by N. C. Reed
“Move. Clock's running.”
The four shadows split apart without anything else being said, two moving back the way they had come, the other two moving laterally back to where two dead men walking were apparently standing guard.
Clayton Sanders…No. Clayton Sanders wasn't available at the moment. Bossman had some questions for them.
Behind them, in the small alley-way between two ordinary frame houses in a small town of middle America, two men, three women and three small children had been left hanging like carcasses in a slaughterhouse, nailed to the walls of their homes. Homes that had then been burned. Two families, gone. CTG 31 was going to make someone pay for that. Pay for all of it.
Real terror was now stalking the streets of Peabody, Tennessee.
-
Petey Jenkins was trash. He was born that way he liked to brag, and saw no reason to change. Flirting with the law from his tween years, he had been suspended numerous times from school before finally being expelled for good over a weapons charge. His lack of a diploma meant he wouldn't be allowed to have a driver's license until after his twenty-first birthday, a punishment he considered all out of proportion for the crime of threatening a teacher with a switchblade over a bad grade. If the bitch had just changed his grade like he'd asked, he wouldn't have drawn the knife after all. Thus, it was her fault all along, right?
With no license, he was reduced to flipping burgers at a local fast food place until he'd been fired there for smoking while he was supposed to be working. That had led to a confrontation with the manager which had in turn led to a confrontation with the city police that had ended up with him twitching on the ground, two taser darts buried in his abdomen.
Two months of jail time later he was back on the streets. First item of business had been getting even with that manager. Smart enough, barely, not to force another confrontation, Petey had merely set fire to the restaurant, putting the manager and twenty-two other people out of work. While he had been a prime suspect in the arson, there was never any evidence to support a charge, allowing him to go free without so much as a slap on the wrist.
Not long after that a man had approached him offering him a place with his 'organization', saying he needed people that weren't afraid to get their hands dirty. Money had been flashed, promises made, and suddenly Petey found himself more or less gainfully employed if not legally so. He didn't get a check on Fridays, but he never lacked for spending money. Lessons from someone else in the 'organization' taught him to be careful how and where he spent his money so that no one would wonder where he was getting it. To help cover it, he received a job in a small grocery store stocking shelves, with a strict warning not to cause the same kind of trouble he had elsewhere or the next time anyone saw him would be on a milk carton.
That's where he had been six months later when the lights went out.
Petey had missed the radio broadcast about the approaching disaster so the first warning he had was when the lights had actually gone out. At one hour until closing time, his 'boss' had locked the doors and told Petey to head out, that he'd pay him for the last hour since it wasn't his fault.
He wandered around town on foot for a bit, curious at what everyone was so excited about until a friend in the outfit found him and told him what was really going on. From there going forward things changed in a big way.
By morning their group had some organization back and began to make rounds with two working vehicles, grabbing things on a list provided by their bosses. That work went on for several days until there was finally a confrontation with the Sheriff. It took about five minutes for the boss to put him and his minions down, much to the delight of Petey and the rest, and then it was back to business. At least for a bit.
Then some of the townspeople decided to fight back. Had they not waited so long they would probably have won, Petey acknowledged. He'd never realized just how many people in Peabody were so heavily armed and apparently just waiting for the right provocation or set of circumstances to unleash all that firepower. A lot of his friends had died just a few nights past in a battle that had raged for more than a day. Petey had taken that opportunity to hunt down a certain teacher and punish her for his situation, and, well. . .somewhere along the way a fire had started. Wasn't a big fire, really, just one house. Okay two houses, but they were close together and owned by people who were kin, so it was sorta like one house.
Anyway, the fire had gotten away from him and started to spread, and with no firemen left, well, a lot of Peabody was just a burned shell, now. His 'boss' had not been pleased about the fire so Petey had made sure that no one discovered he had been the one to set it. The two who had helped him had died in a hail of gunfire shortly after as Petey entertained himself at the teacher's expense, along with every living member of her family.
Finally, most of the people who had been fighting had been brought to heel. Those not killed in the actual fighting had been entertainment for a day or so until they too were gone. Petey himself had taken the opportunity to get even with the chicken-shit fast food manager that had sent him to jail. He was two for two on revenge so far and feeling pretty good about that.
Now he was taking his turn at guard duty on the Jordan road. Already tonight they had 'caught' a hot looking number trying to run into town, carrying an AK of all things, too. Stupid bitch hadn't even slowed down when she hit town and saw the torches burning, running over the strips their boss had had them make and 'deploy' as he called it, over the roads into town. Too bad about the truck, though.
Apparently one of the bosses thought someone would come after the bitch, thus he and another guy were standing guard near the truck she had been driving. Thinking of his partner he looked over to see him standing by the barrel, warming his-
He wasn't there.
Petey should have been apprehensive at that, but Willie was always screwing off somewhere, so Petey just yelled out to him.
“Willie, dammit, where the hell are you at now you sack of shi-” he was cut off by the feeling of something very cold at his throat and a strong grip around his forehead.
