Brotherhood of Fire

by N. C. Reed

  “So, stop wasting it and let’s go,” Gordy shrugged. “I'm staying. Well, actually I should more correctly say I'm going. And before you say it,” he held up a hand to forestall an expected retort, “yes, you can probably get me out of here but. . .I will probably be able to hurt you bad enough in the process that you can't go either. So, do we both go? Or do we both stay here and recuperate? Choice is yours,” he smiled as brightly as he could under the circumstances.

  Clay sat and stared at his nephew for a few seconds, noting the teen's quiet resolve and steadfast manner. Finally, he shook his head ruefully as he put the Hummer in gear again.

  “They should have named you Leon,” he groused as the vehicle started moving again. “And you better do what I tell you, when I tell you, every time I tell you. If you don't, I'll knock your ass out and dump you in the back. Got it?”

  “Got it!” Gordy nodded. “No problem Uncle Clay.”

  “Don't call me Clay anymore until we're home,” his uncles surprised him. “Call me Bossman. That's a call sign that hides my real identity. Use it when you need to call me.”

  “Okay,” Gordy nodded. “What about me?” he asked.

  “What about you, what?” Clay asked as he turned onto the road.

  “Don't I need a call sign too?” Gordy inquired. “For when you need to call me?”

  “I guess-, Son-of-a-bitch!” Clay slammed the brakes on once more as a huge shadow sat blocking the road before him.

  “I don't think my mom would like that one Unc-, uh, Bossman.”

  -

  “What do you think you're doing?” Clay was getting tired of being surprised tonight.

  “Waiting on you,” Barnes replied calmly. “We're going with. Me, Tommy, Doc and Pancho. Scope and Thug have the watch. We're geared and ready when you give the word.”

  “Which I won't be giving,” Clay told him simply. “I told you before, you're in command now-”

  “Right, and I said we're going,” Barnes but him off smoothly. “This command thing is easier than I thought, by the way,” he added with a slight sneer. “I wondered why you could do it. Should be in that insurance commercial. You know, 'It's so easy a ca-'”

  “Shut up,” Clay managed to get out through tightly clenched teeth. “You are all supposed to be guarding this farm.”

  “We are,” Barnes nodded. “By killing the biggest threat to this farm and the people living on it. That's called being proactive,” the bigger man just kept poking the bear. “That means-”

  “I know what it means!” Clay finally lost the battle with his temper. He was trying to work himself into a good fit but suddenly couldn't manage it.

  “Whatever,” he finally said. “Fall in line behind us. We 'll stop outside town and recon on foot. You got rations and water? We may be a day.”

  “Set for three days of field ops,” Barnes nodded. “We are good to go.”

  “Then let’s go,” Clay sighed in resignation. “Every minute we spend here is another minute lost. Have Poncho mount with me and man the fifty. Let’s move!”

  “Got it Bossman!” Barnes almost saluted. “Pancho! De-ass and mount up with Bossman. You got the Ma Deuce. We're heading in people so look alive!”

  “What a mess,” Clay shook his head once more as he climbed back inside the Hummer. As 'Pancho' Juarez clambered into the back seat, Gordy looked at his uncle once more.

  “Think of a good call sign for me yet?” he asked innocently. “I was thinking something like “Linebacker', or maybe-”

  “Chip,” Clay told him, putting the Hummer in gear one final time and starting again for town.

  “Huh?” Gordy's confusion showed in is tone. “Chip? Where did that come from?”

  “Chip off the old block,” Clay told him. “You couldn't be more like Leon if you tried.”

  “I'm not sure that's a compliment,” Gordy admitted after a moment of reflection.

  “It isn't,” Clay assured him. “Now shut up and grab that other pair of goggles in the back. Help me keep a lookout while Pancho sets up the fifty. We need to make up for all this lost time.”

  “Yes Unc-, uh, Bossman.”

