Redfall: Freedom Fighters (American Prepper Series Book 2)

by Falconer, Jay J.

  All of the plate clinking and chewing in the room stopped. It fell dead silent in an instant.

  Sister Hannah looked at Simon and gave him a worried look.

  “How many?” Simon asked the girl.

  “All of them, I think,” she told him with eyes wide, then turned to Hannah, bobbing on her toes with excitement. “They have guns of the hand.”

  Simon shot of the chair and went to the girl. “Show me. Now!”

  The girl gave Simon a curious look, but didn’t respond, nor did she move.

  Hannah touched the girl’s shoulder, getting her attention. “Show him, Rebecca.”

  “Yes, Sister Hannah,” Rebecca said, promptly turning and running.

  Simon and Hannah followed, as did Wicks and Slayer.

  The girl led them past the kitchen and down a connecting hallway before stopping in front of the picture window next to the front door. Rebecca pointed outside.

  Wicks pushed ahead, as did Simon, taking position in front of the girl. Slayer crowded in next, but Hannah remained behind.

  Simon put his hand out to move the lace curtain aside, giving the Pandora crew a clear view of the courtyard and beyond.

  Four vintage trucks with Confederate flags painted on their door panels were approaching with speed, not slowing for the changes in the terrain.

  They blasted through two sections of the split-rail fence, sending the Amish residents scattering in all directions. Many of them took refuge inside the closest home, while a few ran past the nearest building and around back, disappearing from view.

  Simon had expected the vehicles to be on an intercept course with the dining hall since it was the largest building and clearly the central point of the property. But they weren’t. They looked to be heading straight for the Healer’s home, moving from left to right across the sprawling courtyard area.

  Simon took a moment to consider why. Then he saw it—the travois. It was sitting in front of the doc’s home. The people in the trucks must have been looking for it and that’s why they were targeting its location. It was the only answer that made sense.

  Just then, more facts lined up in his brain—those who were approaching must have been to Jericho and noticed the bloodstains in the barn, then followed the tracks in the mud, which in turn led them to this Amish farm.

  Shit. He’d left a trail.

  The trucks slowed their approach and eventually came to a full stop about a hundred yards from the doc’s home.

  One of the vehicles was parked about ten feet ahead of the others. Simon assumed it was the lead vehicle carrying whomever was in charge. It had a single person in the cab—the driver—plus someone standing in the back by the rear window, wearing hunting clothes and holding a rifle.

  Both occupants looked to be men based on their size and stature, but their long hair suggested they could’ve been husky women dressed in hunting garb.

  The other three trucks carried the same occupancy and configuration—driver in the cab and a single person armed with a rifle in the back.

  Then he noticed something different with the lead truck. It had four more people sitting low in the back, but he couldn’t see their faces—only the top half of their heads. None of them were looking his way.

  Simon swung his head around to speak to Wicks, needing her to confirm the identity of the visitors.

  “Carnegie brothers?” he said, his voice preceding his eyes. But she wasn’t standing there. He glanced around, but didn’t see Wicks.

  “Where’d she go?” he asked the group.

  Slayer shrugged. “She was here a second ago.”

  Little Rebecca pointed to the kitchen. “That way.”

  Simon bolted toward the kitchen, passing Isaac Fisher in his wheelchair and the rest of the elderly men from the dining room, including the man with the cane. They must have decided to stop eating and come see what was happening at the front of the hall.

  They’d taken position just inside the archway leading from the hallway, forming a tight-lipped, shoulder-to-shoulder group. They’d arranged themselves from shortest man in front to tallest in the back.

  Simon looked at the group but didn’t get a reaction from any of them as he ran past. For whatever reason, he got the impression they were watching and judging his actions, like a jury ready to render a verdict.

  When Simon made it to the kitchen, he ran into Wicks who was holding a meat cleaver and coming his way.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked her, holding out his arms so she couldn’t slip past him.

  “I’m gonna save my brother,” she answered, holding the blade up in an attack position.

  “With that? Against those armed men?”