“Willie can't come to the phone right now, shithead,” a harsh whisper in his ear told him. “You make a sound and you're dead. You fight, you're dead. You try to get away, you're dead. Run and you die tired. Nod your head if you understand.”
Petey nodded jerkily.
“Good man,” the sarcasm wasn't lost on him as Petey was dragged out of the light and in between the buildings. He couldn't see anymore and so lost track of exactly where they went, but suddenly he was released, shoved against the side of building and held there while a second set of hands shook him down like a cop would have. He could smell the ash of a burned building in his nostrils. The hands finished and Petey, now disarmed, found himself turned around and slammed into the wall behind him yet again, this time with it behind him. That same voice came at him out of the dark.
“That truck came barreling in here about two hours ago now, yeah? Just nod, I can see you.”
Not knowing how anyone could see in this pitch black, but able to feel the cold steel that had to be a sharp knife at his throat, Petey nodded.
“Girl was driving. Young, early twenties, brown hair, fit. Yeah?”
Petey nodded again, this time not feeling the familiar rise in his pants at thoughts of the 'hot piece' that had been driving that truck.
“Was she hurt?”
Petey shook his head side-to-side this time, being careful to do so slowly. He was uneducated, not stupid.
“Where did you take her? The shoe factory?” Another nod.
“Now, you very quietly tell me what I want to know or I will make you suffer the same way so many people in this town have suffered the last few days. Got that?” Another nod.
“How many people are at that shoe factory? And bear in mind if you lie to me, I can always come back and I will.”
“About twenty or so,” Petey was very quiet. “Never know exactly how many, 'cout of people always moving
in and out.”
“Are those spikes on every road?” Nod. Nod. Nod.
“Are there more of them between here and the factory on this road?” Nod. Nod. Nod.
“How many more?”
“Two,” Petey almost whispered. “One at the red light and another in front of the Gold Cup.” The Gold Cup was a local convenience store that had sold beer, gas, tobacco, and greasy fried chicken.
“Any more standing guard like you between here and there?” Nod. Nod. Nod.
“How many and where?”
“Both sets of spikes, front of city hall, and where the Chattanooga Highway meets Columbia Road. The rest are on the other side of the shoe factory. At least three more, but that's all I know about.”
“How many people are being held prisoner at the shoe factory?”
“I don't know exactly,” Petey admitted. “There were some men, a few older bi-, women, and a bunch of younger ones. They're for trade, so the number is always changing,” he added, thinking he was helping himself.
“Trade with who?” the voice asked.
“I dunno,” Petey admitted. “I just heard some o' the ones in the know talkin' 'bout it. They don't tell me that kind o' stuff.”
“Imagine that,” a second voice spoke for the first time.
“You better hope you told me the truth, punk, cause if you ain't, then me or one of my associates will come back here and make you wish I'd killed you quick. Got that?”
“Mister I swear to you I done told you everything I know,” Petey felt his bladder give was just a little. “If it ain't like I said its cause it changed since I been out here, I swear!” Petey had always been the bad one in his world. Having met someone who was really and truly bad was a terrifying experience.
“That's all I need to know,” the harsh voice whispered and Petey wondered why his throat felt wet all of a sudden. He tried to ask the voice if they were good but-
Clay dropped the now lifeless body on the ground after cleaning his knife on the dirty clothing the man was wearing. Very dirty if his nose didn't deceive him, though he didn't really take notice of such things.
“Let's move.”
-
“Head's up, kid,” Gordy heard Jody Thompson whisper. “Movement on the road.”
“Got it,” Gordy replied without taking his eyes from where he'd been on watch. He couldn't see Thompson nod in approval.
“Tommy, two coming in,” Barnes' voice whispered into their ears a few seconds later. “Whiskey Golf.”
“Romeo Tango,” Thompson replied.
Three minutes later Barnes and Maseo were in the loft with the other two, drinking water.
“This place is a fucking war zone,” Barnes told Thompson. “Might as well be Mosul or Mogadishu.”
“That bad,” Thompson sounded neutral.
“That bad,” Maseo nodded.
“We got. . .” Barnes checked his watch, “one hour and thirty-three minutes to lay an ambush to deter traffic on the way out and then we're heading straight in. The kid drives the Cougar since he knows the way and leads. You go with and man the Nineteen. We follow in the Hummer. Change in mission, change in ROE. Bossman says this is no longer a recon.”
He spent the next five minutes laying out the changes while whitewashing the reason for Gordy's benefit. Barnes didn't doubt the kid could stand the truth, but it might cause him trouble and right now he needed to be focused on the mission at hand.
“Maybe we should get the others in here with the other Cougar?” Thompson asked.
“No dice,” Barnes was shaking his head. “Bossman is adamant about protecting Home Plate no matter what. Wasn't for extenuating circumstances, we wouldn't be here don't forget.”
“Right,” Thompson nodded. It was an open secret that Bossman's niece had a thing for the quiet sniper and that Tommy enjoyed her company, though to what extent no one really knew. Even to his teammates Thompson wasn't forthcoming with personal matters.
“Alright, you two maintain here while me and Doc get an ambush laid behind us somewhere. We 'll be off radio so don't shoot us on the way back in. Watch the clock. One hour and…twenty-seven, we're on our way in hot.”
