Battle Lines (The Survivalist Book 5)

by Arthur Bradley

  “What did you do to me?” he barked, blindly reaching for her.

  Samantha stuffed the canister into her pocket and snatched up the block of wood. Using both hands, she swung it toward his legs. She likened it to hitting a piñata—only without the candy or blindfold. The board made a dull thud as it cracked against Peterson’s knee. He fell forward, landing on all fours.

  “You little bitch! I’m gonna—” He was cut short as the burning sensation spread across his face. “Agh!” he shrieked. “It burns!” He dropped the rifle and began to wipe at his eyes. “Get this stuff off of me!”

  Samantha snatched up the AR15 and took a quick peek out the door. A few people were in the courtyard, but nearly everyone had congregated at the entrance, obviously curious about what was going to happen to Tanner.

  She stepped out and pulled the door shut, hoping to muffle Peterson’s cries.

  The only obvious way in or out of the compound was through the main entrance, and there was no chance that she could slip through the crowd without being detected. Several aluminum ladders leaned from the inside of the courtyard to the roof of the second layer of boxcars. A lone guard walked along the top of the structure, but he was all the way around on the opposite side.

  Samantha slung Peterson’s rifle across her back and ran for the closest ladder. She had barely put a hand on the first cold metal rung when she heard a man shout from behind her.

  “Hey, you! Stop!”

  Without looking back, she started up the ladder, her heart hammering against her chest. The top of the boxcars was twenty feet off the ground, but she managed to scamper up the ladder in less than four seconds. When she turned back, Samantha saw several people running from the compound’s entrance, pointing in her direction. She grabbed the ladder with both hands and lifted with all her strength. Even made of aluminum, it weighed a good fifty pounds, and she struggled to get it off the ground. Realizing that she couldn’t simply hoist it up, she tried a different approach. Instead of lifting it outright, she let the boxcar support some of the weight as she slid the ladder up at an angle. When it was finally up high enough, she tipped the ladder and laid it flat on top of the boxcars.

  People on the ground were shouting at her to come down, but it was the guard running across the top of the boxcars that really had her attention. He was moving fast, and she wasn’t at all sure that she would make it out in time.

  She slid the ladder over to the outer edge of the fortress and quickly lowered it to the ground. Even before the ladder had fully settled into the dirt, she carefully stepped out onto the rungs. The ladder felt less surefooted, but she started down it anyway, doing her best not to lose her balance. Three rungs down, the ladder shifted and then dipped sharply to the side.

  She screamed and clutched the rungs as the ladder teetered precariously. Afraid to move, she watched as the guard raced toward her. It was then that Samantha realized that even if she could overcome her fear, she wasn’t going to make it down the ladder in time to pull it away from the wall. She would hit the ground, and he would follow a few seconds later. And while she had recently won a footrace against a middle-aged satanic worshipper, the guard looked to be in much better shape.

  She turned and glanced back over her shoulder. The cornfield was about fifteen feet from the edge of the compound. The ladder was twenty-eight feet long. The math seemed to work. She took a steadying breath, telling herself that there was no other way. The guard was closing to within feet, shouting for her to stop when she kicked the top of the ladder away from the metal wall. It wavered and then toppled backwards.

  Samantha hit so hard that she briefly blacked out upon impact. When she awoke a few seconds later, she found herself lying on top of a pile of folded cornstalks. The guard was still shouting, but she could no longer see him. That meant he couldn’t see her either. She had managed to escape both the cell and the compound.

  Now all she had to do was rescue Tanner.

  Samantha lay flat on the ground with corn leaves and tassel poking out of her clothing. It wasn’t quite a ghillie suit, but she figured it was good enough. Clancy, the big man with the bloody face, and the guard from the front gate stood at the rear of a four-wheel-drive truck about sixty yards away. Tanner lay unconscious at their feet.

  After a short discussion, the big man wheeled around and dropped the truck’s tailgate. Clancy and the other man moved up alongside Tanner as they prepared to lift him into the back—not an easy task, even for three men. Samantha wasn’t sure what they had planned for him, but it surely wasn’t anything good.

  She pulled the AR15 rifle over her head and studied it. Tanner had taught her to use many weapons, but she had yet to fire an AR15. On the left side was a selector switch with the words Safe and Fire etched into the metal receiver. She clicked the switch up to the Fire position. Okay, she thought, now to make sure there are bullets in it.

  “No,” she said, correcting herself. “Not bullets. Cartridges. Bullets are the metal slugs that fly through the air.” She had debated the importance of the terms with Tanner, but now she found herself trying to do it right. There was no room for confusion or sloppiness when it came to firearms.

  She flipped the weapon over and tugged on the metal magazine. It didn’t budge. She felt around for a release and found a small button above the trigger. As soon as she pressed it, the magazine dropped free. Inside was a neat stack of shiny 5.56 mm cartridges. She didn’t know how many rounds had been loaded, but it looked like plenty for what had to be done. Samantha shoved the magazine back up into the rifle, and it locked in place with an audible click.

