Savages (20 page)

A minute or two passed. I ran into the forest, got disoriented, backtracked, killed four more infected, and found my way back to the clearing. Great Hawk must have figured out what we were doing because he and the others stood back-to-back in a tight, silent circle, weapons at the ready. Gabe’s booming voice sounded directly across from me and perhaps a hundred yards away. The way back to camp was clear, so I ran to the barrier.

“Don’t shoot, it’s Riordan,” I hissed as I drew close. No one fired.

“What’s going on?” Great Hawk asked. It occurred to me this was the first time I had ever heard him use a contraction.

“We’ve got them split up into two groups. Gabe is straight that way. What we should do is fan out at double-arm intervals and start rolling them up from one of their flanks.”

Bjornson lowered his weapon. “Are you out of your fucking mind? There must be hundreds of those things out there.”

“Yes, but they’re spread out, probably not more than one or two per hundred square feet. Easy pickings.”

Bjornson shook his head. “No fucking way.”

Anderson started to say something, but I interrupted him. “Fine. Stay here and be cowards. I’m going to help Gabe.”

With that, I sprang over a cart and ran toward the sound of Gabe’s voice. Great Hawk said something in his native language I did not understand, but I got the impression it translated into something vile and very likely four-lettered. I heard a grunt, then more grunts, and then the sounds of boots pounding after me.

As I had asked, the men spread out roughly six feet apart and followed my lead. “Only kill the ones that get in your way,” I called out. “Avoid them if you can.”

We got bogged down a couple of times at some of the thicker knots of ghouls, but eventually we made it through and found Gabe standing in the bed of an abandoned pickup truck.

I had to give the man credit for quick thinking. He had let two layers of undead gather around the walls of the truck and lopped their arms off at the shoulder. Unable to grab him, they formed an impenetrable, if still dangerous, buffer zone from the rest of the horde. Rather than continue killing, he simply stood still in the middle, well out of reach and relatively safe. When he heard us coming, he started stomping his feet, clashing his weapons, and shouting as loud as he could. The ghouls surged at him with renewed frenzy, to no avail.

Great Hawk hissed and motioned for everyone to approach slowly and quietly. The only sounds we made as we closed in on the pickup truck were the soft crunch of boots over leaves and our own ragged breathing. We were in woodland now, emerging onto a narrow dirt road. A few ghouls turned at our arrival, but most stayed focused on Gabe.

Bjornson was the closest soldier to my position. He stood a few feet to my right, his hands clasping the haft of a hammer made from cast iron pipes. The hammer had a screw-on cap at the bottom, a T-intersection at the top, and a short, thick bolt held in place with silicone tape and a huge lug nut. It looked heavy, but Bjornson handled it with no problem.

A ghoul emerged in front of him from behind a tree. Without breaking stride, he pushed its arms out of the way, sidestepped, and nailed it on the back of the skull with a powerful overhand bash. The ghoul’s skull shattered, chunks of bone and brain tissue spattering the surrounding trees more than ten feet from where it stood. The corpse went limp and slumped to the ground. Before it was down, Bjornson had already moved on.

Impressive weapon.

I moved to the pickup and started killing. The ghouls trying to reach Gabe had their backs to me, forcing me to tap them on the shoulder and wait for them to turn around before killing them. Four lay permanently dead at my feet before the rest figured out what was happening. By then, Great Hawk and the others had surrounded the truck and were hacking away at undead skulls.

My sword got stuck in a ghoul’s skull. Unable to free it quickly, I let it drop, switched to my fighting knife, and kept on killing. It was the work of less than five minutes to dispatch them all. There was no conversation, just the moans of infected and the grunts of men swinging weapons.

As usually happens when exterminating ghouls in the dark, I pushed a dead body away from me, turned to find the next target, and saw only living people equally as frenzied and tired as I was. I let my arms fall but held on to my weapons.

An ear-piercing scream sounded from the front of the truck. I sprinted around the tailgate and saw Stewart on the ground with two ghouls attached to his back. The screams grew louder and shriller as the undead sank relentless teeth into his shoulders, each bite ripping away gobs of bleeding flesh.