  -

  Abigail tried to break her fall but with her hands cuffed behind her all she could do was try to loosen up and ride it out like she would a fall from horseback. Stars exploded in front of her eyes as her forehead slammed into the wall she didn't see even as the door to the small room was slammed shut, laughter at her difficulty ringing in her ears.

  It hadn't taken more than five minutes for things to go horribly and completely wrong for her little adventure. As she lay on her side in the dark trying to let her head straighten out, she reviewed the many mistakes she had made tonight, beginning with running off to do this on her own to start with.

  In hindsight, she could see that her Uncle Clay had been right. This town was locked up tight and there wasn't anything much she could do about it. She doubted he could either to be honest. She could feel her face redden even in the dark as she remembered the things she'd said to him. She had been so wrong on so many levels.

  The first thing that had happened was that she'd run over a set of spikes that had been painted black and laid across the road. In the dark they had been nearly invisible even in her headlights and she hadn't been able to stop in time. Four blowouts later she had hit a concrete barrier pole set in a parking lot, wrecking her truck's front end and eating the steering wheel in the process.

  She must have blacked out momentarily because the next thing she remembered was being pulled up from the ground by the hair, her arms already pulled behind her and wrists shackled with what felt like police handcuffs.

  Her captors wasted no time in groping her, making lewd comments and 'promises' about what a good time they would show her later on. As they did that, their leader stripped her gear from her truck, including the rifle her Uncle Clay had entrusted her with. She fought back tears as she realized how stupid she had been, but it was too late for that now.

  Forced to walk over a mile to the old shoe factory where the group had apparently set up shop, she was continually groped and grabbed as her captors enjoyed having a young, physically fit female body at their disposal even for a few minutes. They never missed an opportunity to grab her breasts, her ass or rub her crotch. For some reason, it never went beyond that. She didn't know why but thought it best not to question such good fortune.

  The town looked nothing like the place she had grown up in. They walked through areas lit by torches and by burning barrels of whatever flammable material had been placed inside, the flickering light creating eerie shadows on the buildings and trees in town. Destroyed buildings were faintly visible in the dim firelight and burned out vehicles dotted the street they walked down.

  As soon as they had arrived at the plant, she had been shoved into this small, darkened area. She felt like it was some kind of supply closet but since it was pitch dark she couldn't tell. She struggled to try and sit up but finally gave up as her head kept spinning until she couldn't tell which way was up to begin with.

  She had gone from strong, independent young woman to helpless captive in just about the length of time it took a grownup to tie their shoes.

  Alone now in the dark, she finally let the tears flow. Tears of anger, weakness, and most of all shame. Shame at how easily she had been captured, and how badly she had screwed up. Weakness that prevented her from freeing herself and then her friend. And lingering anger that none of this would have been necessary if her Uncle Clay had done what she wanted.

  -

  “Here,” was all Clay said into the radio as he pulled off the road. Both vehicles eased into an older barn near the roadway. A quick recon found no one around and Clay nodded in satisfaction.

  “Tommy, loft,” Clay whispered harshly. “We can't afford to leave this place unguarded since it's not only our ride home but also probably the only working vehicles around here not in enemy hands.” No one missed the word 'enemy' but they chose not to commen
t on it.

  “Chip, you're with Tommy,” he said next, looking at his nephew. “Be prepared to drive the Hummer if we call for you. Bear, you and Doc will recon straight down this road,” he pointed on a simple street map of Peabody that the Chamber of Commerce put out each year. “This is the old shoe plant where the main opposition is supposed to be holed up,” he tapped a place on the map. “Me and Pancho will parallel you here,” he ran his finger down another street before handing it to Barnes. “This is a recon,” he emphasized. “Be looking for a better place to stash the rides, watch for traps. Anyone with a gun is probably an enemy but ultimately use your own judgment. At this point I'm assuming that anyone still fighting is a bad guy, but sometimes we get lucky. Any questions?”

  “ROE?” Tandi Maseo asked calmly.

  “If it shoots at us, kill it,” Clay said simply. “Anything else?” There wasn't.

