Dark Days of the After (Book 4): Dark Days of the Enclave

by Schow, Ryan

  “Right now,” Boone said, making up for his kindness, “it looks like you’re trying but failing to get through.”

  “Where’s the generator going?” Noah asked.

  “Washington,” the Chicom answered. “And I suggest that if you don’t want nuclear fallout, you let us through.”

  “I have no problem with that,” Clay said.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “The law.”

  “We’re the law here,” the Chicom said, now face to face with Clay.

  No one had their guns out on Clay’s side of the trench. But on the other side, it was a massive firing squad if things went south.

  “Do you work for the United States government?” Boone asked.

  “There is no longer a United States,” the man laughed, his eyes still on Clay, and Clay’s eyes still on him. “There is only the People’s Republic of America.”

  “The hell there is,” Noah grumbled, stepping forward. “There is the United States of America and then there are you fuggin’ cockstains leaving your sick, smeary existence everywhere you go.”

  The man started to speak, but Clay cut him off.

  “We’ll bring in our teams to fill this trench and move these vehicles as best as we can with our equipment. You’ll have no trouble from us getting through. But when you leave, we’re closing down the borders and you people will have to find another way around.”

  “You’ll fill this trench and leave it filled in case we need to get through,” the man said, stepping back to look at the whole of them.

  “You smell that?” Noah asked, sniffing the air.

  “Smells like burned metal and rubber,” the leader of the convoy said, his nostrils flaring only slightly at the smells.

  “That smell is the burned flesh of your countrymen,” Noah said. “You’ll get through today because of that generator, but none of you maggots get through when you’re gone. You say otherwise, we’ll kill you, like we killed them.”

  “Good luck with that,” the man said with a sneer.

  “I’m not gonna get you all,” Noah said, slipping a blade of out his sheath, “but you can bet your hairy vagina I’m gonna get you. You hear me? They’ll get me, but not before I get you.”

  The man drew a stern breath, then slowly raised his chin and looked down his nose at the three of them. The Chicom’s narrowed, suspicious eyes were annoying.

  Satisfied they were telling the truth, however, he said, “If you clear a path, you won’t be harmed.”

  Boone got on the two-way, called ahead for the only operating backhoe and tow truck in town. Then, to the Chicom rat, he said, “If you have something to push these vehicles out of the way, you’ll get that path cleared sooner rather than later. Or you can wait on us…”

  The man turned and made a motion to clear a path. Vehicles started up, their big engines rumbling to life. The Chicoms began clearing away their dead countrymen, dragging them off the road and tossing them aside like road debris. One vehicle then nudged another and pretty soon the smaller vehicles were pushed out of the way.

  Within half an hour, the backhoe arrived to fill in everything they’d previously dug out, using the rounded bottom of the bucket to pack the dirt. When there was enough dirt packed down, the tow truck slowly drove over, testing its strength. The soil held without the sides mushing out, which was encouraging considering the sheer size of the generator.

  The entire process took several hours, but eventually the pack was firm, a route was cleared and the truck pulling the generator was ready.

  Much to Clay’s disdain, Stephani showed up on a four wheeler. She had a holstered pistol on one hip and a rather large hunting knife in a sheath on the other. Clay liked the way she looked, but he didn’t like her being there. Everyone knew men at war loved to use the enemy’s women to turn the tides of control against them.

  “There’s no way that’s going to hold,” Clay told the Chicom leader, ignoring Stephani. Looking over at the tow truck, he had an idea. “Let’s hook the tow truck to the front of your rig. The dirt and the asphalt are going to budge under the weight of the rig and the trailer, so when things slow—and they will—we’ll help you over with our tow truck and hopefully avoid a bigger issue altogether.”

  “I agree,” the convoy leader said.

  The two drivers worked out the details of their plan, discussed possible problems and contingency plans, and then they hooked the tow truck’s chain to the transport and fired up their engines.

