“What happens after that?” Andy said.
All of the older men regarded Lee’s son with questioning eyes. “What do you mean?” Sly said.
“I mean. After we get Sadie and Jes, then what? They’ll be looking for us. For revenge.” He cast his eyes down as if he were afraid of speaking too much to men he clearly respected.
“Once the girls are safe, we go to war. This is our turf.” Sly looked at Jim, gauging his reception. “We had our differences, but I’ll be damned if we give it up to some outsider running us through the ringer. What do you say?”
All the men eyed Jim. If there was no deal, then they may as well go back to killing each other or paying Macleod tribute.
Jim licked his lips, staring at Sly. “I hated you my entire life, and as much as I hate to say it, you’re right. That bastard can’t come in here and enslave us. I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner.”
A sharp breath escaped Sly. “I regret what’s been done in the past. I can’t take it back, but we can make right going forward.” He stood and stepped in front of Jim. For a moment, the room grew tense, like an unseen stress yoking every single man and weighing down on their necks and shoulders. He stuck out his hand to Jim. Deadpanned eyes zoned past Sly’s extended peace offering, another brawl waiting to embroil the two families once again.
“Take it,” Ahmed nodded at Jim’s hand. “Change this course now. Do it for Sadie and those kids. Without peace, there is no future.”
Jim flattened his lips and nodded. “Let’s join as partners.” He got to his feet and cupped Sly’s hand.
Sly smiled. “Peace for war.”
Jim put a hand on the back of Sly’s arm. “Peace for war.”
The men grinned. Each one gripped harder for more control over the other. Jim waved Ahmed up. “Never would have gotten here without Ahmed.” His ice-pick eyes pierced Ahmed’s dark brown ones. “Not sure where you came from, but you done good.”
“Sadie’s kept me here.”
Sly’s grin turned a bit devilish. “You takin’ a liking to her?”
“I’m sure Jim doesn’t want to hear about it, but I have. There’s just something special about her.”
“Ahmed, I think it’s pretty clear, but if you hurt her, I’ll kill ya.”
“I have no doubt in my mind, my friend,” Ahmed said with a grin.
STEELE
Camp Forge, IA
His eyelashes beat away flecks of dust and dirt. Blackened sky crushed upon him, a river of billowing darkness. He squeezed his eyes closed, granules of dirt irritating them. He triple blinked. A high-pitched constant ring screeched in his ears, deafening him. He brought a shaky hand that he was unsure was his up to his ear. Warm liquid seeped from them. Opening his jaw, he rotated it in pain. He pressed his eyes tightly together again and rolled on his shoulder with a violent cough.
A charcoal odor mixed with blood and burnt flesh took over his nose. He felt like he’d been trampled by a herd of horses. Fierce coughing overtook him, his lungs responding in seared pain. He tried to suck in air but only could inhale the smoke. He spit on the ground. Everything around him was unrecognizable.
The faint tap of gunfire made his heart jump faster. He looked up; the Christmas tree burned next to him. I’m in the parlor. The needles were ember-tipped and fraying black as they were eaten alive by flames. The ornaments melted down, shrinking and folding in on themselves.
A form lay near him on its side. “Gwen?” He crawled on his hands and knees toward her. His entire body shook like it’d been struck with a frying pan. He took her shoulder and gently rolled her over to her back. Her mouth hung open and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.
“Oh, god,” he breathed. “Oh, god. Gwen, baby.” He ran his hands over her body searching for anything out of place. She seemed intact. There wasn’t much blood on her, nothing that required immediate attention. He put a hand to her neck, pushing hard into her artery. He felt nothing, adjusted his fingers, and did it again. A faint beat of her heart tapped away through her veins.
The side wall was succumbing to the flames. He turned his woozy head, following the blaze and finding the entirety of the foyer and front porch had simply transformed into rubble. The white outside melted nearby, the debris from the house peppering the snow.
He stretched his jaw, attempting to equalize the pressure in his ears and unclog them. I must get oriented. Two men stepped lightly through the wreckage. They’ve come to help. He almost called out, “Here we are. Help us,” but something in his gut stayed his tongue. His mind was an opaque fog, but he held back.
