by Lopez, Rob
They pushed north through the streets, treating every intersection like a major danger zone that needed to be crossed with care, and they encountered no checkpoints or patrols, but the unease never left them, as if this was somehow too easy. Lauren, following Eagleburger, kept checking behind, and at one point she pulled him into the shadow of a yard fence.
“Someone’s following us,” she whispered.
They both strained their eyes, looking down the street. The trees that used to line it had all been cut down, so they had a wide view, but there was nothing to be seen.
“You sure?” Eagleburger whispered back.
“Something moves every time we move. I get the feeling we’re being watched.”
Eagleburger sighed. “I’m getting the same feeling,” he said.
They switched routes, trying to shake off their phantom pursuers, and for a while it looked like they had, as Lauren caught no more signs of movement behind them. They reached a wide boulevard. On the other side, in a deforested area, came the sound of a flowing creek. Listening to make sure it was clear, they began to cross. Immediately, a voice called out to them from the creek.
“Halt! Stop right there.”
Undergrowth crackled as shadows moved, and Lauren realized they’d run into an ambush. Time stood still for a moment. Then Eagleburger drew his revolver and fired.
The shot boomed in the silence. Lauren turned to run immediately and multiple weapons returned fire, the bullets cracking past her ears. Back down the street and into a yard she leaped. A rocket soared up into the sky with a whoosh, and a parachute flare cast its harsh light over the neighborhood. Eagleburger followed her into the yard, turning to fire another shot. Lauren ran between two houses and along the street, then saw red-banded militia at the other end, training their rifles. A flurry of shots forced her back into cover, and another rocket soared into the air. Eagleburger slammed into the wall beside her and sank down, clutching his side. Lauren saw then the bloom of blood spreading on his shirt. Reacting swiftly, she took her own shirt off, balled it up and pressed it into the wound. Eagleburger cried out with the pain, and Lauren placed his own hand over the temporary dressing and told him to maintain the pressure.
“You should go,” breathed the Sheriff. He held his gun out to her. “Don’t let them get you. Don’t let them win.”
Lauren took the revolver. “They haven’t won yet,” she said.
Returning to the corner of the house, she saw the militia coming up from the creek. One was a little too eager, and was almost at the yard fence, ahead of the others. Lauren steadied the heavy revolver against the side of the building, aimed and fired.
The impact felled the militiaman instantly, like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. The others behind him hit the deck. Lauren ran back to Eagleburger, put her arm under his and lifted him to his feet.
“You stay with me,” she said.
Breaking out across the yard, Lauren struggled with the sheriff’s weight. Unable to climb the next picket fence, they simply crashed through it, the rotten wood giving way as they fell. Lifting her head up from the weeds, she saw that the militia had reached the corner of the building where she had been. Steadying her aim, she fired another shot, the revolver bucking hard. The militias’ faces disappeared as they sought cover. Lauren heaved with all her might to drag Eagleburger up. Ahead of her, someone opened their back door, shotgun in hand, to see what the ruckus was about.
“Help us,” shouted Lauren.
A series of exploratory shots from the militia pockmarked the wooden house, and the occupant retreated hastily inside.
Lauren hauled Eagleburger along, but it was getting harder as his legs were collapsing. She made it past the house and to the next street but could take him no farther. Laying him down by the front porch, she saw doors and windows open on the street, and people peering out with a variety of weapons for neighborhood defense.
“The sheriff’s hurt,” called Lauren. “I need help.”
Nobody seemed to know what to do, and the militia who’d been circling around appeared at the end of the street. Lauren stood up and discharged a shot in their direction.
“Fight, dammit,” she shouted to the residents.
*
Rick was in place, hiding in the undergrowth around the hill where the observatory sat. He saw the flares going up and heard the shots about a mile to the south. More flares went up over his own position, and he caught the sudden appearance of vehicles coming around behind the observatory. It was too coordinated to be a coincidence.
“We’re compromised,” he said. “Prepare to move out.”
“We’re better off trying to hold the hill,” said Moresby, alarmed.
“There’s no cover here,” said Rick. “The mortars will be ranged on this spot already. We need to get down among the buildings.”
He didn’t mention that he was also determined to fight his way toward Lauren, whatever the consequences.
*
Josh was with the backup group on Beaucatcher Mountain, with an excellent view over the city. He witnessed the parachute flares dangling over some neighborhood to the south-west, and the resulting cracks of gunfire. Then came more flares to the west, illuminating an area near the university. Vehicle engines filled the night and it sounded like an army was on the move. A heavy machine gun began a slow thudding.
“Shit, they’re in trouble,” said Red, in command of the squad.
Needles of light flashed near where Rick’s position was supposed to be, and Red focused his binoculars on the flare-lit spectacle.
“They’re surrounded,” he said.
“How?” said Josh, unable to understand the swift reversal.
“I don’t know, kid. We’d better get down there.”
“Wait,” said Clem. “Aren’t we supposed to stay here? We’re the backup. We’re supposed to wait for them.”
Red looked at him. “You a dumbass, or what?”
Clem shifted awkwardly. “That was the plan,” he said.
Everybody looked at him.
