The men exchanged a look and shook their heads.
“I say we do it,” one of the men announced.
“Me too,” the other agreed.
“You up for the trip?” Miller asked.
Muncie shook his head. “I’m not sure I could make it. I’m still feeling a little weak. I could make you guys a good map though.”
“You do that,” Miller said. “I’ll come back for it in a few minutes and we’ll go over it. We’re doing this tonight.”
Muncie fought to contain his excitement. “That’s a sound decision. You will probably be saving the lives of many people.”
Miller nodded somberly. “That’s what I’m hoping.”
In truth, Muncie wasn’t concerned about any of the lives they’d be saving. Only the lives they’d be taking.
32
At the intersection, Grace left Donnie sitting on an abandoned car.
“I want to switch places, Brandon. I want to be in the back.”
“I like keeping an eye out for threats,” he said. “It’s hard to do that when you’re driving.”
“Dylan knows me. I want you to go slow enough that I can yell for him. If he just sees a truck with you in the back, he may be scared and hide. We’ll never find him.”
“How do you expect to find him anyway?” Donnie asked. “This is big country and kids are tiny critters. They’re easy to overlook.”
“When we dropped them off in town, we told him and his grandmother how to walk back to our house if they had trouble. He was listening. He heard us. I know he did. He’s a smart kid.”
“Well, good luck,” Donnie said. “Anything else for your dad?”
“Tell him not to worry but I’m not coming home until I find Dylan.”
Donnie rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’ll calm him down for certain.”
“Let’s go,” she told Brandon.
He reluctantly climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “This isn’t a lot of gas for this big of a truck. We’ll probably be walking home.”
“I’ve walked it before,” Grace said, climbing in the back.
They drove toward town at fifteen miles per hour. It was slow enough that Grace’s voice could easily be heard as she called Dylan’s name. At this slow speed, dust churned out the vehicle, burning her eyes and making her cough. She continued to yell, scanning a full circle around her, watching the road, watching the woods.
They passed a farmer pulling a wagon of loose hay with a team of horses. He was red-faced, sweaty, and miserable.
“Have you seen a little boy?” she called to him.
“If I seen one, he’d be out here helping me,” the man said.
She wanted to tell the man where to send the boy if she saw him but she thought better of it. He was eyeing the truck with great interest, no doubt processing how much easier his farm work would be with a running vehicle. She didn’t want him to know who she was or where she lived. If he became more desperate, he might be one more person interested in paying them a visit.
They had no better luck at a roadside house where a row of adults sat on the porch on two threadbare sofas.
“Have you seen a kid walking by himself?” Grace asked when Brandon rolled to a stop in the road.
“You got any gas for sale?” a shirtless and miserable-looking man asked.
“I was asking about a kid,” Grace reminded him.
“And I was asking about gas,” the man insisted.
“Hold on,” Brandon called from the cab. “We’re getting out of here.” He recognized the futility of this conversation and chose not to waste any more time there.
They paused at another intersection and looked in both directions.
“Wouldn’t he have gotten further than this?” Brandon asked from the cab.
“I don’t know,” Grace replied. “He’s a kid. He might get scared. Who knows how far he would have gone yesterday?”
Grace caught Brandon shaking his head in frustration. She knew it wasn’t directed at her. He was a man used to making things happen and this was a situation he had very little control over. There was no middle ground that you could take as progress. They would either find Dylan or they wouldn’t. They would either succeed or they would fail completely.
In three more miles they came to an intersection where they would join a paved road.
“Which way?” Brandon asked.
“Right,” Grace replied.
“How far are we from town?”
“It’s getting close. Maybe seven or eight miles. Maybe less.”
“This worries me,” Brandon said.
“Which part?”
“The whole thing. This exposure of being out on the road in a vehicle. Worry about the kid. The knowledge that the congressman is still out there somewhere.”
“Well, we need to fix all those things.”
Brandon chuckled. “If only it were that easy.” He hit the gas and slowly accelerated onto the paved road.
Grace threw a quick glance behind them, looking to see if her dad might be catching up with them, and something caught her eye. She banged her hands on the roof of the truck and Brandon came to a stop.
“What is it?”
“Back up to that intersection again.”
Brandon did as he was told, switching gears and reversing carefully. At the intersection she hopped out of the vehicle to get a closer look at what caught her eye. She could swear she’d seen a flash of light coming from the drainpipe passing beneath the road.
Brandon killed the engine and came around the truck. “What is it?”
“I thought I saw a light inside this drainpipe.”
“It could have been a reflection,” he said.
She stepped down into the ditch, watching for snakes. She unholstered her Glock and leaned down slowly.
“Be careful,” Brandon warned.
When she still couldn’t see, she got down on her knees and stared into the pipe. She heard a sound, a shuffle, then saw something flashing red again. She drew a light from her vest and thumbed the switch on the end. Bright light filled the drainpipe. Inside, she saw the terrified face of a child.
“Dylan!”
He didn’t move, just stared at her.
“It’s Grace, sweetie. I’ve been looking for you. Are you okay?”
