“Permission to go hot?” Rasmussen gave her a quick eye before facing the encroaching dead.
Her frame became lighter and her body grew colder as the frigid air gained access to formerly protected skin with each layer she removed. “Go hot.”
She studied the minefield of delicate, fractured, and entirely unstable dammed ice. Gingerly, she took one of her feet and tested it. Beneath her, the river soughed and was overtaken by the rippling clap of gunfire behind her. One foot over the other. Nice and light. As light as a feather. Each step was a tiptoe over the soccer field of her youth.
Nervously she trudged forward, thinking light thoughts. Feathers, clouds, and pillows crowded her mind, and they felt awkward there. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the sled and the ice ahead of her. Back and forth her gaze went as she walked.
When the cracking of ice became audible over the gunfire, she stopped. Holding her breath, she lifted her foot. In front of her the jagged surface snapped and crackled, fresh new contours forming like the fault lines of an earthquake. They stretched for her and she sidestepped as fast as her feet could move to the side as the ice disappeared beneath her. She spread her feet wide on the solid surface, not daring to breathe.
She gasped for air, realizing she’d been holding her breath as she evaded the collapse. At her new angle, she hurried toward the explosive-filled sled.
Moans drummed her ears, which should have been a warning, but she ignored them. The only important thing was to keep the explosives from sinking into the freezing depths of the Mississippi River.
Bodies in the water splashed near the broken edges adding to the chaos. Pushing every distraction down deep into her belly, she carefully unclipped her snowshoes and let herself down to the uneven surface. She embraced the solid coldness like a reluctant child would a grizzly bear. The frigidness emanated into her body, chilling her core so cold she almost couldn’t feel it. Using her hands to pull and her feet to push off errant piled ice, she crawled over the sandpaper surface, inching closer to her goal. Throwing an arm out, she dragged herself the last few feet to the sled.
She tried to keep her feet wide and her weight spread out along the fragile surface. She stretched as far as her little frame dared, clawing chunks of frozen white. The gunfire behind her picked up in tempo. They didn’t have time to spare. They needed to run, plant, and run then repeat.
The rigged sled teetered on the river’s solid edge. The rope and harness were strewn over the cool surface almost within reach, mocking her. As gently as she could, she nudged with her toes like a ballerina performing her first pointe technique, inching herself a little closer. The ice groaned like a sleeping titan as if her weight were a ton instead of a paltry one hundred and twenty.
Her gloved fingertips scratched the harness, gaining her only a dusting of white. Her arm and shoulder ached as she forced them to stretch longer than they should, her muscles struggling to obey. Her fingers wiggled their way through the rope like she was tickling the loop until they had the tiniest of holds on the fabric. She whipped her digits so it secured around her wrist.
She reversed, hooking her boot tips into the solid chunks and palming herself backward. She tugged the sled, and it scraped along like a resistant mule. The sled tipped and turned as it circumvented wedges of frozen river with the grace of a rhino in heat.
“Come on.” Slowly she reversed toward her men.
Gunshots blared behind her, then a heinous moan filled her ears, and she twisted her neck.
A shadowy form bore over her. It reached a hand in the shape of a claw in her direction. Its hair had crystalized to its skull, making it almost glint in the masked sunlight. Its skin was a deep dark gray like dirty water in a mop bucket, and its lips were purplish black. The ice rippled beneath the Zulu, and it ignored the danger of the thin weakened platform beneath it.
She rolled on her side as everything beneath the fiend disintegrated. The dead shot downward into the river, arms flailing. She didn’t cry when its icy hand hit her foot like a hammer. The full weight of the dead dragged her down, forcing her ankle further than it was meant to go. I’m okay.
Frozen fingers grasped her. She kicked at the creature with her other boot. The pain turned into shock as the ice around her gave way with a jump. Her heart leapt in fear, and within a fraction of a second, she splashed into the freezing waters of the Mississippi River.
The jolt of the polar water to her system was immediate. It was the sharpest punch to her gut she’d ever felt, knocking all the air from her lungs. She thought her heart might burst through her rib cage as her lungs screamed for air.
