On the Road: Book Two

by Angela White

  They looked almost desperate to Cesar, clearly not the same men who had left him in New Mexico. “You know where she goes?”

  “She’s only headed northwest, never deviates.”

  “Toward Montana?”

  They saw the determined anger in the Slaver’s eyes.

  “There is a group near Yellowstone that calls for survivors.”

  “You hear them this far away?”

  He frowned, pulled a beaten-up sombrero from the debris-littered floor and slapped it on over his tightly-kinked black hair, “Si. Your bruja is headed to them?”

  “Maybe. We think she’s looking for family.”

  Cesar’s frown grew, eyes going over burnt spots on their clothes and the grimy red bandana wrapped around Dillan’s bandaged wrist. The white of the gauze had long since turned black. “We must get her before she reaches them. This group is big, organized. A Witch would make them a threat to me.”

  He looked up, mind racing. “You can take her?”

  Dean shook his head, while Dillan shrugged, neither of them meeting his eyes, and Cesar felt a tremor of worry in his gut. He had never seen or heard of a time when the twins had disagreed on anything. The woman’s soldier must truly be strong.

  “Not by ourselves,” Dillan stated finally, and Cesar saw his grimace when he moved his hand to deflect a determined fly. The injury to his arm was obviously bad.

  That was it, Cesar decided. It was her man they wanted, her soldier. Surely he was the one responsible. Then why say a woman? That was worse. Either way, it came down to revenge.

  “So, this is why you’ve come back.”

  It wasn’t a question and he looked at them with cool, dark eyes, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to agree…for now. “Mine during the day, yours at night?”

  They both nodded eagerly at the lie and Cesar grinned, his gold front tooth flashing. “It will be good. We will lay a trap, kill her soldier and have her.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “She knows things.”

  Cesar fingered the handle of his hoja, hating it that they were always so disrespectful.

  The injured brothers waited for him to pull the knife and hand over his camp. Either way, they would lead these men against the Witch.

  “You have a plan?” the Slaver asked finally, eyes full of controlled anger. Anyone else, he would have already challenged, but against these two vicious assassins, he wasn’t sure he could win with only the blade he was sitting on, and a hangover. He was too far from his gun.

  “Yes.” Dean’s hot eyes lingered on the chained girl, but he was aware that the evil Mexican was now an enemy instead of an ally and would need to be handled as such. “We’ll follow her, see where she’s headed. If it’s a good place, we can take shelter there for the winter.”

  “You are estupido to let her reach familia. Then you face dos brujas, yes?”

  The twins were clearly pissed at the insult, had killed for less, and Cesar kept his hand on the knife, thinking he would at least be able to take one of them with him.

  “It’s better to control them both, than to have the missing one ambush us, and we can’t find the other until she does.”

  “How will you get them once she reaches the safety of this camp?”

  “You’ll surround them and demand they hand over both. We’ll pick off a few easy targets, use your inside traitor to cause chaos, and then make it clear we followed her so they will be more likely to hand her over to save themselves.”

  “Once they do, we’ll make her use her power against any defenses they have, and you’ll be in control of a safe area, new supplies, a Witch, and slaves - all without having to fight and lose men.”

  Cesar was nodding, but thinking he would need proof to go through so much. Their word wasn’t enough. Surely this was a trick?

  “The men will not believe.”

  “They will later, but for now it doesn’t matter. They don’t even have to know. Just keep heading north and give them whores and whiskey.”

  “Didn’t you tell us you wanted to take Cheyenne and Casper by May?”

  Cesar’s eyes lit up greedily. “Si, and my men know it.”

  “Good. That will put us on an intercept course. Dean and I will keep an eye on her in the meantime, track her, and we’ll also find some bait to send in with Rick.”

  Cesar considered it. He had used the betrayer again and again, and no one ever suspected him until it was too late - because he was white. The Americanos should have remembered their own history. Whites were not any more trustworthy than the Russians or even himself for that matter. They were just a bit more careful to cover their asses.

