It was time.
Abe filled his lungs, let it out silently through flared nostrils. He sidled quietly out of the bush that had hidden him in the waning hours of twilight. His body was taut where it needed to be, loose where it didn’t. He flowed like a shadow.
Dim shapes huddled in the darkness next to him.
He knelt beside them, catalogued his loadout. Armor, rifle, suppressed pistol, fixed blade, NODs—put away in their case for now—and comms. He pressed the acoustic tube into his ear canal, making sure it was secure. His connection to the world of humans.
He did not speak to the forms he knelt beside. They were far enough away from La Junta not to be overheard, but in this place, language was only for when necessary. Instead, he touched the first form.
Menendez. Face blacked out. The whites of his eyes in the starlight all that was visible. Menendez nodded, reached across, and touched Breckenridge, then slipped quietly to his feet. The touch was passed down the line. Only five of them. No need for more. More was just extra noise.
When all five were on their feet, Abe touched his comms off and spoke sparingly: “Overwatch, we’re ready.”
Not far away, Greenman lay with his rifle. Abe couldn’t see him, and only heard his quiet response in his ear: “On target. Move.”
The five left the squat ridge, a single-file line that picked its way silently down to the flatness below.
Twelve hours of reconnaissance had led Abe to believe that the sentries that held the perimeter—precious few of them—were ill equipped. No NODs. Likely no thermals. He hadn’t seen radios either.
Still, Abe snaked his way closer and closer to the settlement, keeping low and choosing his path according to the minimal concealment provided him. It was always best to assume that someone was scanning with some sort of night vision. Best to maintain cover as long as possible.
He had already picked out his staging point—a clump of low brush, about two hundred yards from the perimeter of La Junta.
The five figures slipped into the brush, and there they doffed their heavy equipment. Armor and rifles. The NODS. Abe kept only his suppressed pistol, his fixed blade, and the radio. From around his neck he pulled off a tattered old shemagh. He rarely used it, but it was one of those items that had so many applications, he always kept one if possible.
Tonight’s application was as a garrote. He swept it into a tight roll, then snugged a single knot in the center. Then replaced it around his neck, tucking the ends into his shirt to keep it secure.
Then he waited. After a moment, the others had finished as well, eliminating as much noise-making equipment as possible.
Slicked down to their most quiet, Abe led them out again, this time straight towards the perimeter.
Night insects created a steady thrum in the cool air. A rise and fall of noise, different species overlapping one another. A light breeze gusted occasionally out of the south, chilling the sweat on the back of Abe’s neck, and heralding a storm on the southern horizon that occasionally let out a distant rumble.
Close and closer to the perimeter he crept. Lower and lower, until he scuttled softly through the sandy soil on hands and feet. Angling a little to the right, now. Stopping. Eyes up. Scanning.
A few structures sat in the darkness, not incorporated into the perimeter, but abandoned because they were too far out from the rest of the settlement. Too unsafe to be populated when the lights went out.
Abe used these as cover when possible.
At the edge of one of these, he sidled up to the corner and peered through a gap between a clump of dry weeds and a rusted downspout. A tiny keyhole through which he could see the perimeter ahead of him, perhaps another fifty yards.
Two sentries. Walking beat. They passed each other with a murmured greeting. Tired and bored. Another long night watching the stars pass overhead.
Abe watched their path. They seemed to share the same route. As would the other sentries that circled the perimeter. It seemed that La Junta preferred roving sentries to stationary ones. Which let them cover more perimeter with fewer people, but also exposed the sentries to more danger.
Along the path the sentries walked, Abe spotted another bush, similar in size and shape to the ones he’d hidden in while waiting for night to fall. He stared at it for a time, judging how close it was to the path the sentries walked. Sometimes distances could be deceiving when calculated from a ground-level.
He decided the bush was close enough.