The water saturated her clothes greedily, not even giving her a second to think. Her remaining layers suctioned to her body, adding immediate weight. As she plummeted underneath, the sled traveled along, the ice still wrapped around her wrist. If she didn’t reverse her plunge, the sled would fall in after her, expediting her arrival at the bottom of the river. Her muscles seized in the freezing water and locked into position, but she tore at the surface in frantic desperation. Kicking her boots like the worst flippers, her limbs turned into ice blocks under the frigid waters assault. Willing herself upward, first her hands then her face broke through the surface.
Sucking in precious air, she placed her elbows on the edge of the broken ice. Her first instinct was to crawl out as fast as she could. That instinct had killed many a person who’d fallen through unstable ice.
Her mouth formed into an O as she steadied herself. Letting her legs kick, she acclimated to the cold. She inhaled air through her nose and out her mouth trying to calm her system that could easily go into a hypothermic panic at any moment.
Her body begged to escape the water, but if she hurried and attempted to haphazardly pull herself out, the ice would crack and she’d fall back in. She would repeat this process over and over until she had wasted all her energy and then the cold water would accept her beneath its surface. Her escape had to be calculated and careful.
“Come on,” she breathed. Stretching her arms wide, she flutter-kicked fiercely. She didn’t pull herself out much with her hands, only letting them guide her on to structurally sound ice. This process took almost twenty seconds of scooting and kicking before she was completely free of the water.
“Oh, God.” Her lips quivered. Her lungs barely seemed able to take in any air. She crawled over the ice toward her Marines, tugging the sled in exhausted fits and starts.
“Major!” Rasmussen cried. He grabbed her hand, lugging her near the group. The dead in close proximity had set their eyes on them, but her Marines had the sled.
“One snuck by,” she said, her voice quivering. “Dragged me down.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Rasmussen said.
The cold air was desperately attempting to freeze her in place. “Not his fault, Marine.” Her voice firmed. “We have to keep moving. Hand me one.”
He placed a rigged explosive in her hand. Her fingers were cramped into a frozen C-shape. She willed them to work, sending icy pain through her limbs. She shook as she set it between chunks of white. Making sure it was in a proper spot, she forced herself upright, still hunched with the cold.
Her voice came out fierce and unstoppable. “Forward, Marines!”
AHMED
Northern Missouri
The wind lashed them as they rode through backcountry roads flanked by abandoned fields of discarded crops. Yellow stalks of grass and grain were layered in a thin sheet of white snow. The sound of hooves beating the hard earth rung out rhythmically for miles.
“If we kill the horses before we get there then we’ll have to walk,” he hollered at Jim.
Jim didn’t say a word, only begrudgingly conceded, bringing his horse to a walk. Icy breath fogged from the animals.
“You can ride quicker to your death this way,” Lee said quietly. He patted the flanks of his mount. “Maybe someone will survive the day if it’s only the horses. Poor beasts deserve better.”
They walked a
nd rode like this for several walk-gallop durations. Ahmed’s face was chilled through, and even though he wore a scarf wrapped tightly around his head, the skin around his eyes was stiff from the battering wind. His mind was numb to the violence they were sure to engage in.
“We’re close,” Jim said over his shoulder. “I know this treacherous country well.”
Ahmed drove his horse closer to Jim’s. “How do you want to do this? I’d rather not die today if possible.” Wasn’t that always the plan?
Their leader kept his eyes straight ahead as if considering a real plan would deter him from his purpose. “Ride in, give them hell, burn the place.”
“Simple.”
Glancing at Ahmed, he said, “You got a better idea?”
“Perhaps a little tact?”
Jim snorted. “What do you know?”
“Enough to not ride into gunfire.” They sat in silence for a moment. “Is there a way we can approach to surprise them?”
A finger pointed, indicating the target home in the distance. “It’s that farmhouse on the edge of the road up there.”
The farmhouse looked to have been there for over a century. The back portion was all brick, and the front of the home looked to be an add-on from the early 20th century. A porch rounded the sides, enveloping almost the entirety of the addition. Slender pillars of white supported the overhang above the porch, providing porch sitters with shade.
