The Suicide King

by Chris Fritschi

  “So far, so good,” said Tate. “What’s your plan of action, Sergeant?”

  “There’s an alley two buildings from here,” said Wesson. We can use that for our approach. It’s lined with walls from yards, but several of them are low enough to climb over if we encounter a lot of Vix. That should put us half a block from our objective.”

  “Sounds solid,” said Tate. “Good work.”

  “Thanks,” said Wesson smiling at the compliment. “After we make …” Multiple pops in the distance interrupted her. “Gunfire.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SCAVENGERS

  Except for Rosse everyone had gathered at the wall and was peering over to see what was happening. Wesson, Tate and Kaiden were the only ones with binoculars, but the surrounding buildings blocked their view of everything except the street the next block over. There was another chorus of gunfire, this time much closer coming from several guns.

  “Oh crap,” said Rosse. “I got Vix running around down in the street.”

  “Are they coming up the stairs?” asked Wesson.

  “No,” said Rosse. “But those gunshots got them stirred up.”

  “Next time start with if they’re a threat,” growled Wesson, “then you can follow with the color commentary. Copy?”

  “Yeah, whatever,” said Rosse.

  “I didn’t hear you, Sergeant,” said Tate.

  “Yeah, I copy,” said Rosse sourly.

  A few Vix ran past the liquor store, but soon they were coming in droves. As they watched in amazement as a Vix broke apart with pieces flying everywhere instantly followed by the sound of a machine gun. Before they could wonder what was happening, a large armored personnel carrier rolled into view.

  Waves of Vix were madly throwing themselves at the blunt grill of the APC, which plowed through them on thick four-foot tires.

  A man stood out of a hatch behind a mounted machine gun, laughing and slapping the roof of the APC. A string of skulls hung above the thick, bulletproof windshield.

  The Vix that weren’t crushed, clawed and bit at the metal monster as it heedlessly cut a swath of gore as it drove out of sight.

  “What the hell was that?” said Fulton.

  “A diversion,” said Tate.

  “Like Khuder Pass?” confirmed Kaiden.

  “Yeah,” said Tate darkly. “Just like Khuder.”

  “Khuder what?” said Fulton.

  “It’s a small town in the north east of Mongolia,” said Ota, matter-of-fact.

  “How do you know stuff like that?” asked Fulton, even more baffled.

  Tate looked at Ota with mild astonishment. Ota merely grinned and shrugged.

  “Top, you been to Mongolia?” said Fulton.

  “Focus, people,” said Wesson.

  A moment later, a troop truck and smaller, but bulky armored vehicle drove into view. Someone had made a clumsy attempt to paint a naked pin-up woman on the hood of the vehicle with the name Raquel underneath.

  When they reached the corner, both vehicles slowed and maneuvered length-wise across the street creating a blockade. Several people got out of the troop truck and began casually shooting the remaining Vix.

  Buildings blocked Tate’s view of the entire street, but it was clear another blockade had been set up as more armed people joined the first group.

  Through his binoculars Tate could see they were a mix of men and women; many dressed in a mismatch of civilian and military clothing. Some carried assault rifles while others had shotguns, or hunting rifles, but all were armed.

  The door to the armored vehicle opened and out stepped a tall, thin man with long black hair that tumbled out from under a combat helmet. The others gathered around him as he spoke, gesturing with his assault rifle. They couldn’t hear what he was saying from this distance but the others began cheering then broke off into groups.

  “This is bad,” said Wesson. “Scavengers?”

  “Yes,” said Tate. “A lot of them and they’re well-armed.”

  The scavengers began kicking in doors or prying at security screens to get into the shops on the street.

  Kaiden tapped Tate on the arm. “Take a close look at Slash wanna-be.”

  “Isn’t Guns and Roses before your time?” asked Tate as he focused his binoculars on the gangly leader. At first glance Tate thought the leader was wearing a black tank top, but now recognized it was a ballistics vest. His assault rifle looked modern and the mounted optic appeared to be a recent generation. Tate shifted his view to other scavengers and saw many of them wore bits of modern gear.