He pushed back from the corner of the building. Rolled onto his side, and looked behind him, catching Menendez’s feral gaze. Abe motioned with his fingers, and Menendez slid forward, shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
Abe didn’t speak. He rested his arm on Menendez’s shoulder and pointed to the copse of brush. Menendez followed his gesture, then nodded. He understood.
They waited another minute, until the two sentries had walked a good distance away. Off to the left, Abe could see a third sentry approaching. He stared at the figure for a moment, fixating on it.
That was their target.
Abe rolled onto his side again, made eye-contact with Breck and the other two soldiers. He held up a palm to them, motioning for them to stay put. He got thumbs-up in response.
Their target was a hundred yards away from the copse of bush.
It was now or never.
Crawling on their bellies, Abe and Menendez snaked through sand and rock towards the bush. Abe’s belt buckle scooped the sand up, letting it slip into his pants, gritty against his thighs and crotch.
Seventy-five yards until the sentry neared the bush.
Abe’s focus flashed back and forth between his destination and the sentry. He stilled his movements when the sentry’s head seemed to be facing their direction, then squirmed forward when the sentry looked away.
Fifty yards now. Abe and Menendez reached the bush. Went low under the foliage. He had minimal time to prepare himself. The sentry was already within hearing range. The occasional distant thunder and the racket of the insects was Abe’s only cover.
As the distance dwindled, Abe eased himself up until his feet were under him. Buried in the bush in a tight squat. Menendez followed suit, close enough that Abe could feel his body heat.
Twenty-five yards.
Abe pressed himself steadily forward through the bush, until his body was just inside, the branches ringing his frame. If someone were to look directly at the bush, they’d see him, an odd shape amid the foliage, a pair of eyes amid a blacked-out face.
He could hear the sentry’s footfalls now. Soft. Scuffing. Careless.
Abe’s movements were the slow machinations of a spring-loaded trap being set. Tense, ready, he grasped the ends of his knotted shemagh and eased it from around his neck. Abe’s focus remained completely on his prey. Menendez served as his peripheral vision.
Menendez eased his hand right over Abe’s shoulder, so that it was just inside his field of view, and held a thumbs up. Abe knew that Menendez was watching everything else all around them, making sure that no one appeared and bungled the whole attempt. If at any point in time Menendez saw a threat to their stealth, he would put his thumb down, and Abe would know to stay put.
His thumb remained up.
Abe watched the sentry approach. Nearly abreast of him…
Menendez’s thumb went down.
Abe’s heart squirmed into his throat, but he didn’t take his eyes off the sentry.
From somewhere off to Abe’s right, just inside the settlement, he heard the slam of a door. The sentry that took up all of his vision didn’t seem to notice. A distant voice called out, but it wasn’t to the sentry—he paid it no mind.
Abe felt his pulse nearly choking him.
The sentry was right there. If he turned to look, he would see Abe, half exposed in the brush, ready to pounce, little more than an arm’s length away. Abe could smell the sentry—body odor and woodsmoke.
Another distant slam of a door.
The sentry was two
paces away. Almost too far…
The thumb went up.
Abe made a split-second decision: Fortune favors the bold.
His acceleration was controlled, until he felt the foliage of the brush release him, and then he exploded forward.
The sentry jerked at the sound of Abe’s feet, started to turn. Abe got the flash of widened eyes, scared by something moving in the darkness.
Abe swept the knotted cloth down around the sentry’s head in one swift motion and yanked back, cinching the knot under his chin while he simultaneously jumped and wrapped his legs around the man’s waist, locking his slung rifle to his abdomen.
They fell backward.
Abe held his core tight as his back slammed the ground. The sentry’s hands grappled with the sudden choke—that was instinctive, and Abe had been counting on it. There was only a bare few seconds of opportunity before the sentry realized what was happening and tried to go for his rifle. Even with Abe’s legs pinning it down, he might still get to the trigger…
Menendez swept up, pinning the man’s legs and seizing the rifle. Abe let his legs slacken just enough for Menendez to twist the rifle like a windlass, causing the two-point sling to tighten around the sentry’s neck and shoulders, adding pressure to the choke Abe was already applying.
