by N. C. Reed
“Are there anymore guards!” Pete’s voice cracked out, harder this time.
“No, that was all,” one woman stammered. “Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Pete told her. “Where’s the rest of you?” The woman pointed toward the conference room. Branch headed that way, while Pete stayed behind.
“The men are already free,” Pete told them. “If you’ve got menfolk over there, they should be waiting on you. Now’s the time to make a move, ladies!” The women started at him for a moment, then moved as one toward the door. Pete walked outside, and took up a spot where he could watch.
So far things were going better than he could have hoped for.
“Pete, you got comp’ny comin’.”
“Well, damn.”
*****
Big John’s men surrounded the building that the idiot pointed out to them. Once that was done, John motioned for Carroll to lead the way.
“Okay, buddy, this is where you get yours. Show us where they are, and you’re a free man.” Carroll swallowed nervously, and went though the door. John motioned for three of him men to follow, and then he followed himself, with others bringing up the rear.
Carroll was regretting his abandonment of the other three. All he had wanted was to go home. That’s all. To get out of this nightmare, and make it back to his home, where he was safe. He hadn’t figured on being caught again. He’d readily agreed to sell out the other three, if it meant he would go free. Now, though, he was beginning to see that John wasn’t going to release him. Still, there was always hope, and right now that was all he had.
He climbed the stairs carefully, not wanting to alert the others. He hadn’t forgotten the crazy one, and that knife. Nor the look in his eyes. That guy wasn’t right, somewhere. Remembering that incident, Carroll felt his resolve harden. It was only right, he decided, that he make sure that man payed for what he’d done.
“That’s the room,” he whispered, arriving at the top of the stairs where the room was located. “They were all asleep in there when I left.”
“Well, go ahead and take us in there. If they see you in front, might relax’em some. We’ll be right behind you, don’t worry.” John’s reassuring smile wasn’t. Carroll started to protest, but let it die on his lips. He moved to the door, conscious of John’s men behind him. He pushed the door open, and walked inside.
To nothing.
He didn’t notice the fishing line he kicked as he moved into the room, followed by John’s henchmen. No one else did either.
It was a simple thing, the fuse. Meant for firing civil war cannon, it was just a small brass tube filled with accelerate, sparked by the removal of a small twisted brass pin. The fuse would fire a charge into whatever it was placed in. In this case, a small clay ball filled with black powder. The outside of the ball was covered in small nails.
The force of the blast rocked the building slightly, but turned Carroll and the four men with him into pin cushions. The lucky one’s died almost at once.
The other two, including Carroll, would die from internal bleeding where the tiny nails had driven deep into their bodies. Carroll would have plenty of time to reflect on his betrayal of two men who had tried to help him.
*****
John was furious, but knew he had only himself to blame. He had been so intent on finally getting rid of his nemesis, he’d never thought about a trap. Carroll hadn’t known, it was obvious. He wouldn’t have gone into the room if he had.
No, this was someone playing him. And they’d won, dammit.
“Let’s get back to the jail,” he ordered his remaining men. “Somethin’ ain’t right. Move!” The men moved, heading back at a fast jog. One thing about the New World, you shaped up pretty quick. John was near the front of his people, cursing with every step. The Shooter was somewhere waiting for them, he was sure.
*****
Billy heard the small explosion, and smiled grimly. Looked like Carroll had pointed them in the right direction. Billy changed positions, so that he could see the road that whoever was still alive would return by. He had to make sure Pete had time to finish, and get clear. He keyed his radio.
“Pete, you got comp’ny comin’.”
*****
“I copy, Billy. Any idea how many?”
“Looks like twenty or so. I’ma whittle that down a little. Ain’t no point in you comin’ back this way. I done got me a back way out.”
“Copy that. We’re about done here. Make sure you’re at the truck,” he ordered.
“Do my best, but don’t wait on me. I’ll make out.”
“Dammit, Billy, you better be there!”
There was no answer. Pete was about to call again when he heard the enormous boom of Billy’s rifle.
“He better be there,” Pete muttered to himself. “Branch, we gotta speed this up!” he called out loud.
“Comin’!” Branch emerged seconds later, dragging a small, pretty but disheveled brunette of about sixteen, or seventeen.
“Let’s go,” Pete ordered, pointing up the street from the way they had arrived. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and we don’t have all day.”
“Where’s Billy?” Branch asked, just as the Barrett spoke again.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. He’s buying time for us to get out. So let’s go!” The three of them took off up the road, running.
*****
Billy looked down through his scope, and selected another target. That’s all they were, now. Targets. They had given up any right to be called human beings, in his book.
He sighted in on a man wearing a leather biker jacket who was desperately trying to hide behind a telephone pole.
“Not hardly, buddy,” Billy whispered to himself, and squeezed the trigger. The heavy round tore through the pole, and the gunman, cutting both nearly in two. In their fear, three others ran for new cover, all shooting wildly. The people on the ground still hadn’t spotted him, but Billy knew that wouldn’t last.