  When they started the slow drive forward, Noah, Boone, Stephani and Clay stood near the trench watching the slow progression of the trucks.

  Fortunately, with their cooperation, the Chicoms had no guns pointed at the Five Falls leaders, for they all seemed relatively comfortable with each other at that point. That didn’t mean the Chicoms wouldn’t get what they wanted and slaughter them later, for that was the Chicom way. These men seemed different, though. Not nearly as hostile.

  Finally Clay asked, “When did you get into America?”

  “Only recently,” the convoy leader said, half his attention on the truck, the other half on what Clay was saying.

  “You and your men, or just you?” Clay asked.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  “Where is Shao Xiao Chen?” the man asked, turning his full attention on Clay.

  “I don’t know who that is,” Clay said.

  He looked at his brother, but Boone was quiet. The tow truck crossed over the filled trench, the dirt pack holding firm.

  “He is an esteemed colleague, a friend of President Hu’s,” the man told Clay.

  “He’s at the front of my property,” Stephani confessed, “barbecued to a freaking crisp.”

  Clay fired Stephani a look. “Stop intimidating the man. We’re letting him through, which is the least we can do considering their package.”

  The first wheels of the huge transport hit the dirt, the pack holding. The convoy leader saw this, then turned his attention to Stephani.

  She crossed her arms and said, “A few of your brethren rolled through here some time back. They killed my fiancée. Just shot him in the street for no reason. So even though my friend here says to be polite, to stop intimidating you, you’re in our country, in our town, and you don’t belong here.”

  “Is Shao Xiao Chen alive or not?” he asked, half his attention on her and half turned to the truck. The huge front tires pushed tracks in the dirt half an inch deep. This wasn’t an immediate cause for concern, but the load was far heavier than the rig carrying it, and that gave everyone pause.

  “I don’t know that name,” Stephani said, tempering herself. “But he was someone for sure.”

  “He would have been the one in charge,” the man said.

  As the back of the big rig’s wheels crossed over the dirt divide, everyone watched the pack push out the sides and sink a little farther into the dirt. They were holding their collective breaths at that point, for it wasn’t looking like the pack would hold the weight of the generator, not if the rig was threatening the pack’s stability.

  In spite of the dangers, Clay stood in awe, moved by the generator’s massive size. He’d never seen something so large moved on a vehicle before.

  “If this man you speak of led the convoy you just pushed aside,” Boone said amongst the anxiety, “then he will most likely be among the dead, or the ashes of the dead.”

  “I’m not talking to you,” the man turned and snapped at Boone. Looking at Stephani, pointing his finger at her, accusatory, he said, “I’m talking to her.”

  “All you commie twats look the same to me,” Stephani growled. “It’s not your nationality that strikes me as dull at best, it’s that ugly, familiar expression on your face. You all have it. It’s the look of evil, the look of a man who sold his soul to the devil.”

  The Chicom leader laughed, and then—over the sound of the trucks—he turned and said something to his men in his native t
ongue. A few of the soldiers who heard him broke into laughter. One or two called back responses that had them all laughing even harder.

  Stephani’s face turned red.

  Noah turned to her and said, “They all lay together. That’s why the idea of a woman seems so funny to them.”

  Noah’s insult stilled the Chicom leader.

  “It’s not like that,” he said, seeing the transport trailer’s wheels approaching the packed divide. “We were all wondering if this is the bravest woman we’ve ever come across or the dumbest.”

  “What’s the consensus?” Stephani asked.

  “That you’re the dumbest woman we’ve ever met,” the man said with a chuckle.

  Before he could finish that laugh, Stephani shot forward and popped him in the chin with a tight little fist. The man’s head rocked back. By the time he righted himself, Boone and Noah had guns on him. Then again, most of the Chicom force suddenly had guns on them as well.

  Stephani stood there, grinning. “Who’s the dummy now?” she asked.