  “Less than a month from now, you’ll own Wyoming, probably have a good start on Nebraska, and be only a day or two from the tank hidden near there. Best of all, you’ll rule the entire western half of this country, from the Nevada wastelands to the Midwest corn belt,” Dillan stated.

  Dean finished it off. “Plus, this group you want will know you’re coming and lose courage.”

  Cesar grinned savagely and the brothers knew they’d won.

  “America is dead and I will show them that!” He gestured violently, the missing fingers making it a grotesque motion. He didn’t see the looks they were giving his young slave. She was his personal property, and he didn’t share. He wanted to be sure the bastards he left were his, and every man in his camp knew he would kill (the girl and the man) to be sure of it.

  “It shall be as you say. Drink, smoke, rest. Tomorrow we take Windsor and then you shall have the revenge you deserve. Now, let us go see my gift and you will prove she is pure.”

  2

  Cesar invaded the untouched town of Windsor under the cover of darkness and a violent thunderstorm, ruthlessly directing his men to block escape routes at all four corners of the city.

  They split up and began moving in at the stroke of midnight and gave no mercy to anyone, just like they hadn’t in any of the twenty other towns and cities they’d taken along Interstate 25. Moving inward, the Mexicans slowly took over Windsor for the next six hours, burning everything as they went. Those few who managed to escape would have nothing to return to.

  Doors were kicked in and terrified girls and women dragged out into the rain, floors and bed clothes soaking up the blood of their husbands and fathers. Those found with the radio broadcasting good old American values were tortured, beheaded, and dismembered, left with Mexican flags draped over their faces. All the males were killed where they were found, babies left to die alone, and female after female was raped, beaten, broken.

  During the first hours of this hell, the twins were in Cesar’s tent, taking what was his. They snuck back to join the battle (slaughter) after they filled her with seed over and over again, and Cesar never knew they hadn’t been with him all the time. A few of his sharper men could have told him, but that might mean a confrontation between the three and Cesar’s men weren’t sure he would come out on top.

  The twins were hard, and none of Cesar’s men wanted them in control. Their way of life now was perfect, without rules, and the stocky Mexican was still followed without hesitation even when they got to Ft. Collins and found it abandoned. Word had spread through the area, and the survivors were scared. The Slavers were coming.

  Chapter Thirteen

  March 21st, 2013

  1

  This was going to have to be close enough.

  Adrian waited for Kenn to finish updating the newest Eagle who was about to take over his post for the 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. shift. Jeremy was on Neil’s team, Level Three status, and the right to have point had only been earned last night.

  Adrian sighed, tired and worried as the camp got ready to head out for another day of hard travel. They were on the edge of the Thunder Basin National Grasslands, just off 387, and while he was glad to be east of 25, pictures had verified that Casper and Buffalo were ghost towns.

  It made his stomach burn. One was buried, the other submerged. His warning hadn’
t been heard, hadn’t mattered. They hadn’t picked up a single survivor since the dust storm, which made these people in Cheyenne all the more important.

  Sighing again, he turned his eyes to the mountains that surrounded them. Would the evergreens up there have the mold that the fir and pine trees down here did? Would it smell like smoke and unburied dead? Were there bodies of deer, moose, and people? He was almost sure they would find out for themselves. People were talking about it.

  “You’re the Man on this one, Marine. You ready?” Adrian asked as the Marine came to his side, sharp tone of a drill instructor replacing the calm demeanor the camp always saw. The Slavers’ rampage had moved up Interstate 25 faster than they had estimated, and Cheyenne had called again.

  “Locked and Loaded. Kyle’s team is stowing the beans, bags, and bullets.”

  “They’re good to go, eager to prove themselves. What about you, Jarhead? How do you feel?”

  Kenn’s smile was hard as his eyes took in Adrian’s dusty jeans and wrinkled camouflage shirt. He’d been up all night, again. “Good, ready.”

  “In and out, Marine, just like with the old lady but if not, if something goes wrong and you have to fight?”