“Make hay while the sun shines,” he murmured, sighting in on another one.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Big John was furious. From where he hid, he could see figures running from the hotel. Too many figures to be his people. His prisoners, the foundation of their future, were escaping. Without them, he had nothing to bargain with when the train arrived. Nothing to keep the people on that train from sweeping him and his few people away like so much trash.
He had made promises of all kinds to secure their freedom. If he couldn’t deliver, there would be consequences.
“We need to get them prisoners back!” he ordered. No one moved.
“If we lose them, we can kiss our ass’es good-bye! Now go get’em back!” Three men rose in obedience. The second one in line took three steps before the Shooter cut him in half. The other two hit the ground again, cowering in fear.
“Damn you, get up there and stop them prisoners from escapin’!” He pointed his rifle at the nearest one of his people, a woman. “If you don’t move your ass, I’ll kill you right here!”
Gulping in fear, the woman rose to her feet, trying to stay out of the Shooter’s line of sight. She made it to the next block, encouraging others to move out as well. Which was just what Billy had planned.
He cut loose with his rifle, laying shot after shot just as fast as he could target and pull the trigger. Six rounds, four kills, one maimed, and one miss. No one else was moving after that. That made a total of nine kills, and one wounded.
John swore again.
“Can anybody see him?” he yelled.
“He’s on top o’ the second building!” a voice answered. “The Markee Office Building, boss!”
“Take four men, and go get him!” John ordered. “Everyone else, open fire on the top of the building!”
*****
Billy flinched as stray rounds started impacting around him. He could see three men and two women working their way toward his building, too.
“Well, ‘bo
ut time to go, I reckon,” he said to himself. “Still, gotta make it look good.” With that in mind, he loaded a fresh magazine, and emptied it again, just as fast as he could sight and squeeze. He didn’t bother to see if he hit anyone, since all he was working toward was keeping their heads down, and their attention focused on him. Every second that he delayed them here was a second for Pete to get to the Hummer, and the others to make tracks out of town.
He could hear the people inside the building below him, now, and knew it was time to be gone. He cased the heavy rifle and slung it, then checked his M-4. He might need it, and soon. Running to the rope, Billy anchored off, and waited, an unpleasant smile on his face.
Billy had a plan. He was sticking to it.
*****
The three men and two women Billy had seen were tramping up the stairs to the roof even as Billy made his preparations to get to the ground. They were mad, and scared. Mad that so many of their fellows were dead, that their hard work was now running away, and that their own future was now in doubt.
They were scared of Big John’s reaction, scared of being disintegrated by the Shooter’s horrible rifle, and scared of what might happen when they reached him.
Their fear should have made them cautious, but their anger won out. As the group reached the door to the roof, the man in the lead looked at the others, held up his fingers in a count to three, and kicked the door open. As soon as he did, the five rushed onto the roof.
The leader saw Billy step off the roof, roping down to the ground. He yelled to the others, and made a move toward the man he knew only as the Shooter.
In their haste, and anger fueled attack, no one noticed the spoon fly off the grenade. The fuse was cut for five seconds. When the grenade exploded, the shrapnel was only part of the damage, as the explosive ignited the highly volatile home brew inside the mason jar. Moonshine, mixed with washing detergent.
The homemade napalm splashed over all five members of Big John’s team, setting them ablaze, clinging to them like jelly. The two closest to the grenade didn’t know it, since the shrapnel killed them outright.
The other three screamed in agony as the flames engulfed them, sticking to their clothes and any exposed skin it had managed to hit. All thoughts of getting the Shooter left their mind, as they desperately tried to put out the fire that ate at them.
*****
Billy hit the ground, and took one second to orient himself, and another to glance at the roof. The screaming pretty much assured that the people on the roof would be too busy to bother with him, but he needed to be sure.
Then he was running. If he wanted to go home, he needed to get to the truck before Pete had to leave. Added to the distance he had to travel, was the prisoners that had been freed, and were now armed. Billy didn’t trust them to know the sheep from the goats, so he had to proceed carefully.
Carefully but quickly.
*****
“Where we goin’?” Branch asked, as he practically drug his sister behind him.
“Truck,” Pete told him. “Got a Hummer hid about two miles from here. We need to get to it, collect Billy, and get the hell out of here.”
“Billy said not to wait for him,” Branch pointed out.
“He says a lot o’ things,” Pete shrugged.
“Didn’t seem like it,” Branch replied. “Seemed pretty quiet to me. A little on edge maybe, but quiet like.”
“He’s not a soldier,” Pete told Branch. “Never has been.”
“Could o’ fooled me,” Branch observed. “I’d have sworn he was former service.”
“Nope. And we ain’t about to leave him, either. His wife will kill us both. Probably slowly, too. She’s got a little bit of a mean streak.”
“I never thought to ask if there were other women at this place.”
“Plenty of’em,” Pete nodded. “Good people.”
The conversation trailed off as the three of them kept running.
“I’m Barbara, by the way,” the sister said.
“Pete.”
“Nice to meet you!” she gasped. “Is it much further? I don’t know how much further I can run.”