“Roger that.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
-
Juarez checked his watch and held up five fingers, flashing them twice.
Fifteen minutes. Clay nodded and turned his attention back to the silhouette of the shoe factory. They had about two hours until daylight. In the light, their numbers would be more than evident. They had until then to be done and be gone.
During the past hour-and-a-half Clay had 'interrogated' three other 'guards' about the shoe factory and the surrounding area. All had more or less jived with his first victim, the differences so small that they were like as not products of simply not paying attention, or in some cases less than intelligent thugs not being allowed to know everything that was going on. In that same time, he and Juarez had eliminated four 'guard posts' for a total of eleven dead bad guys, and removed seven sets of spike strips. Two had been the real thing, obviously taken from a police car or building, which was in itself ominous enough but Clay was past caring. If there was a police officer from the city or a deputy from the county that was helping these animals, then Clay owed it to society to put him or her down with the rest of the rabid dogs.
Juarez tapped his shoulder twice to get his attention then moved that hand over Clay's shoulder to point to what had attracted his notice. Clay followed the point as saw an extended cab truck pulling into the parking lot, stopping at the entrance. A large man got out of the passenger side door and entered the building, leaving the driver to guard the truck. Said driver got out and leaned on the hood. In less than a minute a flash illuminated him briefly as he lit a cigarette or cigar, ruining his night vision. Apparently, they felt safe at least for the moment.
Clay was about to rob them of that feeling.
Juarez flashed five fingers twice this time and Clay nodded once more. Time to move. The two began making their way to the entrance, using the available cover to stay out of the flickering light. Both had paused long enough to lower a patch over their off eye, protecting their night vision in the event that their NVG was blinded by a sudden light. Odds were against it considering their situation, but assumptions led to casualties.
Five minutes later the two settled into a good spot just thirty yards from the door they needed to enter. They had agreed on a strategy before getting here, Clay being slightly familiar with the interior of the old place. While changes had undoubtedly been made, he hoped they were minimal. In any case there was no real way to know until they got inside.
He settled his sights on the man leaning on the truck and waited. It should be a short wait.
-
“Sure you can drive this beast, kid?” Barnes asked as Gordy settled into the driver's seat of the Cougar 6x6.
“Can't be harder than a tractor, dump truck or a dozer,” he shrugged. “I 'll manage. Any quirks of this thing?”
“Quirks?”
“Transmission problems? Steering off? Hard to turn? Lousy turn radius?” Gordy rattled off concerns. Barnes chuckled at the boy's intelligence.
“Trans is automatic, and smooth as a good truck so no worries there,” Barnes replied, impressed with the teens questions. “Steers a bit tight since its new but power steering makes it easy to control and the turn radius is less than a civilian truck but this rig can run over or push out of the way anything smaller than itself.”
“Stereo?” Gordy quipped and Barnes laughed outright at that, clapping the boy on the shoulder.
“You're okay kid. You're also in the lead since you know where we're going. We go dark until contact, then hit the lights in all directions here,” he indicated the switches. “Before you flick the switch say 'lights lights lights' into the radio so we know they're coming. Got it?”
“Got it,” Gordy nodded, making sure he could reach the switches and throw them without trouble.
“W
e're going in hard so expect gunfire. Don't let it spook you. The Nineteen is loud and the Ma Deuce behind will be as bad or worse. Ignore that and focus on taking us in. You park with the back door to the entrance. If there's a car or truck blocking you just push them out of the way, this rig can take it. Once there, you move to the rear and guard the exit. Bossman and Pancho should already be inside. Tommy will provide heavy weapons support while me and Doc provide suppression fire. Once we're ready to go, you may still have to drive so for now just plan on doing that. Also, be listening for Bossman to call for assistance inside. If that happens wait for Doc to make his way to you and then support him once you're inside. Armor on?”
“Yep,” Gordy nodded, his helmet bobbing slightly. Barnes quickly adjusted it for him. “All right,” he tapped the helmet on top to check it. “Anything else?”
“Time!” Maseo called just then.
“I got it,” Gordy promised, checking over the controls once more even as he spoke.
“Then lead us out. Watch for obstructions. Bossman and Pancho are supposed to have gotten all the strips but we're watchful just in case, right?”
“Right.”
“Don't falter when you see your sister's truck,” he warned and Gordy merely nodded. “She's supposed to be all right for now. You focus on your job and she 'll stay that way.”
“I doubt that,” Gordy smirked. “When she gets home she's gonna get her ass beat, I guarantee it.”
“Laugh about it then and not now,” Barnes warned. “Let's move.” With that the big man was gone and Gordy closed the door.
“Ready kid,” Thompson said quietly as he settled into the tub. “Let’s do this.”
Gordy fired up the heavy rig and felt the horsepower rumble through it. Putting it in drive, he eased out of the barn and onto the road. Once straightened out, he hit the gas and the big vehicle shot forward.
“That's it!” Thompson yelled, more animated than Gordy had seen him since they'd met weeks before.