Abe and Menendez were two parts of an anaconda. Every motion that the sentry writhed through, they just tightened a little more, until he could no longer move. The sentry’s desperation became herky-jerky—the signal of oncoming unconsciousness. He tried with fumbling fingers to get to the rifle, but Menendez had his whole body pressed down on it, his hands covering the trigger so no accidental shots would give them away.
Abe counted the seconds in that strange embrace. Hot air huffed from him and Menendez. Their lock on the sentry was absolute—there was not even the sound of scuffling feet.
At thirteen seconds, the sentry went limp, not enough blood flowing to his brain.
Abe held it until a count of twenty, when he was sure the man was fully unconscious, and then immediately released the choke. They only had a few short moments before the sentry regained consciousness.
A glance in either direction showed that there were no sentries coming.
They grabbed up the body, with Abe keeping the shemagh around the sentry’s neck in case he needed to be silenced again. Menendez took the feet, and they hauled as fast as they could for the building where the others hid.
By the time they scurried into cover behind the building, the sentry’s head was swimming back into reality, his eyes glassy but open.
Their three teammates swept up beside them, two of them lending aide in carrying the body, and Breck keeping his attention on the settlement.
“Go,” Breck whispered. “We’re clear.”
They sprinted for the copse of brush where their equipment still lay.
They were halfway there when the sentry began to thrash again.
Abe halted, cinching the shemagh tight just in time to cut off a tiny mewl of terror.
Breck, who was hands-free at that moment, immediately brandished his fixed blade and pressed it to the bottom of the sentry’s eye socket. “You make one goddamned sound and I’ll murder you and everyone you care about.”
The sentry went still. His brain was in vaporlock, just barely conscious as it was, and extremely pliable.
Abe let him have air and blood through his neck.
They reached the copse of brush without further incident and disappeared inside, like goblins dragging a victim into their lair.
They stopped there, concealed in the hollow created by the overhanging foliage.
The two soldiers took positions on the captured sentry, one keeping control of the cloth around the man’s neck, while the other held his blade to him. They didn’t need to speak. Breck had already spoken for them.
Rapidly, Abe, Menendez, and Breck, suited up.
“Overwatch,” Abe husked into his comms. “We have the initial target secured. Sitrep on that perimeter.”
“All’s quiet,” Greenman replied. “No one seems to be missing the sentry yet.”
“Roger. Stay on it. We’re infiltrating in one minute.”
Abe snugged his armor down, slung into his rifle. Helmet on. NODs attached. He slid up to the terrified sentry, grabbed him by the face to make eye contact. “La Junta,” Abe whispered. “Is it allied with Greeley? Nod yes or shake your head no.”
There was some hesitation. Abe allowed it—the man was in a panic.
A shake of the head.
“Good,” Abe said. “If that’s true, then no one is going to die tonight, do you understand me?” He flashed a smile that probably wasn’t as warm as he had intended. “We’re friends, but just very cautious friends. Now, I need you to answer a few questions verbally. You will speak in a whisper. Is Jonathan Reeves still in charge of La Junta?”
“Yes,” the man husked.
“I need you to tell me where to find him. Again, we are not here to hurt anyone. If La Junta is not allied with Greeley, then you have nothing to be afraid of, and neither does Jonathan Reeves. But I need to speak to him on my own terms. So tell me where to find him.”
“Who are you people?” the man whimpered.
The soldier holding the knife to him jerked. “You motherfucker!” he hissed, pressing the knife hard against the man’s cheekbone so that the point dug into his flesh. “Whispers only! Don’t make us ask again!”
Abe patted the man’s chest. “Look, buddy, we’re either your best friends, or your worst nightmare. That depends on how truthful you’re being. Now don’t fuck around with me. Where’s Jonathan Reeves?”