No names came to mind as he studied them. His eyes blinked furiously trying to place them. They held guns to their shoulders. Men hunting for enemies, not coming to help the injured. His left hand fell upon his holstered M9A1 Beretta 9mm. He drew it deftly and aimed, wavering for a second, pressing the trigger evenly. The closest man flinched. He sank to his knees. A second later, Steele let two rounds go into the chest of the man behind him. He crumpled backward into the smoldering rubble.
Struggling to gain his feet beneath him, he managed to get upright. He had to focus to steady himself. Wavering, he bent back down. “Come on, baby,” he said to Gwen’s form. A little girl’s wailing caught his attention away.
He followed the cries to the other side of the room. The room now opened into the kitchen. Little Haley beat her mother’s chest with a hand. “Mommy, please.” She sobbed and tears streaked her cheeks.
His voice came out hoarse. “Haley.” He bent down touching her shoulder. She gawked at him with blackened cheeks and broke down into open-mouthed hysterical bawling where she couldn’t breathe because every ounce of energy was emitting fear and pain. She hugged him. He scooped her up with his other arm, glancing down at Becky. “We’ll come back for her.” He ran back to Gwen and holstered his weapon. He crouched to the floor, placing her as gingerly as he could on his other shoulder. Driving with his legs, he hefted the two into the air. His body screamed at him, but he ignored its protest, shoving it deep inside.
Unsteady, he forced his quivering legs to obey, and he moved through a smoke-filled hallway toward the back of the house. He went into John and Lydia’s bedroom. Dutch and Rocky danced around him, tails down and ears back. Dutch let out an excited bark.
He set Gwen on the bed and took his tomahawk out. He snapped the head of the light ax into the glass, breaking the window. Running the tomahawk around the frame, he knocked away any remaining shards.
“My arm hurts,” Haley whined at him. Her fingers curled into a ball, and she held her arm out at him.
“Shhh, sweetie. You have to be quiet now.” She tried to suck in a breath but struggled between the smoke and her terror.
He crouched down in front of her. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to set you down outside. I want you to run for those cabins right there and hide. I’ll come and get you in a minute. Do you understand?”
Her lips trembled, but she nodded. He hoisted her through the window, setting her on the ground. She stared up at him for a moment. Her eyes filled with tears, eyes reminiscent of Gwen’s but darker. She could have been his daughter, and he was setting her outside in the middle of a war.
He lifted his chin in an authoritative manner. “Run now, girl.” She blinked and ran for the cabins, her little feet kicking up snow like baby powder. He turned back inside. Smoke flowed down the hallway and pooled into the room. He heaved Gwen’s unconscious form and laid her outside in the cold snow. She’ll be safe. She’ll be safe, he reminded himself over and over. As fast as he could, he followed by hefting the two dogs outside. They laid by Gwen, ears perked, nuzzling her with muzzles.
He ran back down the hall, using the wall to support him. Turning into the blown-out kitchen, he gave it a once over. Lydia sat with her back shoved against her cabinets. Arms were thrown to the sides like she was waiting for a hug.
Steele rushed to her and checked her pulse. She had none. Her eyes stared back at him, op
en and unfeeling. “Goddammit.” He wiped his hand over her soft lids, forever closing her eyes. He stood half-crouched, peering through the wreckage. There was a gunfight kicking off near the barns. The tap-taps and pop, pop, pops, rattled back and forth. More cautious men inspected the farmhouse wreckage outside.
There was no sign of John. He threw Becky into a fireman’s carry. The ceiling above him dipped inward, dropping wood and lapping flames.
He took a step back and jumped the collapsed ceiling for the hallway. The heat from the growing inferno nipped at his heels, and he sprinted for the bedroom. He kicked the door closed behind him and rushed to the window. Smoke seeped through the cracks between the door and the floor.
He lifted Becky through the window and laid her by Gwen. Gwen blinked, raising herself onto her elbows. She coughed and placed a hand protectively on her lower stomach. “Oh, god!” The dogs licked her face and she shoved them. “Get away.”