  He punched her back so quickly and so violently, she wobbled backwards a half step before her eyes rolled up into her head. Clay caught her as she fell, tried holding onto her unconscious body as she crumbled to the ground.

  Stumbling, he fought not to drop her, or fall on his face.

  Unceremoniously, her head bounced off the asphalt and she lay there wooden, her jaw clenched, her features fixed in an unconscious strain.

  Boone and Noah gritted their teeth and held their ground. Guns still out, Noah looked like he was about to pull the trigger. The generator’s driver saw this and stopped the truck over the divide.

  Clay stood and said, “Put your guns down, guys. She deserved that.”

  “No she didn’t,” Boone snarled.

  “Yes, she did.”

  The men begrudgingly holstered their guns, causing everyone else to lower their weapons as well. In front of them, the tow truck driver tightened the slack on his chain then gave the thumb’s up out the window.

  “When it wakes up,” the Chicom man said, “put that dog on a leash.”

  “Let’s just finish this up,” Boone said. “Then you can be on your way.”

  “What about them?” the Chicom said, pointing over Clay’s shoulder.

  Clay turned around and saw what looked like the entire town blocking the highway just over the hill.

  “They’ll move,” Clay said, pleased for the show of support, but praying they wouldn’t be a problem.

  “If they don’t,” he warned, “we’ll kill them all.”

  Just then, the trailer’s wheels approached the packed divide, the asphalt leading into the pack weakening. Clay held his breath, his eyes fixed on the dirt.

  The second the wheels completely rolled off the asphalt, the trailer sunk, the load shifting, but not by much. The trailer naturally slowed to the weight, but the tow truck lent a hand, its back tires breaking tread with the occasional shuddering bark.

  If the load tipped, or fell—if the trailer got stuck—not only would there be a massive Chicom presence needed to get the rig right, there would be retaliation of the worst sort. There was no way they’d survive the Chicom retaliation.

  Worse than that, however, if the generator didn’t get to Washington, the nuclear meltdown would end them all. Clay knew generators of that size and capacity took years to build, a monumental effort to transport, and more than a few prayers to get in place.

  The tow truck’s tires were barking now, smoking, the rig digging into the asphalt. Everyone stopped breathing as the trailer’s wheels slogged through the pack. When the tires finally reached the other side, the asphalt began to crack and buckle. They had momentum though, pulling power. The tow truck’s engine was revving hard, the truck grinding it out.

  Clay glanced up at the big rig’s driver, saw a man who was both scared and humbled.

  When the wheels finally rolled up on firm asphalt, everyone sighed and took that big collective breath. The convoy leader was rubbing his punched chin and grinning victoriously.

  “Marvelous,” he said.

  Clay turned and looked back at the Five Falls mob. His two-way came to life. It was Quan. “You okay?” he asked, keeping his words to a minimum.

  “Yeah,” Clay said, holding the convoy leader’s eye. “Let them through, but be prepared. If anyone fires so much as a single round, I want you to put half a dozen holes in this man’s head. Not the big rig driver, just this man.” He pointed to the Chicom man, who blanched.

  “Copy that,” Quan said, loud and clear.

  “You hear that?” Clay asked the Chicom man. “You’re clear to go.”

  The tow truck driver got out, unhooked his chains, then pulled out of the way. Stephani finally came back into her body, blinking her eyes. She was looking around like she wasn’t sure where she was. Boone helped her up, picking her up mostly, then stabilizing her on her feet.

  “My hero,” she said sarcastically, half out of it, then wincing at the pain in her jaw.

  The convoy moved through as Boone and Clay helped Stephani out of the way. The mob up top did not move, though. The truck came to a stop and Quan walked past the driver, to one of the armed men sent to handle the response.

  “Oh, hell,” Clay groused.

  Up on the crest of the highway, at the mouth of town, Quan ordered everyone to stay put, to not make a hole as they were told to by Clay. People looked at him, unsure of who he really was, or why he was giving any of them orders.

  They held their ground nevertheless.