“Stop talking,” Pete told her. “That’ll help. It’s not far, and you can relax.”
“Pete, you copy?”
*****
“I hear you Billy. What’s your status?”
“Well, I’m runnin’ away at the moment,” Billy gasped back. “I’m almost to Cache One. You about where you need to be?”
“Another ten minutes, probably,” Pete replied.
“Well, I don’t think I’ll make it ‘fore you do,” Billy said after thinking for a minute. “Thing is, that lot you guys let loose are runnin’ ever where. I don’t wanna shoot any of’em, and I’d soon they don’t shoot me, so I’m kinda goin’ slow.”
“I’ll call you when we reach the truck,” Pete told him. “Where ever you are then, we’ll come get you.”
“I don’t know that’s a good plan,” Billy replied. “Might not be safe. Lotta these folks liable to be lookin’ for a way out o’ town. That ole Hummer’d look mighty good to’em.”
“Then we’ll have to dissuade them,” Pete answered. “As you like to say, we didn’t take’em to raise. We got them free, they’re on their own. Dillon and his sister are with me, by the way.”
“Well, that’s good,” Billy said. “I’ll see ya in a bit, I reckon.”
With that, Billy kept making his way toward the Hummer. He really, really, wanted to go home.
*****
Pete and the others reached the Hummer eight minutes later. Barbara sunk to the ground, gasping for air while Pete an Dillon uncovered the truck.
“Holy shit, a Ma Deuce!” Dillon exclaimed.
“Can you drive one?” Pete asked, as he almost threw the girl into the back seat.
“Sure can,” Dillon nodded, also climbing in back.
“Clear it for action, then,” Pete ordered, sliding behind the wheel. “We might need it. I’m tired of running from these assholes.”
“You and me both, brother!”
“Pete, you copy?”
“We’re on the way, Billy. Where are ya?”
“Well, I’m not far fr. . .from Cache One. Thing is, I’m a little s. . .shot. And I got another p. . .passenger for us. Reckon you might wa. . .wanna hurry along, just a bit, you don’t mind.”
“Billy, are you okay?” Pete asked.
There was no reply. Swearing, Pete put the heavy vehicle in gear, and started on his way to get his friend.
*****
Billy had been doing pretty good. He was almost at his destination when things turned a little sour. He was making his way toward Cache One, their main cache, when he heard a commotion.
“He’s one of’em!” he heard a man shout.
“I am not!” another voice cried out. “I’m as much as prisoner as any of you!”
“That’s a lie!” a third voice shouted. “You was with’em!”
“I’m a doctor!” the second voice came again. “I tried to keep all of you healthy!”
“Healthy for them!” the first voice argued back. Billy stepped around the corner to see what was happening. His radar had picked up on the word ‘doctor’. He saw a man lying on the ground, blood running freely from a cut on the side of his head. He looked like he’d taken a beating.
“Look out, there’s one of’em!” A tall, gaunt man cried, lifting his rifle.
“I ain’t one o’. . . .” Billy tried to get out, but both men were beyond reason. Billy felt a tug at his left sleeve, followed by a burning. His rifle lifted of it’s own volition it seemed, and pumped three rounds into the tall man. He fell, dead.
The second man hadn’t been able to get the pistol in his waistband free, and threw his hands up in despair.
“Don’t shoot!” he cried.
“Give me a reason not to,” Billy growled, angry now. Rather than reply, the man turned and ran. Billy watched him go, then turned to the man on the ground.<
br />
“You a doctor?” he asked, then realized he knew the man. Not his name, but his face. When they had arrived in Franklin the day the train had hit, this man had been working hard to treat the wounded.
“I know you,” he told the man. “Seen you last year, after the train hit. What happened?”
“The people who took over made me treat the prisoners,” the doctor shrugged. “I would have done it anyway, of course, but it made it look like I was part of their outfit.” he shrugged again.
“I guess you want outta here,,” Billy told him. For some reason he felt light headed. He must be out of shape. Running all that way had probably made him that way, he decided.
“More than anything,” the doctor nodded. “I. . .I did what I could for them, you know. I didn’t have much left, and John refused to let me treat anyone who was hurt bad, or too sick. He wanted what little was left for his own people. But. . .I did what I could.” The man looked near tears.
“You got a name?” Billy asked, and frowned mentally. Why was his voice slurred?
“Collins,” the man nodded. “Jake Collins. M.D. If that means anything, anymore.”
“You didn’t. . .I mean, you ain’t. . .well, they was doin’ some bad things here,” Billy tried to ask. Collins shuddered.
“No!” he said emphatically. “I’d rather starve. I’ve been existing on deer corn and roots and berries. And lot’s of rock soup.” Billy nodded, relieved.
“Well, reckon we can use a doctor, and we’re a lot better to work for than this bunch. We done set all the prisoners free, but I reckon you done seen that.”
“Yes,” Collins snorted. “I don’t blame them, though,” he added. “They’ve been through hell. Hey, you’re bleeding!”
“So are you.”
“Well, I’m not as bad as you are. Let me see that arm.”