Steele jumped down and crouched next to her. “You’re going to be okay.” His eyes darted up. Men in leather with gears as patches marched through the cabins. They hadn’t put eyes on them yet.
“What happened?” Gwen said.
“Somebody set off a bomb.”
“A bomb?”
“Haley? Where’s Haley?” Gwen’s eyes frantically searched the camp. A booming crash reverberated from inside causing Steele to duck. “Where’s Pa and Gram?”
“Gwen.” She turned to him, confusion in her eyes. The look of fear and sadness on her face was something he could never stand to see again. He forced that down with the rest. “We have to keep moving.”
She shook her head in little spurts. “No. No. Not without them.”
He stroked her cheek. “They’re gone. Help me with Becky.”
Gwen sucked in air through her mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Later. We must move.” He picked up Becky in his arms and ran for a cabin with Gwen. He pushed in the door. Gwen followed him inside, and he set Becky down as she closed the door.
“Gwenna,” Haley exclaimed.
“Yes, baby,” Gwen said. The little girl ran and jumped in her arms, causing Gwen to grimace. “Not too hard, sweetie.” She smoothed her hair repeatedly as she held her. She eyed Steele. “What is going on?”
Men shouting and the pops of gunshots shook the air from the next cabin over. Gwen’s eyes widened and narrowed. Steele eyed her, taking a deep breath. He removed his Beretta checking the magazine. Thirteen rounds. He slipped the magazine back into place. They locked eyes, the realization of what was to come was understood.
“They must not take us alive,” Gwen whispered.
He nodded slowly. “They won’t.” The implications of his words hardened his insides.
ALVARADO
Northern Mississippi River
They’d lost Johnson to a Zulu a quarter mile back. By the time the dwindling squad of Marines had turned guns in his direction, he’d been bitten several times. The Marine had laid prone on the ice, shaking as the virus dominated his system.
Alvarado finished him off before they ran. No formalities. No salutes. Just a mercy bullet to make sure the beefy Marine didn’t get back up again. Each death stung her, but she had to ignore the angry fire in her gut in order to keep going. Any moment spent dwelling on their deaths would be her last.
A fire smoldered down to embers in her belly, but despite the numbness of it all, the death and cold were still there. Sixty seconds after she’d shot him, it didn’t matter. The C4 detonated, throwing pieces of ice and infected into the air like God had decided he’d had it with that part of the river and flicked it with a giant finger.
Her jaw chattered fiercely as they stumbled in exhaustion to the next section. She knew her core body temperature was dipping dangerously low. Her motor functions were rapidly decreasing, and only the desperate fight forward kept her from succumbing to hypothermia.
Each time they stopped, more dead closed in from every direction, except from the destroyed ice, where the frigid water encroached on the Marines. With every stop, they used more and more bullets. It was an unsustainable mission. Eventually, they’d hit a breaking point.
“Last mag!” Rasmussen fired two successive single round shots.
“Me too,” yelled Odom. He let an empty magazine fall to the ice.
She slapped the timer on the C4 and set it down. “We got three more then we go home.” The home part of her words sounded hollow even for her, but they had to keep it together or they would die quick painful deaths.
“Warm food. Walls,” O’Bannon breathed.
“Sounds like the Ritz,” Odom responded.
O’Bannon cracked a smile. “Better.”
They jogged away from the explosives with heavy feet. The dead were slower, but eventually they would catch the Marines. The laws of physics demanded it. More dead congregated ahead of them. The Marines were not tireless; Zulus were. It was simple. They were playing in overtime, and while every second counted, ultimately it would be the end and they would lose.
Sixty seconds ticked by as they scrambled over the uneven ice. The only blessing bestowed upon them was that their sled was lighter than before. A huge boom rewarded their efforts, and the Marines kept their heads down as ice spilled from the sky around them.
She ducked as she hauled the sled with O’Bannon. The tall man leaned into his harness, his body almost diagonal in effort. Infected closed ranks for them ahead, an uncoordinated yet effective effort. Dark grotesque shapes of misery and death contrasted against the pureness of the ice.