  She nodded with fire in her eyes, but didn’t respond.

  “That’s a suicide mission,” Simon snapped, grabbing her wrist with one hand, then taking the knife from her with the other. “I can’t let you do that, Wicks.”

  She took a swipe at his hands, trying to retrieve the cleaver, but missed. “Simon, you have to let me go. The Carnegie brothers are gonna kill Wyatt.”

  “If you go out there like this, you’ll be killed, too.”

  “But we have to do something!”

  “Yes, but not this. From what you’ve told me, they’re probably here for you, too. Not just your brother.”

  “Okay, fine, but we can’t just stand here! What are we gonna do?”

  “Let me go talk with them and see what they want. Maybe I can work out some kind of deal, or diffuse the situation.”

  “That’s not gonna work. They’re animals. We have to kill them before they kill us.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in killing?” he asked her, remembering the conversation about the exploding bullets back at Pandora.

  “This is different.”

  “How?”

  “It just is,” she said, trying to fight her way around him. “We’re wasting time. We have to save Wyatt.”

  He stopped her. “Not we . . . me . . . I’ll go.”

  She shook her head. “They’ll kill you.”

  “Possibly, but while I’m distracting them, I need you to sneak around back with Slayer and get to your brother. Take one of the buggies and get the hell out of here. Get as far away as you can. We’ll rendezvous at Pandora.”

  “No, Simon! No!” she said with a red face.

  “Trust me, I know how to handle men like this. The government spent a lot of money training me over the years.”

  “But Simon—”

  “No buts, Tally. I need you to just do it. Now go. Go save your brother before it’s too late.”

  She nodded, though it wasn’t very convincing. She hugged him quickly with tears in her eyes, and the two of them returned to the front room where Hannah, Rebecca, Slayer, and the elders were waiting.

  “What’s the plan?” Slayer asked, stepping forward to meet them in the center of the room.

  “You and Wicks sneak around back and get Wyatt out of here.”

  “How? I’m sure Wyatt’s in no shape to walk.”

  Simon looked at Hannah. “We need to borrow one of your buggies.”

  She blinked at him but didn’t say a word.

  A man’s voice rang out from the grassy area outside, echoing across the property and finding its way inside the window.

  “Wyatt Wickie? This is Sean Carnegie. Me and my brotha got some of ya friends out here. So come out now and bring dat sister of yours. Otherwise, I start killin’ me some hostages.”

  “Hostages?” Wicks said, hurrying to the window. She looked outside. “Oh my God, is that Kat?”

  Simon joined her at the window and took a look.

  “Looks like it,” he answered, seeing a man standing behind a kneeling Kat. She was shirtless, only wearing a bra. The man was pressing the barrel of a very distinctive weapon to the back of her head—a shotgun with a blocky, triangular shape and a large-capacity drum magazine. He recognized it—a Russian-made model AA-12. Simon had a chance to shoot the fu
lly automatic shotgun a number of years earlier, during his first assignment under General Rawlings.

  Next to the man holding Kat were seven more long-haired hillbilly types, each armed with a rifle. Some were assault weapons, but the rest looked to be more traditional hunting rifles with scopes. Four of the seven were holding someone on their knees at gun point, just like the first guy.

  “Looks like Diesel, Dre and Dixie, too,” he said, having a better view of everyone than before. He checked, but didn’t see G, Jazz, or the new guy, Austin. “But I don’t see the others.”

  Wicks grabbed him by the arm. “Are they dead, Simon? Did they kill my friends?”

  Chances are the answer was yes, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it to Wicks. “Let’s not assume the worst. They might have gotten away.”

  “Who’s the hell is the black guy?” Slayer asked, now looking over Simon’s shoulder.

  “Never seen him before in my life,” Wicks answered after turning her attention back outside to the Carnegies.

  “His name is General Nate Rawlings, ” Simon said, recognizing the round, dark-skinned man in uniform—a former colleague, someone he hadn’t seen in years.

  “You know him?” she asked, never taking her eyes from the window.