No, no, no …

Great Hawk made it before I did and buried his tomahawk in the back of a skull. Without thinking, I drew my revolver, aimed on the run, and when the last ghoul raised its head with a mouthful of gore, I fired. The bulled punched a neat hole through its eye, and a burst of skull fragments flew from the exit wound. The ghoul went limp.

“Ah shit,” Anderson said as he rolled Stewart over, his voice anguished. “Goddammit, Stewart, you forgot to check behind you.”

I don’t know if Stewart heard him or not. He was in shock, face pale, eyes wide and vacant. My flashlight still shone, lighting his face in deep crimson. The blood covering his torso looked black in the sullen glow. I looked away long enough to turn a circle and check for other ghouls we may have missed. I saw none.

Gabe stepped beside me and we both stared as Anderson knelt beside Stewart. He looked at me and then at the revolver in my hand. “Mind if I borrow that?”

I handed it to him. He opened the cylinder, saw four rounds remaining, and nodded slowly. “No one needs to stay. I’ll take care of it.”

No one moved. Stewart whispered something. I could not make out the words, and decided I would not ask Anderson what he had heard.

Less than a minute later, Stewart died. Anderson closed the fallen soldier’s eyes with a gentle hand, put the pistol to his head, and looked away. “Goodbye, brother.”

The shot echoed into the night.

Gabe and Great Hawk returned shortly before sundown with a basket of food.

The basket was woven from vines and obviously not meant to last more than a few days. The food itself was wrapped in some kind of thick, inedible bread. To access our meal of roasted meat, potatoes, and grilled vegetables, we first had to break away the bread substance with hard taps from the hilts of our knives. The Frisbee-shaped bread broke easily around the edges, and the two halves made serviceable plates. Clever.

We ate with our fingers while Great Hawk laid out the plan. The rendezvous was set, all we had to do was wait and show up at the appointed time. He wanted me, Caleb, and McGee on overwatch. We would have radios, and if anything looked out of place, we were to notify Gabriel. I expressed to Great Hawk I did not like being left out of the briefing. I wanted to see the intelligence asset for myself before risking my life on his or her say so.

“You do not trust Gabriel and me to handle it?”

“It’s not a question of whether or not I trust
you.
It’s a question of whether or not I trust
them
.”

“We have risked much, and this person has never been wrong.”

“Fine. Great. Two points for them. I still don’t like it.”

“Eric, please. I need a competent sniper with sharp eyes to make sure we are not interrupted. And I have noticed that your eyesight is exceptional.”

“Don’t fucking patronize me, Hawk.”

“I am not. I am stating a fact.”

Gabe washed down a bite of carrots and squash. “What is it, 20-10 or something like that?”

“Yes. I have 20-10 vision. The doctor who did my Lasik surgery was an overachiever. Now can we focus on the topic at hand?”

“Lasik surgery?” It was the most Hicks had said in hours.

“Yes. My eyesight was shitty until I was 21.”

“How shitty?”

“Coke-bottle glasses shitty.”

“Really?”

I let out a sigh. “Yes, really. My old man paid for the surgery. Twenty-first birthday present. Had 20-10 vision ever since. Now, again, about this intelligence asset …”

“If I see something I don’t like,” Gabe said, “I’ll tell you. I need to be in the room for that briefing and we both know why.”

I could not disagree. There was no substitute for Gabe’s perfect recall. He would be the mission coordinator, and I knew beyond doubt he would get everyone where they needed to be to do their jobs, and then get them out safely to the extraction site.

“The only other snipers on my level are you, Hicks, and McGee. You three are our best chance at stopping any trouble before it becomes a problem. Be practical, Eric.”

I nodded reluctantly. As much as I hated to be out of the loop, even briefly, I had to admit the big man had a point. “All right. Fine. Just don’t be in there all fucking night. I don’t want to piss my pants before going into a fight.”

I was not kidding. On sniper duty, one must remain as still as possible. Which meant if I had to urinate, and could not hold it, leaving my station was not an option. That left but one course of action.

Gabe chuckled. “I doubt it will take very long.”

*****

“Lying bastard.”