  The man Quan was walking toward leveled his rifle on the former Chicom soldier. Quan raised his hands, then quietly gave the man his PLA rank and serial number.

  “Keep that gun on me,” Quan said.

  The man frowned.

  “Did those guys give you any issue?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Who else is coming through here?” Quan asked.

  “We’re the last of them,” he said. “Are you really PLA?” People’s Liberation Army.

  He nodded, letting that dead look return to his eye. “They don’t know it yet,” Quan said, “which is why you need to keep the gun on me.”

  “What happened to Shao Xiao Chen?” he asked.

  At first Quan was wondering what he was talking about, but then he realized this man knew something Quan didn’t. He looked over his shoulder, like he was hiding something, then he looked back, smiling conspiratorially.

  “You’re the contact here?” the soldier asked, his voice low.

  Quan said, “One of them.”

  The solder suppressed a grin, then said, “I thought so. Da Xiao Zheng appreciates you. Which is to say, word has traveled his way.”

  “So he knows?” Quan asked, cryptic.

  He nodded.

  “Good,” Quan replied, acting the role. “How long do I have?”

  “He’s on his way to Yale, but you need to let me know if you need this town wiped off the map.”

  “I’m going to gut it from the inside out, but not before I bleed them dry of their resources and their info,” he said. “Is there anything I need to know?”

  “Get up to Roseburg as soon as you can. And quit playing around with these…gweilows. They’re not like us. They’re dogs you kick, not dogs you mingle with.”

  Quan smiled, then said, “Let Da Xiao Zheng know I have this town under my thumb, and soon I’ll have it under my heel. Let him know you got through without a problem.”

  “He’ll want to know about the roasted convoy,” the man said, moving forward, his rifle still aimed at Quan’s head.

  Quan felt his stomach clench. “Let him know we got here too late, but that we’re here now.”

  “How many of you are there?” the soldier asked, his eyes roving the crowd of hundreds.

  “Fourteen,” Quan said.

  “And they’re all loyal to President Hu?” he asked.

  “Without question,” Quan said.

  “Good.”


  The Chicom soldier lowered his rifle and got back into his truck. Quan turned and motioned for the town’s people to make a hole. They parted down the middle, clearing a path. The convoy started through there, not slowing, but not causing any issue either.

  Boone and Clay approached Quan on foot when the last of the trucks rolled through. To Clay, Quan said, “Where exactly is Roseburg?”

  “North of here, why?”

  “I think we have a problem,” Quan said.

  Chapter Three

  Da Xiao Zheng flew in the Z-10 long distance attack helicopter from Diablo Canyon to the Weed refueling center. The air transport behind them refueled as well, preparing to vacate California now that the B52s were en route.

  When asked for directions, Zheng directed his pilot to fly over Five Falls. It wasn’t long before they got there. When they did, he saw a collection of destroyed vehicles, including a tank on a flatbed that had been pushed out of the way. There was a long dirt trench being dug out by a backhoe, a way to stop future convoys.

  Not that there would be anymore. There wouldn’t be.

  Only when they reached the town did he see hundreds of people in the streets. They looked up and scattered. That’s when he said to the pilot, “I’m about to be weapons hot.” On the comm, Zheng said to the air transport behind them, “We’ll meet you in Yale, I’m going to give this town the payback it deserves, the payback President Hu has authorized.”

  The transport shot past them as the Z-10 banked hard and swung around for a different, more tactical approach to the town.

  The pilot put him in place and Zheng opened fire on the crowds, mowing down bodies right and left. The reason he fired on them, and the justification he’d later give Hu, was that he’d seen the destroyed convoy, the smoked remains of his soldiers, and the operational trucks stashed behind the buildings on the interstate cutting through town. In all likelihood, the Chicoms indeed suffered massive deaths at the hands of these malcontents.

  Everyone below ducked for cover in the nearby buildings. Except for the dead, splayed out and bleeding, there was no one to be found.