The group stopped, inspecting their mountain that needed to be scaled and conquered.
“Maybe a few of us should go around back?”
Brisk air exited Jim’s nose as he stared at the house. The men could practically see the anger rising in his blood. “Let’s make them pay!”
“Wait,” Ahmed said. But there was no waiting.
A second passed and Jim circled his horse and shouted. “Ya!” Urging his horse onward, the band of men followed. They galloped down the driveway toward two heavy-duty pickups parked facing out. Shotguns and rifles slid from saddles.
Jim jumped down and brazenly charged the front door. The rest of the men spread out in a loose line, taking cover behind trucks and trees. Ahmed scrambled from his horse, crouching down. Damn fool. No plan. No surprise.
Taking a stance a few feet off the porch, Jim fired his shotgun into the air. Boom! He racked the gun, expelling a shell, and stood waiting for his ancient familial enemy to emerge. “Sly, come out!” He shoved the stock of the gun to his shoulder and leveled it at the door.
A mixture of snow and dirt erupted at Ahmed’s feet. He rolled to the side taking cover and scanned the second-floor windows for enemies. One was open about four inches.
A man’s voice drifted from the window. “Get on out of here, Jimmy! Nobody has to get hurt!”
Ahmed aimed in on the window and squeezed a shot off. The wood framing burst and splinters flew. The shooter took cover inside.
“Fight us like a man. Come on out here!” Jim held his shotgun up in the air. “Hell, I’ll fight you fisticuffs if you want. You just come out and get some.”
Seconds dripped into the steadily building tension, pressing down upon each man, adding more pressure to fight. Ahmed kept checking the corners of the house to make sure Sly’s men weren’t sneaking out the back to flank and ambush them. Unlike his band, they had to be planning something.
The door cracked open. A hand waved a white kitchen towel pathetically out the door. Jim lowered his weapon. “Well, come on out then.”
“Promise you won’t shoot ’til you hear me out.”
Jim shook his head. “Ah hell, I’ll be honest with ya. We won’t shoot right away. We got honor, more than we can say for your ilk.”
Sly continued to shake the symbol of surrender as he stepped onto the porch. Ahmed glanced at the second-story windows again and then back to the side of the house. Nothing moved.
“We don’t have to do this, Jimmy.”
“Bullshit, you killed them and took Sadie and the kids.”
The leader of the Baileys gazed away bitterly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t us.”
Lips turned into a snarl on Jim’s face. “Bullshit.” He pointed his shotgun at Sly’s chest. A slug from that distance would put a huge hole in his chest. The man’s demeanor was almost entirely devoid of fear under the threat of certain death. His peace with God must have been made long ago.
“Put the gun away. We don’t have her.”
Squinting an eye, Jim lined up his bead sight, deciding where to shoot his rival. “Where she at then?”
“They got her.” Sadness spread on Sly’s aging features. “They took her.”
“Who?” Spit flew from Jim’s mouth.
“The Wolf Riders.”
“I don’t believe you. You always wanted her.”
“Yah, Rog always liked her, but they took her.”
The shotgun dipped a fraction of an inch. “You’re lyin’?”
Sly exhaled and put his hand on the door. “Bring ’em out.” He waved inside.
Two young kids cautiously stepped out of the house, and Sly huddled them in front of his body.
“Betty! Charley!” Jim lowered his gun and gestured for them to advance. “Come here.”
Thick hands held the children by their shoulders. “Wait a minute.”
“Sly, you touch a hair on their heads, and I will fucking kill you.”
“Jesus, man, you know why I have them right? The Wolf Riders dumped them on us after they took Sadie. They said they didn’t care what happened to ’em, but through the grace of God didn’t want to just let them die. Downright amazing if you ask me. They’re kids, for Chrissake.”
A determined anger clouded Jim’s eye, and he hefted his shotgun again. “Let them go. They don’t need to see a man without a head.”
