upper arm. You’ll be fine.”

Lena let out a stream of curses and glanced around, obviously weighing her options. I leveled my gun at her.

“You call the guards,” I told her, “and the sentence won’t make it out of your mouth.”

“They know!”

“No, they don’t. They just know you’re the vice president and a few guards are dead. You’re a sharp lady. Think of something.”

“But …”

“Your friends with the high-powered rifles still out there?”

Her eyes shifted westward along the line of rooftops, the calculating mind spinning quickly behind the pretty green irises. She gestured for us to come close and put our weapons away. The guards closed in and leveled their weapons. A tall, grizzled man wearing the yellow arm band of the SS held up a hand to the others.

“Hold it, fellas. Madam Vice President, is everything all right?”

I almost laughed. Four men lay dead, Smith was bleeding from her arm, and the two men who had just assassinated the Alliance’s secretary of defense stood helpless before them. Everything was most definitely
not
all right.

“Everything is fine,” Lena said, waving her good arm three times over her head. “These men are with the secret police.”

The SS trooper looked skeptical. “Please remain where you are, ma’am. I need to call General Samson.”

As he keyed his radio and began to speak, two more reports rang out within a fraction of a second of one another, both from the same direction as the shots that killed the snipers. The top half of the SS trooper’s head disintegrated while the guard behind him looked down with wide eyes at a gaping hole where his heart used to be. They both fell dead while the others stared in dumbfounded shock. A split second passed before they leveled their rifles and fired.

Caleb and I were already moving.

I did not grab Lena Smith. Caleb did. If he had consulted with me beforehand, I would have told him not to bother. Lena may have been a big help to the Union, but when things started looking hairy, she had tried to back out of her end of the deal by leaving without the rest of Task Force Falcon. I had no sympathy for her.

Above me, the two gunmen focused their fire on Caleb, as he was the one dragging their vice president by the arm toward a dark alcove. They managed three short bursts before two more high-powered shots thundered from the west and dropped them where they stood. I skidded to a halt behind the brick wall of a burned out furniture shop.

“Caleb, you alive?”

“Yep.”

“Smith?”

“Yep.”

We emerged slowly. We saw no more guards, but it was only a matter of time. If they had not heard the gunfire, which was a big ‘if’, sooner or later it would be time for the gate crew to check in. When they didn’t, reinforcements would come running. We did not want to be here when that happened.

I marched over to Lena Smith and leaned down into her pale, frightened face. I did not put my pistol to her temple, but it was a near thing. “Where is the transportation you promised us?”

Before she could answer, my radio crackled. “Irish, Wolfman. Bingo Magnum. Repeat, Bingo Magnum.”

Lena began to speak, but I held a finger up to her face and keyed my radio. “Damn good to hear, Wolfman. What’s your twenty?”

“En route. Five mikes. Me, Hawk, and Gator. Red is Delta Foxtrot.”

Goddammit.
Delta Foxtrot. D and F respectively in the military phonetic alphabet—an acronym for
Died Fighting
. McGee had been killed.

“Any word from Shorty or Viking?” (Anderson and Bjornson’s teams.)

“Shorty is en route. Bingo Eagle on his end. Ghost isn’t coming. Delta Foxtrot.”

Which meant Liddell was dead, but so was the speaker of the council. I cursed again, out loud this time, and then keyed the mic. “Viking?”

“No word.”

Caleb waved a hand to get my attention. “Sitrep?”

“The president and speaker of the council are dead. We took out Sandoval, so Samson is next in line, if he’s still alive.”

“What do you mean ‘if he’s still alive’? Any word from Bjornson’s team?”

I shook my head. “MIA. And McGee and Liddell didn’t make it.”

“Shit.”

“Correctamundo.”

“How long until the others get here?”

“Gabe and his crew need five mikes. Not sure about the others.”

Lena grabbed my arm. “We don’t have five minutes. The guards will be here any second.”

I looked to the top of the wall and thought I saw movement in the distance. “We have to take cover. I’ll find a rooftop on this side of the street and brief the others.” I jabbed a finger at the vice president of the Alliance. “You keep quiet and out of sight.”

Caleb gripped Smith’s uninjured arm and turned to lead her away.

“Wait!” Smith tried to pull away from Caleb with no success.

“What?”

“We need to leave. You don’t understand, there will be too many of them. We-”

I made a cutting motion in front of her face. “Enough. I know you’re scared. In your place, I would be too. Hell, I’m not in your place and I’m scared. But I’m not leaving without the others, and nothing you say is going to change that. So if you want to live, do as you’re told.”

I looked around for signs of movement on the streets, but saw none. “Oh, and before I forget, where the hell are those transports you promised?”

“Horses. They’re outside the gate just past the treeline.”

“
Outside
the gate?”

She nodded quickly.

I groaned. “For Christ’s sake, lady, you didn’t think this through too well did you?”

“I …”

I waved her to silence. “Forget it. Nothing we can do about it now. Listen, just go with Hicks and stay quiet. He’ll keep you safe until we can find a way out of here.”

“But-”

I put a hand over her mouth. “I hear boots running on concrete. They’re getting close.” A glance up to Hicks. “Move.”

They went. I faded back into the nearest alley and worked my way to where we had stashed our packs. Caleb had retrieved his already. Mine was still there. I slipped it on, backed off two blocks, and used a dumpster to climb atop the roof of a long-abandoned strip mall. There was a three-foot false front facing the east gate, perfect for a sniper hide.

My NVGs were in the rucksack where I left them. I put them on and flipped up the lenses; best to keep them out of the way and save the batteries until I needed them. Next, I activated the night vision scope on my rifle, reattached the suppressor, and radioed Gabe. A few seconds passed with no answer. I started to worry. When the earpiece finally crackled, I let out the breath I had been holding.

“Irish, Wolfman. Got a sitrep?”

I checked my rifle to make sure a round was chambered. “Situation normal, all fucked up.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

I filled him in. He asked if Hicks still had his black duffel bag. I said I believed he did. Gabe said he had a plan.

“Glad someone around here does.”

“Hang tight, partner. We’ll be there soon.”

“Copy. Irish out.”

I looked through the scope toward the gate. So close, but it may as well have been on the surface of Mars. More guards had discovered the dead bodies and were chatting excitedly into radios. Not a good sign.

Whatever Gabe’s plan was, I had a feeling it was going to involve gunfire, screaming, and lots of explosions. Which, for him, was pretty much par for the course.

I forced myself to relax, waited, and felt the reality of the situation begin to sink in. We had done it. We had accomplished the mission. Three out of four officials dead, and the most important targets at that. General Samson could be dealt with later, assuming he survived the fallout from the collapse of the Alliance’s command structure. To say he was not popular amongst his countrymen would be a profound understatement. If Samson did not want be hanging by his feet a la Benito Mussolini come morning, he would do well to get out of town.

Whatever else happened this night, the mission had been a success. The Alliance was done for, they just didn’t know it yet. It was beyond surreal to know I was a part of it, a part of history, for good or ill.

Now I just had to get out of Carbondale alive.