  “Yeah, an old friend.” Simon said, remembering his days under the General’s command.

  Before he could continue, a herd of footsteps came at Simon from the hallway beyond the kitchen. A second later, three young Amish men entered the room carrying farm implements. None of them wore beards or hats, but they were dressed in black pants, white shirts, and suspenders. Each had a look of determination in their eyes.

  Simon recognized the lads—they were the first of the Amish to reveal themselves in the forest when the Fisher clan surrounded the Pandora crew.

  “No, Caleb, you mustn’t,” Brother Joshua snapped while standing with the pack of elders.

  “But Father—” the shortest of the young men said, his eyes blue and hands covered in dirt. His blonde hair hung at shoulder length and was tucked back behind his ears.

  “It is not our way, son,” Joshua said with a harsh voice. “The evil outside is not our concern.”

  Simon sucked in a frustrated breath, then turned to Hannah.

  “Sister, I know you don’t want to get involved, but those men out there will probably kill us all, including you. We have to act now. It’s the only option.”

  She still didn’t answer.

  Neither did the group of elders.

  Simon looked at the Amish leadership, then back at Hannah. “Look, if you want to rid this violence from your land, then please, help us now. All we need is transportation and a little guidance. If one of you can show us how to get to the back of the Healer’s home undetected, we’ll take it from there.”

  Young Rebecca spoke up. “I can show them.”

  “No, child,” Hannah said, wrapping her hands around the girl and pulling her close.

  “I’ll go,” Caleb said, holding his chin up, looking at his father.

  “So will I,” another of the boys said, raising the pitchfork in his hands. His jet-black hair was much shorter than Caleb’s, but his face just as pale. He looked to be about the same height as Simon.

  “Me too,” said the barrel-chested third boy, his cheeks red and plump.

  “I cannot allow that. Here, no one raises a hand against another,” Joshua said.

  Simon flared his eyebrows and held out his hands. “Look, I’m not asking you to raise a hand. We just need a buggy and some directions. Nothing else.”

  Sean Carnegie’s voice called out again. “Wyatt? This is ya last chance. Ya have two minutes to come out or I shoot da bitch. Then I kill da others, too.”

  Wicks moved away from the window. “Simon, we can’t wait any longer. We have to go now!”

  “Please. We’re running out of time,” Simon told Joshua.

  Brother Joshua started to speak again, then the feeble man in the wheelchair reached out with his trembling hand and stopped him. Old Man Isaac made eye contact with Joshua and gave him a nod, but never said a word.

  Joshua hesitated, then turned his deadpan gaze to Simon. “Caleb will guide you. But only Caleb. Take what you need along the way, but we shall not assist you any further.”

  “Thank you,” Simon said, nodding at Wicks and Slayer to get moving. They did, tearing down the hallway with the blonde kid, Caleb.

  Simon studied the thick, black-haired kid with the pitchfork. He thought the young man’s heavier build was about the right size.

  “There’s one more thing,” Simon said to Joshua, pointing at the kid. “I’ll need his clothes and one of your hats.”

  Then Simon swung his eyes to the man standing in front of the others with the walking stick. “Plus your cane.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Sean Carnegie gave the redheaded prisoner to his brother and stepped forward when a tall, burly man came out of the front door of a building on the right.

  He could only see the lower half of the stranger’s face with his hat tilted low, but it clearly wasn’t Wyatt Wickie—Wyatt was taller and skinnier, not to mention younger, based on the way the beardless man was moving. He was dressed in typical Amish clothes, but coughing and walking slowly, with one hand on a cane.

  “Hold it right there,” Sean said, raising the shotgun.

  The man stopped his approach, balancing his weight on the walking stick. “I come with empty hands and an honest heart.”

  “What do ya want, Amish?”

  “I wish to speak with you. May I approach? I have information that you seek.”

  “Best ya keep it slow, old man.”

  Sebastian leaned over and spoke softly in Sean’s ear. “Careful, Sean. I don’t like da looks a him.”

  “Who? Dat guy?” he asked with a smirk on his face, pointing. “One religious freak ain’t nothin’. Look at him, he can barely walk.”