“You ain’t hearing me, boy. By God, you never listen. This ain’t our doing. I don’t want this anymore than you do.”
“Send ’em over then. Give us some good faith.”
“I’ll send em over, but who’s gonna take care of them after we shoot each other to pieces?”
“I will. They’ll be fine with their family.”
“They won’t have one if we shoot each other dead.”
“You let them go now, or I promise this gets ugly.”
Sly shook his head no. “You would shoot that thing so close to your kin?”
“If it means ending this, yes!” Carefully, Jim lined his shotgun at Sly’s head.
Ahmed rushed toward them. “Wait!”
All eyes zeroed on him. He set his gun down on the ground and held up both his hands high into the air. “Stop!”
Walking forward, he tried to speak calmly. “Jim, just wait.”
The Singleton captain peered at him over his shoulder. “You don’t understand, Brownie.”
“Don’t you see? Sly isn’t the enemy. Macleod and the Wolf Riders are. They have Sadie. They burned Lee’s house down, killed Kelly and Barb.”
“Those pricks murdered Dad and Kyle.”
Ahmed held a calming hand out. “And you murdered his cousins. Blood for blood. It’s settled.”
“It’ll be settled when they’re worm food.”
Sly called over. “Jimmy, you ain’t hearin’ me. I don’t have her.”
“You work for ’em. You’re to blame.”
The Bailey man’s eyes were tired, even battered like he hadn’t slept in a week, the lines of his face seeming to deepen. “I don’t want to.”
“I’ll send you along then!”
Ahmed stepped in front of Jim’s barrel.
He shooed him with the gun. “Get out of the way.”
“I won’t sit by while you shoot the man that knows where Sadie is.”
Jim blinked several times. “Every Singleton knows that every Bailey is a lying sack of shit. He’s prolly got her inside chained up or something.”
Sly peered from around Ahmed. “I don’t, you stupid redneck. Every Bailey knows that a Singleton will cheat them out of their shoes given t
he chance.”
“I’ll shoot you out of those shoes. Then take ’em.”
Ahmed raised his hand and let it fall on Jim’s shotgun. The barrel was cool to touch even after the gunshot blast minutes before. The temperature seemed to be dropping by the minute.
“He knows where Sadie is. He’s got the kids.” Ahmed’s brow furrowed. “Please. Let’s hear him out. It’s clear he hates the Wolf Riders.”
Sly nodded. “I do hate ’em. They’re bastards, forcing us to work for ’em. We been supplying them with food and ammunition.”
Jim lowered his gun a fraction. “They got you working for them?”
“Slavery more like. Just take, don’t give no protection like they said. We’re still on our own in that regard. Jimmy, there must be forty of ’em. They took Jes too.”
“They took Jes?” Pain creased over Jim’s face. “God damn.”
“Said it was to keep us honest.” Sly shook his head in anger. “I haven’t seen her in weeks. I got no . . . “His voice sputtered and gave way to emotion. “This whole world is taken, all my kin. My babies.” He sniffed hard, running the back of his hand across his nose.
Jim let his gun rest, pointed it toward the ground. “I’m sorry. I know we don’t have no love lost for one another, but Jes is good girl. That ain’t right.” He studied Bailey man for a moment. “Can I see the kids?”
Sly tightened his lips and nodded fierce. He nudged the children from behind. “Go ahead.” They ran down the steps, wrapping tiny arms around Jim’s legs. He patted their heads fondly, pulling them tight. His exterior softened. “They hurt you?”
“No, they be nice,” Betty squeaked.
“Fed us cookies!” Charley said, as if they’d given him he greatest Christmas present in the world.
Jim crouched down. “Tell me about the bad men that came to Uncle Lee’s house.”
“Motorcycle men, Uncle Jim.”
“Big black dogs on their clothes.”
Jim ruffled their hair. “I’m glad you’s all right. Why don’t you run back with Uncle Lee?”
The kids trotted over to their wild-haired older distant cousin.
Audibly Jim exhaled, sharing a glance with Ahmed.
The End Time Saga (Book 5): The Holding Page 31