“Are you afraid, Clem?”
Clem didn’t answer.
Red leaned closer to him. “Listen to me. I’ve had to put up with your bellyaching and saying you wanted to kill someone for way too long. But now that you’ve popped your cherry, you thinking you’ve got different priorities?”
Clem gave him a shamefaced look.
“Our guys are down there,” said Red. “When I say move, we move, you got me?”
Clem nodded reluctantly.
“Let’s go,” said Red.
They left their positions and moved down the slope in a tactical formation. Josh was at the back, watching the rear. Josh didn’t normally feel much sympathy for Clem. Like the others, he’d long grown tired of his complaints. But right now, he felt Clem might have a valid point. There seemed to be a full scale battle going on down in the city, and they were a mere squad of seven. As reinforcements went, that didn’t really seem adequate.
On the other hand, his mom and dad were down there.
It was just that Josh hadn’t actually taken part in the big battles at Bergen Mountain and Round Knob, and he really wasn’t sure what it would be like.
The sound of battle lent some urgency to the squad’s movements, and Josh kept up, not wanting to look less keen. An avenue snaked along the bottom of the mountain, and the point man reached it. Almost immediately, there was a shout, the sound of a heavy machine gun cocking, and an engine starting up. The vehicle rolled and the machine gun fired a burst, the flashes illuminating an armored Humvee. The silhouettes of the squad tumbled as they dropped to cover, and Josh took cover behind a tree. The vehicle was moving toward the point man, whose fate Josh couldn’t see, but Josh slid the safety off his little .22 and took aim, firing rapid shots at the gunner.
The machine gunner, perhaps reacting to the sound of ricochets on the gun shield, swung the gun around and pulled the trigger, raking the trees. Josh threw himself down and trembled as a
storm of bullets punched into the dirt around him.
*
Lauren cradled Eagleburger’s head in her lap. He’d called her name and she’d dropped to her knees to see what he wanted. The blood seeping past his fingers and the deathly pallor of his gaunt face showed he didn’t have long to go. The residents in all the nearby houses were shooting bolt-action rifles and shotguns out of their doors and windows, keeping the militia back for the time being, but nobody had the time or medical supplies to help the sheriff now.
“Lauren,” he croaked, his breathing labored.
“I’m here,” said Lauren, leaning closer to catch his voice above the gunfire.
“Make it all worth it,” he said.
She didn’t know what to make of such an impossible demand. Was she supposed to somehow make everything okay? Or just stay alive so that his efforts were justified?
She wasn’t about to interrogate him on the issue. He held her gaze and his face twisted as a spasm of pain washed through him. She held his hand and had her fingers crushed as he fought the pain, arching his back. She couldn’t do anything to help him, and he struggled, teeth bared, until suddenly his grip slackened, and he sank back down, his head lolling over. Lauren closed his eyes for him and laid his hand across his chest.
“You did your duty,” she whispered as bullets cracked over her head. Taking bullets from his belt, she reloaded the revolver.
Now it was time to do hers.
28
“It ends here now,” called Farah to the assembled crowd.
Throughout the afternoon, messengers had been sent out, and volunteers from the outlying communities had filtered in, swelling the numbers. The hidden caches of weapons and ammunition had been dug up and distributed. Standing before them all, Farah held up her rifle.
“I fight to avenge Lou,” she said. “We fight for our freedom. Our friends are up in the mountains now, and they need our help. It’s time we played our part. We won’t be treated like dirt anymore. Tonight, we march.”
Lou’s death had shocked everyone, and there was a palpable anger in the air. When the column of citizens took to the road, they were joined by another column from Lake James, armed with whatever they could get their hands on. They marched all evening, and as night fell, and they neared Newberry Fork, they could hear the crump of mortar bombs up in the forest.
*
The explosions in Camp Alpha were terrifying. The ground shook as the mortar bombs hit, and the ones that detonated in the treetops sent out showers of shrapnel over the entire draw. April hugged Lizzy and Daniel at the back of the dugout, and the red-hot slivers of metal sliced down through the curtain and into the ground just inside the doorway.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” said April hastily, trying to keep the children calm. In between the explosions, the cracks of gunfire appeared to be getting closer and closer. The bombs stopped descending, and parachute flares shot up into the sky once more. April heard shouts nearby and began to worry. It sounded like the perimeter was falling. Dee appeared in the doorway, Jacob in one arm and a snub-nosed revolver in the other.
“We need to go,” she said in her usual monotone. Then she disappeared.
The fact that Dee had come out of her hole at all alarmed April. Things must be pretty bad for Dee to want to move. Grabbing her shotgun, April ushered the children out and along the trench, heading for the bunker within the next line of defense. A scared looking young man aimed his rifle down the trench line, waiting for something bad to emerge from the other end. April and the children passed him and turned the corner, skidding on the duckboards where blood had been spilled. They made it to a sandbagged bunker with overhead cover. Inside they found Dee, a couple of other people and a wounded fighter who was having his head bandaged. April motioned for the children to crouch in the corner and looked out through the bunker slit. The fighter they’d passed earlier came running down the trench. A gun poked around the corner and fired, and the fighter stumbled and went down hard, his gun clattering along the boards. An enemy militiaman peered around for another shot, and April fired the shotgun.