  “Top,” said Wesson, breaking Tate from the distraction. “The survivors.”

  Tate’s view blurred as he swept his binoculars back to the liquor store in time to see scavengers break through the door and disappear inside.

  “Ota,” said Wesson. “Sight on the leader.”

  “Sure,” said Ota.

  “Whoa,” said Tate. “Nobody fires without my authority.”

  “They have them,” said Wesson.

  The scavengers came out of the liquor store dragging several terrified people with them.

  “I count four men, three women and a little girl,” said Wesson with rising tension in her voice.

  “What’re we gonna do, Top?” asked Fulton.

  Tate and Kaiden looked at each other with grim understanding.

  Wesson reached down and grabbed her automatic weapon. She swung it up and put the bipod on the edge of the wall. “We have the high ground,” said Wesson. “Ota takes out their leader and I keep them pinned down. The rest of the squad moves into fire position…”

  “And we all die,” broke in Kaiden.

  Wesson flushed with anger as she thrust a finger at Kaiden. “Shut it,” barked Wesson. “You are not …”

  “Sergeant,” said Tate kindly. “We’ve got Vix running all around our position. Those scavengers outnumber and outgun us. They have an APC with a heavy machine gun. With surprise we could get a handful of them, but it’ll end with everyone here dead.”

  “Top?” said Ota who had been watching the scavengers through his scope.

  Everyone turned their attention back to the street. The survivors were huddled in front of the liquor store. The little girl was clutching at one of the women as one of the men stepped out from the group. He was saying something to the leader and gesturing to the store behind them. The leader nodded and a couple of scavengers ran into the store. A moment later they reappeared with a box but it was impossible to tell what was inside from this distance. The self-appointed spokesmen of the survivors backed against the others with his arms out and started to herd them towards the end of the street. The leader ignored them while he looked briefly inside the box. Tate saw the leader move his hand to the pistol, holstered on his hip.

  “Aw shit,” said Tate.

  The leader turned as he brought up his pistol and fired randomly into the group of survivors. The other scavengers joined in, cutting down the helpless people.

  The squad remained frozen in place unable to comprehend the cold brutality of the last few seconds. Tears were streaming down Fulton’s cheeks and Wesson squeezed her eyes shut fruitlessly trying to erase what she’d just witnessed. Ota looked up into the sky mumbling something quietly to himself.

  “Sergeant Wesson,” seethed Tate, “I’m taking operational control.”

  Her eyes still shut tight, Wesson nodded her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe…”

  “Stop right there,” said Tate. “There was nothing you could have done to save them. Nothing. But, you saved our lives by making the right decision.”

  Wesson looked at Tate with lost eyes, but Tate stopped whatever she was going to say. “Lori,” said Tate, “Regret will not bring back the dead. I know what I’m talking about.”

  Fulton’s dirty, young face was streaked with tears. “They killed that little girl, Top,” said Fulton. “Like she was nothing. How can people be like that?”

  “There’s worse monsters tha
n the Vix,” said Rosse joining the conversation. “I seen plenty of ’em behind bars as a prison guard.”

  “They’re getting ready to leave,” said Kaiden who’d been watching the scavengers.

  Staying crouched, Tate moved over to Rosse and peered down to the street below. “Any Vix?”

  “Not for the past couple of minutes,” said Rosse. “We bailing out?”

  “Not even close,” said Tate. “Fulton, you’re with Rosse. Find us a car or truck. Something we can all fit in and make sure it’s got gas.”

  Fulton came over and dropped his radio pack. “What are we doing?”

  “We’re about to make the world a little bit safer,” said Tate. “All of you listen to me.” Tate’s mind flashed through images of past firefights. Those he killed and those he saw die. In that instant he felt an immeasurable chasm between the man he was now and the untarnished young man he’d been those long years ago. He couldn’t force his team to cross that chasm. It had to be their choice. “This is real, now. You’re about to knowingly put yourself in danger. If you have any doubts, now’s the time to quit.”

  “The world is a dangerous place,” said Ota. “Not because of the people who are evil…”

  “But because of the people who don’t do anything about it,” finished Wesson.