  “All right. The primary here is to retrieve my niece so we can beat the shit out of her when we get back,” he told the assembled group, all of whom chuckled other than him. “Secondary is the damn Walters girl since she's what caused all this. Samantha Walters. If she tells you that's her name, bring her with you. Otherwise we can free the rest if practicable and let them fend for themselves. Tertiary is to eliminate any heavy weapons the enemy may have as well as reducing their numbers. But for now, we recon and look over the situation. Let’s go.”

  Clay had clearly expected his nephew to argue but instead the younger man had monkeyed his way into the loft and settled in watching the rear while Jody Thompson took the front, facing the direction the recon was going.

  Satisfied, though far from happy, Clay motioned for the rest of the team to head in.

  -

  Abigail drew up when she heard voices outside the door of her small cell, faintly but definitely there.

  “Boss be here in a bit,” one said. “We 'll take that new bitch to see him when he gets here.”

  “Man, I hope he give her to us,” another spoke and Abigail shivered at that statement. “That one fine piece that is. Wonder what she doin' here? And where she got that rifle? It a nice piece too f. . . .” the voices faded and she could hear footsteps fading away as well. So, the two were walking a patrol maybe? She wondered how often they came around, then snorted.

  What difference does it make? she thought to herself as she fought to get the slightest bit more comfortable. It's not like I'm going to do anything at this point.

  She let her head fall back again as despair settled in on her once more. She had failed utterly and completely and was about to pay a horrible price for that failure.

  Just as her Uncle Clay had warned. Damn him.

  -

  They had parked just five hundred yards out of the city so it was a brisk walk to enter Peabody city limits. Their night vision suffered a slight degradation due to flickering fires here and there but it wasn't enough to render them useless. Clay noted that a lot of the flames were torches set at near regular intervals, inter-spaced at odd intervals with burning barrels that gave off both light and heat.

  “Looks like our friends don't like the dark,” Juarez whispered in his ear. “More organized than I would have given them credit for.”

  “Like Greg said,” Clay nodded. “Someone smart is calling their shots, looks like. We need to get out of this light.” With that, the two eased further off the street, moving like ghosts among the houses and shops along the street. A few showed signs of damage, but it was difficult to see minor damage with the night vision and they didn't care enough about such things to risk a light.

  They had made their way another five blocks or so when Barnes broke radio silence, speaking softly in Clay's ear.

  “Bossman, how copy?” Clay noted that the big man's voice seemed strained but put it off to his trying to whisper and still be heard.

  “Five by,” he replied.

  “We're at the intersection of Hwy 67 and Sycamore street,” Barnes reported. “You need to come over here.”

  “Situation?” Clay asked, frowning. This was unusual.

  “You need to come over here,” Barnes repeated. “You need to see this yourself.”

  “Roger that,” Clay said after a minute. “Be a minute but we're en route.” Two mike clicks were the response from Barnes.

  “What the hell?” Juarez whispered softly.

  “Has to be bad if he's insisting we move over there,” Clay shrugged. “We'll head up and then over. Sycamore is two or three streets further along.”

  “Roger that,” Juarez nodded. The two continued moving forward until Juarez grabbed Clay's shoulder, signaling him to stop.

  “Gas,” Juarez whispered. “Too strong not to be fresh.” Clay nodded in agreement and signaled that they would move back toward the street proper. Weaving through the dark, the two of them stopped in the shadow of a small framed house. There was a sign out front but they couldn't read what it said in the goggles.

  “. . .get some more later?” a voice floated to them.

  “Dunno man, but I know you better be watchin' like we was told,” a different voice replied. “We get caught fuckin' off like that, we gonna be hurtin'.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” the first voice shot back. After that there was no more talking. Clay shook his head at this lack of discipline. One minute it looks like this bunch is well organized, the next they look like rank amateurs. That would make planning and execution more difficult as rank amateurs inside a structured set-up would lead to surprises.

  Clay took a peek around the corner to see how many were nearby and where they were and froze.