*
Scott retreated down the trench, urging the others around him to keep moving. The southern ridge had been lost, and the enemy were shooting down into the draw. If the enemy pressed their advantage there, Scott knew he’d be cut off and the enemy would be able to roll up the defenses from within.
Enemy militia advanced through the trench behind him, and Scott turned, snapping off shots to keep their heads down before making it around the next corner. There was a sandbagged fighting position there, and he ordered the people with him to man it.
“You hold them back,” he ordered. “Don’t let them come no farther. I’ll get you some relief.”
Leaving the position, he ran as hard as he could through the trench system, his stomach cramped and aching. He came upon Harvey and a few others in another fighting position, taking fire from higher up the slope.
Scott ducked down with them and, gasping for breath, asked, “What happened?”
“We couldn’t hold them,” said Harvey.
Scott looked at the group with him. They looked shell shocked and ready to run some more.
“Bullshit,” said Scott. “We need to take that position back. You,” he said, pointing to Chuck, “get us some reinforcements, fast. Grab whoever you can and bring them here.”
Chuck was taken aback at being treated like he was anonymous, but the look on Scott’s face warned him not to make a scene. Nodding once, he took off. Scott turned to face the others.
“There’ll be no more running,” he announced in his best parade ground voice. “On my command, we go back up there and retake that position before they secure it. Make ready.”
No one was willing to argue with him, and they steeled themselves for the inevitable.
“Go!”
Scott led the way out of the trench and up the slope, his aches and pains forgotten. A hail of fire greeted them, and the slope slowed their charge, but Scott weaved between the trees, firing on the move. The enemy, surprised by the counterattack, fired briefly, then stopped. By the time Scott made the top, the enemy were pulling back. As Scott had suspected, there were only a few of them. They weren’t veterans, so they weren’t willing to hold their ground. Jumping into the ridge foxhole, Scott chased them on their way with a few rounds before darkness settled over them all. The last parachute flares had burned out.
“How the hell did we manage that?” said Harvey, next to him. “I thought we were going to get killed.”
“Aggression pays,” said Scott offhandedly. “Did we lose anyone?”
They counted heads in the dark and discovered two people missing. A search of the slope uncovered them; one unconscious and one wounded. When Chuck appeared with a handful of people, Scott sent a couple of them to take the wounded back.
“Sorry to be so rough on you,” he said to Chuck, “but I had to put a bit of backbone in the others.”
“That’s okay,” said Chuck. “Pretty well put some in me too.”
“Can you find Sally? I suspect we’ve got a lot of wounded now, and I’d prefer it if she was on the case. And can you get me some information on how the other positions are doing? I think, after this lull, they’ll attack again. And bring up some Molotovs. We could do with the light.”
*
Packy scrambled down the slope until he slid into the main communication trench. He’d had a chaotic battle so far, feeling useless in the longer ranged engagements and moving from one position to another. Now that it was quiet, he wanted to check on Dee. He was horrified to discover their shared quarters were empty. Desperate, he ran through the trench and bumped into the silhouettes of three fighters resting in a corner.
“Any of you guys seen Dee?” he said.
“Who’s Dee?” said an unfamiliar voice.
That’s when he realized they weren’t fighters, and they weren’t resting. They were enemy militia.
That thought, though
reversed, seemed to have crossed their minds too, and there was a brief pause. Then they all turned to bring their weapons to bear.
Packy was already facing them, and the Mac-10 was in his hands. He pulled the trigger before they could, and the obscene magazine-emptying burst cut them down in one go, perforating their bodies. They fell down with chokes and sighs. Reloading, Packy took his lighter out and examined them by its flickering light. He was relieved when he saw the red armbands.
One of them was still moving. Packy touched his trigger, unleashing a quick burst that jerked the body about before it flopped down like a lifeless doll.
“Y’all weren’t supposed to be here,” said Packy. “So let that be a lesson to you.”
He strolled around the corner and nearly got his head blown off by a shotgun blast. Tumbling back and feeling his hair for any wounds, he heard a distinctive baby cry.
“What are you shooting me for?” he shouted.
“Packy? Is that you?”
“Darling, I’m the one and only. Have you seen Dee?”
“She’s here.”
Packy dashed over immediately, finding her inside the bunker and hugging her.
Except it wasn’t her.
“I’m April,” said the recipient of his affections. “Dee’s over there.”
Packy paused awkwardly. “Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he mumbled.
A little more carefully, he located Dee and smothered her for a minute.
Outside the bunker, people were on the move.
“Who’s out there?” called April.
“It’s me,” replied Chuck’s voice. He had others with him and he carried a bag with clinking bottles.
“Do you have any wounded in there?” came Sally’s voice.
“Yes, two,” said April.
A rocket soared up into the sky, and harsh light returned to the draw. Sally went inside the bunker and Chuck pulled Packy to one side.
“Can you take these up to Scott?” said Chuck. “I’m getting too old for this running around. And take these fellas up with you too.”
He handed over the bag of Molotovs to Packy.