  The last step was to move a round into the chamber. That, she knew, was the function of the bolt. She operated the bolt manually on her Savage .22 rifle, but on Tanner’s shotgun, the bolt moved automatically. She was almost certain that the AR15 operated automatically as well. She searched the weapon until she found a small black handle at the rear of the carrier. She gave it a tug. It pulled out easily, but the bolt didn’t move. Weird, she thought. Surely, the handle had to operate the bolt. What else could it be for? Then a thought occurred to her. Maybe there was already a cartridge in the chamber. It made sense. Peterson had been carrying the rifle around, and he’d had it on Safe, which meant that it was more than likely already loaded and ready to fire. There was only one way to find out.

  Samantha steadied the gun by resting it on the end of the magazine. She didn’t know if it was designed to do that, but it seemed to help. The sights were very different from the peephole sights on her Savage. The AR15 had an aperture in the back and a forked post in the front. She placed her cheek against the stock and adjusted her distance to the aperture until the sight picture became clear. She could see all three men. The two smaller men had ahold of Tanner’s legs, and the big fellow was lifting him from under his arms. It was now or never.

  She lined up on the big man, figuring that he would be the easiest to hit. Unsure of how much pressure it required, she gently placed the pad of her index finger against the trigger. She couldn’t help but flash back to the time when she had rescued Tanner from a group of roadway bandits. The situation had been remarkably similar, only this time, she had a bigger gun and a clearer understanding that Tanner was not only her protector. He was her family.

  “I don’t want to do this,” she said, “but I accept that I have to.”

  She let the sights settle and squeezed the trigger. The gun slapped back against her shoulder as it made a loud crack. The big man dropped Tanner and fell to the ground, clutching his gut. Samantha swung right and fired again. The guard from the gate was turning to run when the bullet hit him in the shoulder blade. He fell face down on the dirt road. By the time Samantha moved to line up on Clancy, he had ducked behind the truck’s engine block. His rifle was up, but being uncertain about which direction the gunfire was coming from, he had left the side of his body partially exposed.

  Samantha let out half of her breath and squeezed the trigger. The bullet caught him in the
hip, and he fell out from behind the truck, moaning. She lined up for a finishing shot but couldn’t force herself to take it. Instead, she stood up and began running in his direction. Clancy was in so much pain that he didn’t see her coming until she was nearly upon him. His hands were soaked in blood as he fumbled for his rifle. Samantha rushed up to him and swung the AR15 like a baseball bat. The stock of the weapon hit him squarely on the side of the head, and he fell back unconscious. She brought the rifle back to her shoulder and surveyed the three men.

  All of them were down for the count.

  Even after such violence, the emotion that most threatened to overwhelm her was that of relief. She rushed over to Tanner and flopped down beside him. He wasn’t moving, but she could see his huge chest rising and falling.

  She shook him by the shoulder.

  “Wake up, Tanner. We’ve got to go.”

  He didn’t stir.

  Samantha’s relief was short-lived as her predicament became clear. Tanner was unconscious, and she was far too small to move him. She scolded herself for not having waited for the men to load him into the truck. She couldn’t very well ask for their help now. Neither could she simply wait for Tanner to wake up. The compound was only a couple of hundred yards away, and others would surely come to investigate the gunshots.

  It was then that she saw the heavy winch on the front of the truck. Winches pulled things. She knew that much.

  She hurried over to the winch and grabbed the heavy metal hook. She tugged on it, but the braided steel cable didn’t unspool. A black handle was mounted on top of the winch and a smaller silver handle on the right side. She pulled the black handle toward her, and the winch buzzed as it pulled the hook tighter against the post. She switched it back off. Okay, she thought, that pulls it in. Now what moves it out? She tried to push the black lever the opposite direction, but it wouldn’t budge. Turning her attention to the silver handle, she saw a small mud-covered sticker. It read Clutch Engage and Clutch Disengage, and showed circular arrows pointing in different directions. It was currently in the Clutch Engage position. She turned the knob. Nothing happened. She gave the hook a slight pull, and the cable began to unspool.

  “Got it.”

  Pulling the cable behind her, she threaded the hook under Tanner’s arm, across his chest, and back under his other arm. Then she brought the hook back over to the truck and connected it to the post. To keep the cable from unspooling further, she turned the clutch knob back to its original position. She considered turning the black knob in order to pull him closer to the truck but feared that the cable might tangle around him like a giant anaconda.

  Satisfied that the loop would work, she climbed into the truck and found the keys already in the ignition. When she fired it up, the engine spat and coughed, like it might stall out at any moment. She revved it a few times and popped the transmission into reverse. The tires spun on the dirt road, but finally grabbed, jerking the truck backwards. She eased off the gas and began to back slowly into the cornfield. The steel cable grew taut, and when it did, Tanner started to slide along the ground.

  She smiled. When he woke up, Tanner was going to be so proud of her.

  Chapter 19

  Mason led everyone through what had at one time been a neighborhood of quaint little townhouses but now resembled a city dump. The two-lane road was little more than a trail of asphalt winding its way through the mounds of broken boards, refrigerators, sofa cushions, and crumpled cars. After twenty long minutes, they finally arrived at a larger highway. Buildings on both sides of the road were in various states of collapse. None were safe to enter, and most looked like a good gust of wind would take them the rest of the way down.