Gabe ignored me. He could hear me through his earpiece, but did not respond. Great Hawk elected to remain silent as well. Three hours had passed since I had circled the block, spotted a conveniently located rooftop, and set up my hide. Gabe, Anderson, the Hawk, and a couple of others had been in the basement of the restaurant all night. I could not hear what they were talking about, but no one had sent a duress signal. I could only assume all was well for the moment.

My radio buzzed, letting me know someone was trying to contact me on another channel. I looked at the readout and switched over. “Yeah?”

“You’re breaking protocol. Radio silence.”

“Chill out, McGee.”

“Don’t tell me to chill out.”

“How ‘bout I tell you to fuck off, then?”

“Enough,” Caleb cut in. “We don’t have time for this shit. Switch back over to the command net.”

“Yes, mommy.” I switched back over.

Another twenty minutes rolled by. The pressure in my bladder did not abate. I was beginning to seriously consider the option of last resort when I heard my earpiece buzz.

“Coming out.” It was Great Hawk.

May emerged first, followed by Bjornson, Liddell, Great Hawk, Anderson, and bringing up the rear, Gabriel. I thought at first the asset had remained behind, but then the Hawk took a step to his right and I saw the person we were all risking our lives for.

She was petite, dark red hair hanging straight down to her shoulders, and stood maybe five-foot-two. The night vision scope did not reveal much of her facial features, but I got the impression she was attractive. Her age was indeterminate at this range.

“Overwatch, break off and meet at the mission rendezvous.”

I keyed my mike. “Station one, copy.”

McGee and Hicks acknowledged as well. I checked the streets. No late pedestrians, no guardsmen afoot. I disassembled my rifle, stowed it in my rucksack, and climbed down to street level.

The alleyway reeked of old garbage, urine, and something dead. It was almost completely dark. The night sky above was clear, allowing a small amount of starlight to filter down past the walls and rooftops. It would have been nice to have Gabe’s IR goggles right then.

A shapeless bundle moved somewhere to my left, concealed in darkness. I heard a groan. My hand went to the suppressor equipped pistol under my Army surplus bush jacket. It was too warm for the jacket, but I had to hide the gun somehow.

The shape groaned again. I wondered if it was a trap. Had I been followed? Was someone launching a pre-emptive attack? Had we been compromised? My heart thudded in my ears as I crept closer, rolling my steps to keep them quiet. I drew the pistol and held it at the low-ready position, the glow-in-the-dark sights seeming to line up on its own. The bundle was now only a few feet in front of me. It rolled over, and I was damned glad I did not have my finger on the trigger.

An old man with a matted beard looked around blearily. He saw me, blinked, and did not move. I did not want to shoot him, but if he started to shout, he was a dead man. He looked at the gun.

“You here to rob me?”

“No.”

“Good. I ain’t got nothin’ no way.”

We stared at each other. I said, “Just passing through. My business is elsewhere.”

“Then pass. Don’t need to pay me any mind. No one else does.”

I lowered the pistol a few inches. “You going to run for the guard as soon as I’m out of sight?”

He made a wet, phlegmy sound. His body shook, and his lips pulled back from nearly toothless gums. I realized he was laughing. “The guard? Those sons of bitches? Hell, son, my ribs still ain’t healed from the last stompin’ they gave me. You kill any of the bastards, and I’ll buy you a drink.”

I put away the gun. “Got a name?”

“Used to.”

“You still do.”

Something stirred in the old man’s gaze. “Larry. Larry Bridges.”

“I wasn’t here, Larry.”

“Fine by me.”

I turned to leave, then stopped and went back over. I took a couple of rare and precious sugar packets from a vest pouch and handed them to Larry Bridges. “Here. A token of gratitude for your discretion.”

The old man slowly took the packets and shook them. “This real sugar?”

“It is.”

“Where’d you get it?”

I smiled. “A long way from here.”

“Well, thank you. Thanks a bunch.”

“Have a drink for me, Larry. Enjoy it in good company and good health.”

Ragged laughter followed me out of the alley. I walked a few dozen yards, then doubled back and waited at the corner. Nothing stirred. I risked a peek beyond the wall and saw Larry under a pile of rags. He was snoring.

“Good luck, Larry.” I turned north on the cross street and headed for the rendezvous.

*****

The others were already there.