  Sitting in the street, front end crumpled against a concrete pylon used to protect landscaping and separate parking lots from the street, sat a very familiar looking truck.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered. This was almost certainly Abigail's truck.

  “Sierra Charlie?” Juarez asked, watching their rear. It was their way of requesting a situation check. Was everything okay or not, should action be taken, etc. Two words for a large message.

  “Abby's truck I think, wrecked and empty,” Clay replied. Juarez took a quick look around the corner.

  “Spikes on the roadway,” he noted. “Probably on all of them and in more than one place. Those two likely know where she is,” he added.

  “Probably, but Bear sounded like he needed us pretty urgently,” Clay agreed. He made his decision the same way he would have anywhere else in combat. Quick and decisive. “We proceed to his loco, and then double back. Down and over. Avoid contact.”

  “Roger that,” Juarez nodded and lead them off to find a dark spot to cross the street.

  -

  An infrared light showed them where Bear and Doc were huddled behind a car sitting along the street. It had taken them almost ten minutes to make their way over, but Clay and Juarez were soon huddled behind the same car.

  “What's up?” Clay asked, his voice tight with worry. It had been difficult to keep his mind on his job after seeing Abby's truck like that. Until then he had maintained hope that her skills as a hunter would have served her better. From all appearances, she'd never made it that far.

  “Boss, things are worse here than you thought,” Barnes told him flatly, his voice completely void of emotion.

  “They're bad, no question,” Clay nodded absently. “Why did you call us over?”

  “I…” Barnes started and then stopped.

  “Bear what is it?” Clay's exasperation started to show. “I found Abby's truck on the way over and I need to get back to it as soon as I can. There are two thugs over there who may know where she is.”

  “Sir,” Maseo spoke into the silence. “Sir, step between these two houses and take a look,” he pointed to two frame houses sitting side by side.

  “Look at what?” Clay all but demanded, but Maseo just shook his head. His impatience showing in his face though invisible in the dark, Clay moved to the alley like opening, Juarez on his heels. Once there he knelt, looking inside. The
small passage was between two houses that had obviously been part of the massive fire that had swept through town, but-

  “What?” he whispered harshly. “I don't see…” He trailed off as Juarez grabbed his shoulder. Clay looked back to see Juarez looking up. He slowly removed the hand from Clay's shoulder and pointed in the same direction. Clay followed the point and saw…

  Clayton Sanders had been all over the world in his time in the service. Had been in some extraordinarily amazing places and had also been in some of the worst pits the Earth had to show him. Met amazing people who could have been living just down the road from his family's farm, and met some who were nothing more than wasted skin, consuming resources that better people needed to live. He had seen the worst, the absolute worst that humanity had to offer in more than one of those places.

  Never once had he imagined he would see it in his own nation, let alone in the small community he had grown up in.

  “Boss,” Juarez's voice was strained.

  “We're moving,” Clay said, suddenly emotionless. “Back to Bear and Doc. Move.” The two retreated to where their teammates were waiting.

  “Change of plans,” Clay said at once. “This is no longer a recon. Bear, Doc, back to the rides. Chip can drive the Cougar and lead you in. Pancho and I will clear the road of those spikes and any sentries, then meet you near the shoe factory. I need two hours to be in position and assure that the road is clear. Don't wait for a signal, just watch the clock.” He paused for a moment as he looked from one man to another.

  “If it's carrying, kill it,” he ordered. “No exceptions. If they're holed up, burn 'em out. Use the Nineteen, the Ma, whatever it takes to get the job done. Set an ambush on the road out that you can trigger in case we have pursuit on the exfil. Questions?”

  “What do we do with the captives, assuming we can find any?” Barnes asked.

  “Greg said there was a bus around here somewhere being towed by a tractor, and that this bunch had a few working vehicles. We improvise. Some of them will likely be able to drive a vehicle, including my stupid ass niece. We cross that bridge when we hit it. Anything else?” No one said anything.