  “I don’t know, something ain’t right.”

  “I’ll tell ya what, bro, why don’t ya mind ya fuckin’ prisoners and let me handle dis old guy,” Sean said sharply, letting his voice trail off into a mumble as he continued, talking to himself. “Tell me to be careful. Who da fuck do he think he is? Something ain’t right, my ass.”

  * * *

  Slayer held the back door open, waiting for Wicks to join him inside the home of the Healer after the Amish teenager, Caleb, had led them swiftly across the rear of the property and through the edge of the corn field, using it as cover.

  Wicks cruised in, like General Patton arriving on the scene, then took the lead down the short hallway. Caleb waited outside, as Slayer followed Wicks to the bedroom where they’d left Wyatt to rest earlier.

  Inside the room they found the Healer sitting in a chair next to the foot of the bed. His rail-thin arms were folded across his chest and his head was slumped down at an angle.

  Slayer stood in front of the drooling old man, hearing a pair of long, slow breaths that ended with a sudden exhale and chatter of his lips.

  “Man, I think this dude’s totally out. Should we wake him?” Slayer asked Wicks.

  “Nah. Let the old geezer rest. Let’s just grab Wyatt and go,” she answered, bending down to nudge her brother on the arm. “Wake up, sleepy head.”

  Wyatt didn’t respond.

  She tried again, shaking him harder this time. “Come on, Wyatt. Wake up. It’s me, Tally. We really need to get out of here.”

  Slayer looked at the doc—he was still dead asleep. Good thing he was snoring; otherwise, someone might think he’d croaked in that chair.

  Wyatt’s feet and legs began to stir under the covers, then his head turned and his groggy eyes opened. He brought them up and smiled, looking at Wicks.

  “Hey, sis.”

  Wicks grabbed Wyatt’s hand and spoke in a swift, purposeful voice. “The Carnegie brothers are here. We need to go, now!”

  Wyatt hesitated for a moment, obviously needing a second for the words
to sink in and process. He nodded, then put his elbow under his side for leverage and grunted as Wicks helped him to his feet.

  * * *

  Simon kept his hat tilted down and his movement slow, faking an uneven pace on his way to meet with the men out front. The hand-carved wooden cane kept sticking in the soggy grass and throwing him off balance, but he thought the Carnegie brothers were buying his crippled old Amish man act. Otherwise, he figured he’d be full of holes by now. Probably from the fully automatic shotgun the leader was carrying.

  To his right was the Healer’s house. He hoped Wicks and Slayer had made their way around back and reached Wyatt, who was resting inside. If they hadn’t, Simon needed to keep stalling to buy them more time for an escape.

  He knew his chances of survival against eight armed men were slim, but given his failure to stop Tessa from killing all those innocents on the bus, he needed to step up and take one for the team. The same team that had saved his ass in the alley near the NEC.

  He coughed a few times to help sell his act, then finished his purposely slow trek to the hillbillies out front. He stopped a short distance away from them to buy himself some extra time to formulate a plan. He kept the brim of his hat still tilted down, not wanting to reveal his face until the proper moment.

  “What ya waiting for, old man?” the leader asked. “On ya knees, now!”

  Simon did as the man instructed, dropping to the ground. He let the cane fall forward on purpose, landing next to his right hand. The handle was now farthest away from him, with the bottom of the stick closest to his fingers. He decided not to put his hands up, testing to see if the thugs were wary about a crippled Amish man on his knees.

  “See, Sebastian. Nothing to worry about,” the leader said with disdain in his voice.

  “Okay, Sean. You right. This time.”

  “I be right every time, and don’t ya forget it.”

  Simon slowly titled his hat up, but just far enough to see the faces of the hostages kneeling in front of the Carnegie brothers and their crew. He couldn’t see the eyes of the men holding them at gunpoint, and thus they couldn’t see his.

  He gave the kids a stern expression with a furrowed brow and squinted eyes. He hoped they’d understand his look and not react or try to speak through the gags.