  Kenn’s eyes were intent. “Then we’ll kill as many as we can.”

  It may have been wrong in the old world, but it was all that was left to them now, and Adrian preached it, made them believe in it by doing it when he thought the man’s crimes (it was almost always men who committed the big transgressions now) warranted it. This definitely did.

  The Slavers were a growing threat he felt duty-bound to challenge, to eliminate. Yet he couldn’t, at this point, not against 150 well-armed men who had become good at conquering large groups of survivors. The terrible stories of the refugees who escaped, town after town, neighborhood after neighborhood (life after life!) made him burn to do something.

  It pleased him that Kenn seemed to feel it too, repeating himself to make sure his boss knew. “If any opportunity comes up to do damage, we’ll take it. I’ll take it.”

  Adrian clapped him on the back, satisfied the wide-shouldered Marine meant it. They had been falling behind, and would arrive later than expected. That made the mission more dangerous, putting the Eagles and the Slavers near Cheyenne at about the same time.

  “Watch your six. We need you.”

  “Semper Fi.”

  “Oorah!”

  A deep frown planted itself across Adrian’s forehead as Kenn and the Eagles left camp. He hated it that their first encounter with these dangerous men would happen without him there to judge the threat. Adrian hit the button on the tape player in his pocket, listening intently. Was he missing anything?

  “SOS, Safe Haven! This is Cheyenne! SOS!”

  “Go ahead, Overloaded.”

  “They’ve hit Wellington! We can see the smoke and people are coming here, and I can’t care for them! We need help now!”

  Adrian hit stop, the desperation making him consider changing places with Kenn, but shook his head. He couldn’t. The Marine wasn’t ready for leadership of an entire camp yet. For this mission though, he was perfect. Kyle and his team were good, making steady progress every day, and though only ten men were getting into the armored vehicles, they would still be a force to be reckoned with.

  Fighting a migraine, Adrian headed for his tent. Another forty souls would bring their number to a hundred and seventy seven. They were only a week from Cheyenne, but there was no way the whole camp could go and get out without being seen. Kenn and Kyle would make it in two days, and he would worry the whole time.

  2

  “All those jeeps worry me,” Kyle stated quietly, lowering the binoculars.

  “We’ll have to draw them out,” Kenn replied, sharp eyes watching the heavily-armed Mexican men patrol the top and four sides of the large brick school house where the refugees were hiding. Two on top, one each on the sides and rear, and two more on the front doors - maybe four inside, but judging from all the jeeps parked wildly along the exits, probably more like six or ten.

  They were outnumbered, but not by much, and Kenn frowned in concentration as the thick clouds rolled overhead, colored lightning flashing in the distance. He sent his sharp eyes over it again, seeing holiday lights torn down and Christmas pictures that had been used for target practice, but underneath, he was evaluating how best to kill them all.

  ”You and me covering the top?”

  Still missing his rifle, Kenn merely answered with his eyes. They hadn’t found any ammo for the M16’s, so that meant getting close enough for handguns. When it started, a few of the Mexicans would come out, but most of them would take up positions around the hostages and they’d have a standoff. For a little while. Then their reinforcements would come. This was only a scouting party, and it bothered Kenn that neither he nor Adrian had expected this level of organization. They would have to do it quietly. No telling how far out the big group was.

  It had only taken Adrian’s Eagles 30 hours to get here, driving straight through in six five-hour shifts. The men who hadn’t driven, stood watch when they arrived, to let the others get a short rest. They had snuck close, as dusk slowly closed in.

  The Slavers weren’t the only ones who knew how to use nature as a cover, and the ten men watching hated how it looked, how it smelled here. It reeked with decay, and even the constant gusts of salty, smoky wind couldn’t knock it back. The awful odor came from all the bodies. Thousands of them, fresh and old, littered the city, along with lines of burnt houses, cars, and businesses. There were thick drag marks in the dust left by the storm, garbage and mud-covered streets, and little pillars of smoke rising that signaled the path the Mexicans had taken to get here. It was a war zone.