“Ditch the sled. We’ll carry the rest.” She threw the harness off her, sucking in air. Her insides were already frozen in miniature crystals, each breath she took intensifying the pain.
She and O’Bannon scooped the equipment into their arms and ran over uneven ice. When she fell, she laid there for a moment, enjoying the rest from her freezing cold exertion. Footsteps crunched the frozen surface. O’Bannon’s face hovered near hers. His eyes were wide with fight. “Ma’am. We ain’t finished.” He hauled her upright. She didn’t respond. All she could do was nod her head, too tired and cold to say a word.
They ran for the remaining Marines standing in a small semicircle. She planted the next charge, listening to them expend what few rounds they had left in futile defiance.
“I’m out!” Odom shouted.
Rasmussen glared back at her. “Me too.”
“Need more time.”
The Marines closed ranks as to not be taken from behind, pressing in on one another. Almost shoulder to shoulder, they stood like the remains of a Roman legion ready to give their lives. M4s turned into clubs, knives were drawn, and E-tools were brandished. The dead moaned. Their prey was finally not evading them. They had given up from the long chase and now the dead closed in for the final kills.
“Rarr,” Rasmussen yelled. He swung his M4 like a baseball bat, slugging an infected in the side of the skull. “We gotta hurry,” he breathed, waiting for his next victim. The mass of infected drove in closer, flesh hanging from bones, tattered clothes covering dark gray skin, bony fingers ready to remove entrails for feasting.
With a quivering finger, she flicked on the timer. Sixty seconds.
“Move, Marines!” she commanded at the top of her lungs. She would have loved to surge forward like a bull rushing the dead around them, but it was more like a snail pushing a rock. Hands clawed at her and she shoved them off. She gripped a Zulu by the neck. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or woman at this point, only an androgynous killing machine. Its mouth chomped its teeth at her.
Odom’s M4 carbine whipped around, crumpling the back of its skull. His voice came out exhausted. “You owe me one.”
Her mouth shook out her every word, her muscles trying to keep her alive. “We’re even.” She tried to run ahead but was driven back into their small group. Guns swung wildly at the dead, and the Marines beat them to a stalemate with tooth-and-nail fighting. But they were losing. They would
die on the ice. Holding the last explosive to her chest like it was her babe, she kicked an infected in the gut, sending it to the ground.
Odom called out, his voice higher in fear. He’d been dragged down to the ice. She thrust one away from him, but another tore through his pants. He screamed as it shredded his leg. Decrepit hands reached for her. Rasmussen charged the dead surrounding Odom, spiking one with his knife and jabbing another through the eye.
“There’s too many!” His voice cut off as a Zulu hooked his jaw. He knifed one and another took its place. He went down when the gore-stained fingers separated his lower mandible from his face.
Chaos took them. Every time she would bring one down or shove one back, another was tugging her the other way. She didn’t know which way the next threat would come from, they were everywhere. Moans surrounded her like quicksand.
“Major!” screamed O’Bannon. She turned back. He was the last Marine standing with her. Brave and mean, he was still in the fight.
He locked eyes with her and nodded. She knew. He knew. Better to take them with you than leave them existing on the field of battle. She flipped the switch and set the explosive behind her.
“Semper Fi, motherfuckers!” O’Bannon yelled. He jogged forward in a final charge to clear a pathway through the infected. His gun brandished left and right as he wielded it like a medieval bludgeon.
“Semper Fi!” she called back with every ounce of energy still inside her. Unslinging her M4A1, she held it like a baseball bat. She charged into the swath of slain corpses behind O’Bannon. He’d made progress destroying three, four, five, six Zulus, one after the other. She jabbed her M4A1 into a Zulu face and brushed off the icy fingers that clutched at her neck. For a brief second, she thought they might make it to the frozen Minnesota shoreline.
But the dead were many and relentless. They collapsed around O’Bannon. He raised his carbine for another swing, but he was too slow. His muscles weren’t firing like they should. Marines were flesh and blood, not machines. As much as she wished he could go on killing forever, he couldn’t.
The End Time Saga (Book 5): The Holding Page 34