The rendezvous was the storeroom of an abandoned gas station. The place smelled like mildew and dead rats, and it looked like vagrants had been squatting there until very recently. There were empty bottles, old vomit, and moldering feces along the walls and in every corner. I felt like I needed a shower just walking into the room.

“What took you so long?” McGee asked.

“Had to take a piss.” It was true. And I had, shortly after leaving Larry Bridges to his fate.

“Must have been an epic piss.”

“It was. People will write songs about it someday.”

“Are you two finished?” Anderson asked.

I shrugged. McGee shook his head but said nothing. I looked at the intelligence asset. My impression had been right; she was very attractive.

“What’s your name?” I said.

She blinked. “What’s yours?”

“I asked you first.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“So I can call you something other than Intelligence Asset. Makes me feel misogynistic.”

To my surprise, I got a smile. “Lena Smith. Just call me Lena.”

The name rang a bell, but I couldn’t quite place it. “Works for me. Okay, Chief,” I looked to Great Hawk. “What’s the plan?”

He laid it out. There were a lot of moving parts, but mine was fairly simple. Hicks and I were to proceed to a building near the town square. Inside this building was the residence of one Bailey Sandoval, the Alliance’s equivalent of a secretary of defense. He was a powerful man in these parts, and possessed far more knowledge of Union resources, methods, and plans of action than the shot-callers in Colorado were comfortable with. They knew who his informant was, and had him under twenty-four hour surveillance, thanks to Lena, but did not want to make a move until Sandoval was no longer a threat. Hicks and I were to separate him from his mortal coil, thus removing one of many thorns from the Union’s beleaguered side.

I studied the map on the ruggedized tablet. I compared it to what I had memorized of the street layout of Carbondale, and said I should be able to find Sandoval’s place without difficulty. Caleb said the same. Great Hawk gave a satisfied nod.

“Looks like we won’t be working together on this one,” I said to Gabe. There was more regret in my voice than I intended.

“You’ll be fine. Hicks won’t let you fuck up too badly.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, good buddy.”

“Anytime.” He punched me on the arm. I put a middle finger a few inches from his face.

“Gabriel and I will storm the president’s mansion along with McGee and May,” Great Hawk said. “Anderson, you and Liddell will go after the speaker of the council. He is here, at this casino near the east wall. Plant your charges on the second level so as to collapse the roof above the gaming floor. This will give you the distraction you need to escape.”

Anderson gave a short nod. “No problem.”

“Bjornson, LaGrange, Taylor, the three of you will take out General Samson. He will be in his room in this building here, close to the north gate.” Great Hawk’s eyes shifted to Lena Smith. “Did you arrange for what we need?”

She pointed to a dark corner. “Two crates over there under the black tarp. You’ll find everything I promised you.”

Great Hawk turned back to Bjornson and his team. “Do not forget your armbands. General Samson will be surrounded by his militia. Do not doubt that they are fanatics. They will stop at nothing to protect their general. Yours is perhaps the most dangerous job of all. It is also the lowest value as far as our targets go. If things look insurmountable, do not hesitate to abort.”

Bjornson shook his head. “No way. We kill him or die trying.”

LaGrange and Taylor nodded but did not look quite as resolved to their task as Bjornson. I did not blame them. I had heard stories about General Randolph Samson and his militia. Samson’s Silencers, they called themselves. Or the SS to Alliance citizens. The general and his men understood the historical significance of this label and the reputation for brutality that went along with it. Consequently, they did nothing to dissuade the widespread perception they were equally as merciless and sadistic as their Nazi forbears. If Bjornson and his team were captured, their deaths would be neither quick nor pleasant.

“Do not be a hero, Bjornson. Your lives are more valuable to your country than Samson’s death.”

Bjornson said nothing.

“You should check the crates,” Lena said. “Make sure I didn’t forget anything.”

“Very well.” Great Hawk motioned toward the lump of plastic in the corner. Lena walked over, pulled it away, and shined a small LED flashlight on two large crates. They looked like the big composite containers I often saw the Army using to transport ammo and equipment. Lena unlocked them with a key around her neck, opened them, and stepped back. The Hawk motioned Bjornson and his people to approach first.