He shook his head and the gravity of that gesture broke her heart.
“Come on out of there, Dylan. We need to get home.”
He started coming toward her. Each time his feet moved, the transparent soles of his shoes flashed from the red LEDs embedded in them. She’d seen shoes like that before. Blake had once had a pair too.
When he reached the end of the pipe, she took him in her arms and hugged him tight. He started crying.
“Granny is dead!” he wailed.
“I know,” she said.
“We need to get out of here, Grace,” Brandon reminded her.
She stood and lifted Dylan. Only then did she notice the pack on his back. “Where did this come from?”
“From the man. My mommy chopped his fingers off.”
Grace and Brandon exchanged a glance. When she had him out of the ditch, they slung the dirty pack into the back of the truck and Grace helped Dylan into the cab of the truck.
“I’m assuming you want to ride in the back again since we found Dylan?”
Brandon was hesitating, something he rarely did. “You know, I’m thinking about doing a little recon. I don’t have any firsthand knowledge of what this situation in town is like. The congressman and his people may even be staying there since he joined forces with Mrs. Brown’s daughter.”
Grace certainly wasn’t in any position to tell him no. It was probably a good idea. She was naturally protective but this was a guy who’d been in hard spots before. In fact, he’d been in a lot more than she had. He was as safe as anybody could be out there.
“Just be careful,” she said.
“I will. Can you rough me out a map on a piece of p
aper? Maybe give me a basic layout of town and where I’ll find the hiker camp? Start with this point, where we’re at now.”
“No problem.”
She found an old document in the truck and drew a map on the back of it, explaining it to Brandon as she drew. When she was done, she gave him the rations and water she was carrying. She could refill when she got home. Brandon offered one of the candy bars to Dylan, who ate it so ravenously that he offered him a pack of jerky.
“There’s an AR in the truck,” Grace said. “Would you prefer that over your sniper rifle? I’m sure it’s lighter.”
Brandon considered, his face giving no indication of the processing taking place inside his head. “I’ll keep the M2010. I don’t plan on engaging unless I have to but this will provide me with a magnified optic.”
“I have a spotting scope in my pack if you’d prefer,” Grace offered.
Brandon shook his head. “I’m good.
With a wave they moved out, Dylan pressed so tightly to her side that she couldn’t have slid a sheet of paper between them. She cradled an arm around him, holding him tight. She wasn’t a mother but she was an older sister and she knew what little boys sometimes needed.
They didn’t make it very far before they ran into Robert coming toward them in the ATV. Donnie was at his side, grinning like a possum. This was clearly the most fun he’d had in some time.
“You found him. Thank God,” Robert said.
Grace nodded and Dylan waved.
“You take the lead,” Grace said. “You have an open cab and you’ll be eating our dust. I’ve got air conditioning and can close the windows.”
“I’ll drop Donnie off at his house,” Robert said.
“Never did bring me my beer,” Donnie pointed out.
“I will tomorrow. I promise.”
“You better,” Donnie warned. “I been known to kick a man’s ass when the situation called for it.”
Everyone but Donnie cracked a smile at that.
33
It was dark as Brandon closed in on the nearly silent town of Damascus, Virginia. The lack of light was fine with him. He moved better in the dark anyway, comfortable in the fact that he was usually better equipped than the next guy. He hadn’t taken his helmet and drop-down night vision to his sniper hide earlier because he’d already had enough gear to carry and had been geared-up for guard duty, not a battle. That was his mistake and he’d remember it in the future.
He did have the PVS-29 night vision that clipped onto his sniper rifle. It was not as easy to move with as the drop down optic but it still gave him the advantage of travel without a flashlight. So far he hadn’t needed it, the moonlight bright enough to see his way, but he’d shifted it from his pack to a pouch on his plate carrier, ready for easy access.
He stopped to consult his map. He withdrew a flashlight with a red lens from a pouch and was digging out the map when he heard loud voices. There were people coming his way on the road from town. Lots of them. They had flashlights and were making no effort to conceal themselves.
Brandon moved to the shoulder of the road and lowered himself down over the edge. The group would be close to him so he was not planning on trying to observe them from this position. We would hunker down and let them pass, then try to get a look at them from behind.
The weeds beyond the guardrail were thick. There were briars that tore at his skin. Years ago he would have been unable to push thoughts of snakes, poison ivy, and stinging nettles from his mind, but sniper school had banished all that. He’d experienced all those things and worse. He’d learned to let nothing shake him, to let nothing stir him from concealment.
The crowd was on him in less than a minute. There was a lot of talking. Brandon didn’t know exactly what they were talking about but he recognized the purpose of this talk from the tone of it. He’d heard it in young soldiers on the way into battle for the first time. They were pumping themselves up. They were headed into a fight.
Brandon found this interesting. He wondered who they might be preparing to attack. Were they after food? Were they trying to drive off a threat? Most of the outdoor folks he knew–backpackers, hikers–were hippie types. They were primarily peaceful folks, though not always. They could become violent over causes they believed in. They could fight for things they felt they were entitled to.