The man appeared to be doing some serious mathematical feats in his head. Self-preservation, competing with his duty as a sentry, competing with his fear for his friends in La Junta.
Eventually, with a pained expression, the man said, “He stays in a little cream-colored house on the corner of Edison and East Fourteenth.”
Abe felt relief that they had cooperation. He nodded. “Where is that in relation to the perimeter?”
“It’s right in the middle of the settlement.”
Abe’s sense of relief dried up like a tumbleweed and blew away. He grunted. “Fine. Who’s in the house with him?”
“He has a wife and kids. Jesus, don’t hurt them!”
“Hey, I already told you we’re not going to hurt anyone. That’s not what we’re here for.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I need to make sure you’re not lying about being allied with Greeley. Do the kids sleep in the same room and how old are they?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how old they are or where they sleep.”
“Does he have any animals in the house?”
“No, I don’t think so. Oh, God…”
“Stay with me. Is Jonathan armed?”
“All the time.”
“Will he be asleep, or is he a night owl?”
The man shook his head. “I’m not sure. But he’s always up before everyone else. I just assume he goes to bed early.”
Abe patted the man’s chest again. “Alright. Hey. You did good. And if you’re telling me the truth, then this is all going to work out great.” Abe rose to a crouch, nodded to Menendez and Breck who were kneeling, ready. Abe keyed his comms. “Overwatch, we’re heading out. We’re looking for a cream-colored house on the corner of Edison and Fourteenth. Get your spotter on the map and guide us in.”
“Roger that,” Greenman replied. “Start making your way in, and we’ll find the location. Good luck.”
***
Jonathan Reeves awoke firmly believing he was having a nightmare.
There were faceless men in his room, and they were pointing rifles at him and his wife. They didn’t seem overly aggressive, as they only stood on either side of the bed, and hadn’t touched him or his wife.
“If you yell, we will have to kill you,” one of them said.
Jonathan just blink
ed, frowning. He could feel his heartrate ramping up, but in the same moment, he was fairly sure he was still dreaming, so he wasn’t overly worried about it. In fact, he’d had this nightmare hundreds of times—waking up to find that some hostile forces, or perhaps even the crazies, had infiltrated his settlement and were in his bedroom with him.
Even while his fight-or-flight response geared up, the more rational part of him said, this is just one of those dreams again. No need to get yourself in a tizzy.
Generally when he was having a dream like this, his solution was to holler as loudly as possible, which, in reality, would come out as a strangled groan from his still-sleeping mouth, but it would be enough to wake Tammy up, and then she would shake him awake, he would thank her and apologize, and they’d both roll over and go back to sleep.
“We’re not here to hurt you,” one of the men was saying. “We just need to talk, but we need to do it quietly and without raising a ruckus.”
Tammy sat up on her elbows, her hands grappling across the covers and seizing his elbow. “Jon?”
Jonathan started at the touch to his elbow. Like a lightning rod grounding a bolt of electricity, the touch brought it all home to him in an instant: This was not a dream.
The one that had already spoken—the one with a thick black beard—held a finger to his lips, his rifle still trained on them with one hand. “Ssh. Easy now. Remember, we want to do this quietly. Quiet means no one gets hurt. Loud means people have to die.”
While Jonathan was still wrestling with his new flash of insight, Tammy was the first to actually kick her brain into gear.
“My kids!” she hissed—but kept her voice down. “Where are my kids?”
The other man in the room with them, who stood on Tammy’s side of the bed, patted a hand in the air. “They’re fine. We didn’t touch them. They’re still sleeping. And that’s how this should stay. No need to trouble them. We’re just here to talk.”
Tammy, who slept only in a T-shirt and still managed to maintain some semblance of old-world propriety, gathered the covers up around her chest. The move was just so Tammy, Jonathan noted, in a strange, distracted fashion—always worried that someone might see her without a bra on. Such an inane concern.
Lee Harden Series | Book 5 | Unbowed Page 24