  Each member of the team paused silently looking at each other. On each face Tate could see their resolve. “Let’s get this done,” said Tate and the group broke into action.

  “Come on, kid,” said Rosse kindly as he tossed Fulton a bandana. “Here. Wipe yer face.”

  The two headed down the stairs and Tate rejoined the rest of the team. “What did I miss?” asked Tate.

  “Looks like they emptied the liquor store of every bottle they could find,” said Wesson.

  “This is getting better by the minute,” said Tate.

  “Isn’t nice when the bad guy does half the work for you?” said Kaiden.

  “What’s the plan, Sergeant Major?” asked Wesson.

  “With all that booze,” said Tate, “those bastards are going to party hard tonight. We wait until they can’t stand up and move in.”

  “There they go,” said Kaiden. The scavengers had loaded up into their various trucks and began rolling out with the, previously blockaded, Vix following behind.

  “How are going to find their camp?” asked Wesson.

  Tate smiled at the crack of a gunshot. “They’re going to leave a trail of dead Vix for us to follow.”

  * * *

  The darkened jungle echoed with tortured music and sporadic gun shots as the scavengers partied, inside their camp, in an unrestrained binge of drinking and drugs. The Grave Diggers watched them from the inky blackness of the jungle, and waited.

  The scavengers were camped in a trailer park. A tall, razor wire topped fence surrounded the park. Here and there, RV’s had been positioned next to the fence giving guards, on tops of the trailers, a good vantage of the surrounding area. Nobody paid any attention to the handful of Vix that were clawing and biting at the fence.

  “I hate these guys,” grumbled Rosse. “What a waste of good booze.”

  “Maybe they’ll save you some,” said Tate.

  “Not at the rate they’re drink’n,” said Rosse.

  The rest of the team was sleeping, or trying to, as Tate and Rosse took their turn watching the scavengers. Most of them could be seen sleeping around small campfires. Several were gathered around a central bonfire, laughing and yelling. A man stood up, dropping his pants he started peeing on the fire. Others laughed until the half-naked man turned to his audience, spraying them while he sang. A woman jumped up and landed a right cross to his face dropping him where he stood. She stood over his motionless form as others cheered.

  “How much longer,” complained Rosse.

  “Get everyone up,” said Tate. “It’s time.”

  * * *

  Using the shadow of the RV, cast by the roaring bonfire, the Grave Diggers moved up to the fence near the back of the trailer park. Their primary objective was a wide, corrugated metal barn where they’d seen the scavengers park the armored personnel carrier earlier in that day.

  Rosse and Tate pulled the fence away from the ground making enough of a gap for the others to crawl through and under the RV. The barn was only fifty yards away, but between them were two smoldering campfires with sleeping scavengers around them.

  Wesson deployed the bipod of her LM-948 and swiveled her aim to gauge her field of fire. “I’m set,” whispered Wesson.

  Tate pointed to himself and Fulton then to the barn. Everyone else nodded in understanding. Tate and Fulton crawled out from under the RV and crouched against the bumper. Above them they heard the guard on the roof of the RV coming closer. Tate quietly drew his Colt 1911 from its leather holster and aimed up. If the guard’s face appeared over the edge of the RV Tate was prepared to blow it off. They heard the scrape of boots as the guard turned and headed to the other end of the RV.

  Fulton’s head was scanning back and forth like he was watching a sped-up tennis match. Tate put a calming hand on his shoulder and gave him a smile. He mimicked taking a deep breath and releasing it. Fulton followed his example. Looking calmer he nodded to Tate. Staying close to the fence, they headed out, creeping towards the barn. As they passed near a tangle of sleeping scavengers Tate saw Fulton was fixated on them, as if they would jump to their feet at any moment. Just as he was about to step on a beer can, Tate put his hand up. Fulton froze, looking at Tate alarm. Tate pointed to his own eyes then to the ground. Fulton understood the dangerous mistake he had almost made and nodded his head. His eyes fixed on the ground they continued towards the barn. Soon they’d gone as far as they could with the fence at their side. To reach the wide hanger-like barn doors they’d have to cross open ground. Tate took his time looking for anyone facing their direction. He could only see a couple of the guards at the parameters of the trailer park, standing on RV’s. They were all facing outward. The few still awake at the bonfire were slouched on the ground, mumbling and staring at the fire. Tate signaled to Fulton and they quietly headed away from what little security they had into the open. In Tate’s mind every crunch of his boots was amplified tenfold. His heartbeat thudded in his ears like massive drums. Only forty feet from the doors. Tate resisted the wild urge to run the rest of the way. He turned to Fulton to give him a reassuring smile. Fulton’s smile instantly transformed to confusion as a spout of dirt flew up at his feet. Tate heard the gunshot and threw Fulton to the ground. They was no cover near them. Tate winced as two more shots sizzled over him. Looking for the threat he saw a distant RV guard kneeling. Something black was cover his eyes and Tate realized the guard was wearing night vision goggles.