  He caught Bowie looking back at Leila, Annie, and Flynn.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “We’re picking up strays everywhere we go, but what else could we do?”

  Bowie pressed against his leg, perhaps to remind him that he had been the first to join Mason’s eclectic band of adventurers.

  “Don’t worry, boy. You and I are in it to the very end.”

  Mason stopped and studied the horizon, giving everyone else a chance to catch up.

  “There it is,” he said, pointing toward the steel skeleton of an office building towering in the distance.

  “How do you know that’s the financial center?” asked Leila.

  “It’s the tallest thing still standing.”

  “Is that where we’re going?” said Annie.

  “We’re actually going to the museum next door.”

  “To look for someone?”

  “That’s right.”

  Flynn leaned around Annie and said, “Is he a bad guy?”

  Mason smiled. “I’m not sure yet, but we’ll be careful, just in case.”

  “Good idea,” the little boy said, giving Mason the thumbs up.

  “With all this destruction,” said Annie, “I don’t see how anyone could possibly still be alive.”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

  They continued down the highway, heading straight toward the financial center. It looked to be about a half mile away, but judging distance was difficult. There were no landmarks remaining and no blocks by which to mark progress. Everywhere they looked was an endless sea of scorched cement, broken glass, and twisted metal.

  Leila hurried up next to him and spoke in a hushed voice.

  “I’m guessing this isn’t what you signed up for when you started on your manhunt.”

  “Every journey has its twists and turns.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes they’re what make the trip worthwhile.”

  She said nothing more, content to walk beside him and marvel at the unbelievable devastation all around them. To their left, an eight-story apartment building had collapsed and fallen onto a beautiful stone Presbyterian church. Faint cries for help echoed from beneath the mountain of rubble, but no one suggested they stop. Digging victims out from under a thousand tons of brick was a job best left to the National Guard—not that they would be coming.

  On the front wall of the church were several black marks that had no obvious source. One was tall, and the other two were about Flynn’s size. Mason stopped and gently touched one of the dark shapes.

  Seeing that it had his master’s attention, Bowie stepped closer and sniffed the wall.

  “What are those?” asked Annie.

  Mason said nothing.

  “Marshal?”

  “They’re called nuclear shadows,” he said softly.

  “Which are what exactly?”

  “When a nuclear bomb detonates, it releases a tremendous thermal blast. These are the shadows of people who were standing in front of the church before they were incinerated.”

  “People? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Annie stepped closer and ran her fingers over the black smudges that forever marked the loss of a mother and her children. She let out an anguished sigh.

  “This should never have happened.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It shouldn’t have.”

  They continued ahead in silence, working their way through the mountains of debris from banks, restaurants, law offices, and several large parking decks, all of which had been destroyed by the blast. As they neared the towering steel structure, the road became covered in millions, perhaps billions, of shards of scorched blue glass.

  Annie reached down and picked up a piece. It was smooth and translucent.

  “Let me see,” begged Flynn.

  She handed it back to him, and he held it up to his eye.

  Mason stopped to consider their options. Up ahead, the mound of glass grew deeper, covering cars in massive dunes, and he wasn’t sure if it was safe to walk on. Perhaps they would sink into the glass, becoming the victims of a beautiful crystalline quicksand. To their right stood what was left of the First National Bank and Trust. Its majestic columns still towered into
the sky like the ruins of a temple in Olympia, but the rest of the fifteen-story building had toppled backwards under the tremendous shockwave. There were small cavities leading into the rubble, but he had no idea if they came out on the other side. Neither path was without risk.

  “Everyone wait here for a minute,” he said. “I’m going up to see if I can get eyes on the museum.”

  As he turned to leave, Leila reached out and caught his arm.

  “Are you sure that’s safe to walk on?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll know in a minute.”

  As Mason started up the tall mound of glass, he was surprised to find that it felt solid under his feet. When he got about half way up, he squatted and studied it. The intense heat from the blast had melted the glass, forming a huge mountain of blue crystal. Trapped within it were office furnishings and even a few unlucky people, forever preserved like insects in amber. He ran his hand gently across the glass. It was smooth, the sharp edges having been softened like warm butter.

  “Is it okay?” shouted Leila.

  He waved them up. “Come see.”

  Leila, Annie, and Flynn ascended the mountain of glass, marveling at the strange crystalline surface beneath their feet. Even Bowie seemed fascinated by the translucent substance.

  “Whoa!” cried Flynn. “It’s like we’re walking on a giant blue marble.”

  Careful not to slip and fall, Mason led them the rest of the way up the glassy embankment. As they passed the bank ruins, the museum finally came into full view. The building had undoubtedly once been a beautiful stone manor standing alone in a sea of glass and steel. Now, however, only the stone face and a few internal walls remained. Most of the roof and interior structure had collapsed, leaving doorways that led nowhere. A thin cloud of dust rose from the debris, and a wide set of stone steps led up to the entryway. Crumbled rock, steel girders, and electrical wire stretched all across the lawn.