  “What do you want to do?”

  The edge of frustration in the former mobster’s rough voice was what Kenn had been waiting for, and he stood up, always feeling the need to prove who was in charge when they went on missions together. To the listening men, he said just the right thing. Only Kyle would sting afterwards when he remembered almost losing his cool with only silence used against him. “We kill them all.”

  Kenn knelt in the dirt, flipping open his K-BAR to draw in the damp dirt behind the big storage sheds they were using for cover. He hadn’t created this plan, but these men wouldn’t know that. “We go with silencers. Take out this side and corner, and as they come out, we pick them off. If the Man comes out too, it’ll all be over.”

  “And if not?” Kyle kept the bitterness out of his tone, but not his eyes. He almost hated the smug Marine leading his team today, was now actively keeping an eye out for someone who was a match to throw his support behind.

  Kenn shrugged, sliding his knife back into his muddy black boot. “We’ll have taken out at least half these men and that’ll leave a lot of exits with light or no cover. We’ll look from those trees along the windows first, then slip in, and nail ‘em as we find ‘em. Once inside, we head for the gym, ‘cause that’s where they’ll be with a group of sheep that size. From there, we’ll do what we do best.”

  “They might negotiate, surrender.”

  Kenn stood up, automatically checking his gear and gun, and the other Eagles followed his lead. They had been on a few missions where hostages were involved, but only once had there been a shootout, the small gang of Aryan Brothers not wanting to give up their captives. They had given their lives instead, but the newness of doing battle hadn’t worn off for the Eagles yet.

  Kenn tapped his good luck charm, a Zippo lighter he kept in his pocket, voice hard. “Adrian wouldn’t and we won’t either. Top four shooters with me, the rest to the sides and meet up. I’m man in the middle. On my mark.”

  Kenn’s timing was perfect. He and Kyle fired as they ran, and the two Mexican lookouts jerked at the same time, fell together. The other dark-skinned man on the roof ran toward his comrade and then he too arched, stopped, falling as the second rush of black-clad Eagles hit the building.

  They came to the wall in
two, fast waves, Kenn and Kyle stepping into view as the front doors opened and two short, hard-looking Slavers walked out.

  Kyle whistled and then waved a ringed middle finger at their shocked faces. The two men drew their guns, and the Eagles ducked back out of sight as they gave chase.

  “One...two...three. Now!"

  Jumping out together, their guns took down both men before they could return fire, Kenn shooting twice.

  The two Eagles quickly dragged the heavy bodies around the corner as Chris, Kyle's second Eagle, pointed to the other row of trees. “The Banners center there. That’s probably the gym.”

  Eight men carefully eased up the trees a minute later, using the thick branches for cover from the ground and windows, glad they were gloved against the moldy bark.

  “Bulletproof glass.” Kenn's voice was barely audible.

  Kyle grinned, showing white teeth, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Not today. All the Eagles are packing armor-piercing rounds. Your gat clips, too.”

  Kenn's mind raced as he peered through the dirty glass, seeing only five armed men around the circle of roughly 50 civilians on the filthy, gymnasium floor. Which one was the Man?

  A door opened on their side of the building, and a tall, thin Mexican with a face completely hidden by his bandana stepped out, saw the bodies. “Dedro!”

  “Aaahhh!”

  Kenn’s shot connected, but the guerilla’s yell ruined their element of surprise. Eyes were now on the windows, footsteps running toward them.

  Kenn aimed for the jeep in front of the glass doors, trying to time it as the next rush of men came out.

  The Marine’s earlier shot to the gas tank was already allowing a long stream of the pungent liquid to escape, and Kyle and the Eagles were still, waiting for the distraction Kenn was providing.

  Woosshhh!

  His shot sparked the puddle of gas, and they watched bright, orange flames flash eagerly over the concrete and scorched their way up the fuel dripping from the gas tank.