  The scavengers were slow to come out of their stupor until Wesson opened up with her automatic weapon. The windows shattered and the thin metal side puckered as Wesson laced the RV the guard was on, but the rounds didn’t climb to reach him.

  “Wesson,” yelled Tate on the radio.

  “I can’t elevate the gun,” shouted Wesson. Positioned under the RV kept Wesson from raising her gun any higher. Damnit. I should have thought of that, cursed Tate.

  Tate swung his H&K 93 to his shoulder just in time to see the RV guard somersault backwards off the top of the RV.

  “Got him,” crackled Ota over the radio.

  Outside the trailer park, Ota had perched himself in a tree. At least I thought of that, thought Tate.

  All of the scavengers were on their feet shooting blindly in every direction. Many were too drunk to aim and emptied their guns into the ground. One thumped his chest with a savage war cry and charged into the bonfire emerging on the other side unscathed.

  “Let’s go,” shouted Tate, scrambling to his feet. He and Fulton ran to the barn and tugged on the large door. With a screech the door moved a few inches then stopped. Bullets smacked the metal door in front of Tate. Fulton tried to find the shooter in the jumbled chaos of shadows, screams and flashin
g guns. Then he saw a man looking right at him. His hair was a brown tangle and his teeth shown through his braided beard as he sneered at them. He was shooting from his hip, his assault rifle strobing flame. Somewhere in his consciousness, Fulton was aware of the metallic thud of bullets slapping into the door around him. Before he realized what had happened the man stumbled back and fell to the ground. Fulton blinked in surprise and looked at his rifle as if it had materialized in his hands.

  There was a loud screech and Tate disappeared into the barn. Without prompting, Fulton followed.

  Several of the scavengers had focused on the flashes from Wesson’s gun and had taken what cover they could and were returning fire. Kaiden was shooting from behind the rear tire of the RV while Rosse was behind the front.

  Dirt spattered in front of Rosse and he quickly looked for the threat. He spotted a scavenger racing at him and getting closer fast, with a pump shotgun splattering the ground and side of the RV around Rosse with pellets. Rosse ducked behind the tire and the shooting stopped. He looked around the tire and saw the scavenger standing just inches away reloading his shotgun. Rosse rolled out from behind the tire and pointed his HK 556L at the man’s face.

  “Hey,” shouted Rosse. “Do I look like I’m gonna wait for you to shoot me?” The man’s eyes looked at the barrel of the grenade fitted under Rosse’s gun and dropped the shotgun and ran. The shotgun hit the ground and went off inches from Rosse’s face. It was only luck that it wasn’t pointed at him, but unloaded the entire shell into the front tire shredding it to ribbons. Momentarily blinded and ears ringing, Rosse wasn’t prepared as the RV collapsed onto the rim of the tire coming down on Rosse like a sledgehammer. His helmet saved his skull from caving in but the force drove his face into the dirt with a terrible crunch.

  “You okay,” shouted Wesson.

  Rosse didn’t move, but Wesson could hear him moaning. “Rosse?” yelled Wesson. “Rosse. I think Rosse is down,” shouted Wesson over the radio.

  “I’m fine,” mumbled Rosse waving at Wesson. He rolled onto his side and smiled at Wesson through a face of caked dirt and blood. “Just rung my bell is all.”