There was a pulling in Brandon’s gut that told him he should follow these people. He didn’t think this was a routine mission or these folks wouldn’t be so gung-ho. This was different. If they were engaging a new threat, maybe it was related to the congressman? While it could be any number of things, it was too coincidental to him that this army was plodding off into the dark, using their precious battery power, to attack someone on the same day someone had come for the Hardwicks. He had to find out.
He dug into his vest and removed the PVS-29 night vision device, powering it on. He raised his head above the guardrail and scanned the road. The entire group was past now and there were no stragglers. He leapt the guardrail and hurried off after them. He had no idea how far they were going but he was along for the ride.
34
The congressman was in his RV selecting a bourbon for the night. The families were sitting around a campfire, their normal evening ritual now. The congressman could barely tolerate it, could barely hide his irritation at his lack of progress, unless he had a few drinks. There was a bang on his door. He frowned and set the bottle of Buffalo Trace down on the counter. It was Jacobs.
“Security on the road says we have an unknown number of armed subjects headed this way.”
“Do you think they’re coming for us?” the congressman asked nervously. “Surely not.”
“No idea,” Jacobs replied. “There’s a lot them though. Could be twenty or thirty men. Security couldn’t get a good count.”
“How many men do we have?”
“With Bradshaw’s men gone, Johnson AWOL, and the recent losses, maybe a dozen?”
“That’s all?”
Jacobs nodded.
“How long do we have?”
“The guards need orders now. There’s no time to waste.”
“Tell them to open fire. The families can take shelter in the church.”
Before the congressman even finished, Jacobs was barking orders into his radio. Immediately, there was full-auto fire from the sentries on the road.
“Did they get them?” the congressman asked.
Jacobs was engrossed in the report coming over his earpiece. He looked at the congressman with fear in his eyes. “They got some of them. The rest scattered into the woods. They’re coming this way.”
“Warn the families!”
Congressman Honaker was racing back through the brightly-lit RV to grab his own rifle when the windows of the main living area were shattered by rapid gunfire. The congressman dropped to the floor. There was glass everywhere. Shards sliced his knees and hands as he crawled toward the nearest light switch. He slapped it with a bloody palm and the RV went dark.
He crawled to an undamaged window and parted the blinds. Sporadic gunfire rocked the night. There were screams of fear and of pain. The congressman found his rifle in the dark and bolted out the door. He sprinted toward the church but tripped and went down. He reached for his headlamp, touched the power switch, and the harsh glare of the LEDs illuminated Jacobs’ dead body. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth. A ragged, bloody hole was visible on the chest of his neat khaki shirt.
Drawn by the light on his head, the shooters targeted the congressman. Bullets kicked up dust around him, forcing him to his feet. He ran as fast as he could, weaving around campers and vehicles. He burst out between two campers in time to see one of his men being bludgeoned to death with the stock of a rifle. The two attackers then charged into the nearest camper and began ransacking it.
The congressman readied his weapon, making sure he followed Bradshaw’s instructions to the letter, and headed toward the open door of the RV. These attackers couldn’t be allowed t
o take their supplies. He stopped at the door and looked inside the illuminated RV, finding the two men going through the pantry. He opened fire on them from the hip, dumping rounds as fast as he could pull the trigger. The man nearest him fell.
He charged inside, expecting to find two dead men. Instead he found one dead man and a second man completely alive and pointing a rifle at him. The congressman screamed and dived back out the door. There were three rapid shots and the cabinetry where he’d been standing splintered. The congressman felt frozen to the ground, understanding just how close he’d come to dying. Then the man appeared in the doorway, his rifle aiming out into the blackness of the night.
The congressman grabbed his rifle up from the ground and jerked the trigger as fast as he could, trying to point it at the man. The only thing that saved him was the man’s eyes had adjusted to the interior lights and he couldn’t locate the congressman in the dark. That mistake cost him his life. A handful of rounds hit the man center mass and he dropped, tumbling down the steps and into the dirt.
Wiping sweat from his forehead, the congressman staggered to his feet. He had to get to the church. He’d lost his headlamp somewhere and couldn’t see where he was going. He fell over a guy line holding an awning taut. He’d barely recovered from that when he tripped over a camping chair, the metal framework jabbing him painfully in the groin. That blow caused him to drop his rifle and he was afraid to take the time to look for it.
He still had a handgun but didn’t take the time to draw it. There were more screams in the night, bursts of gunfire, and cries of pain. He came to the clearing where a few short minutes ago the families had been laughing, telling stories, and roasting marshmallows. Now there were overturned chairs and a woman’s body laying halfway in the fire circle, her clothes ablaze, her hair on fire.
“Dammit. Dammit!” the congressman moaned. “It’s not supposed to end this way.”
He sped past the burning body, not looking to see who it was. People were making their way to the church. Behind him, men were in all of the campers now, tossing out supplies. Others were shooting at the church, forcing those fleeing the carnage to hide beneath the pews. There was no salvaging this. They had lost everything.
Blood Bought: Book Four in The Locker Nine Series Page 24
