From their vantage point, Wyatt watched through binoculars, focusing on the tiny town’s far end. There, a black pickup truck sat, empty.
Gary squinted to see what was going on. Everyone around him was tense, and it was contagious—Gary found himself wanting the wait to end, even knowing the likely result. A few minutes was all he had to wait, though, before a man and woman dressed just like Wyatt’s team walked out of a small building. Three others followed them out, and the man might have shaken hands with one of them, or they exchanged something. It was hard to tell without binoculars. Maybe the shake was a good sign.
The woman stretched, arching her back and holding both clenched hands outstretched into the air. So much for the good sign.
Wyatt lowered his binoculars. “Okay, people, there’s the confirmation, and our people are leaving without a deal in hand. Wait until they’ve cleared the tree line, then I’ll give the signal.”
As they waited, Black walked up, glancing over his shoulder. He leaned in closer to Gary’s ear, and he said almost too quietly to hear, “This plan is bad. We outnumber them. We should be hitting from two directions.”
Actually, Gary had thought something similar during the briefing. While clumping together felt safer, naturally, it gave them no ability to easily flank stubborn defenders and it risked turning into the proverbial “charging a machine-gun nest.” The people ate up Wyatt’s words, though, so Gary had said nothing, nor had Black. It worried Gary that he had the same concerns.
Gary said, “What do we do, then?”
Black smiled, and Gary felt a bit reassured. Of course, Black had a plan.
Black said, “Easy. Don’t die for these people. I need you alive. When the bullets fly, hang back a bit. Let some other sucker die for the cause.”
Yeah, that summed up what he had already planned to do. He nodded, and Black strolled back to his assigned spot while Gary waited for Wyatt’s raised hand to drop, the signal to begin executing both the plan and a few of the locals.
As per the plan, they rushed down the embankment, concealed by the forest canopy on the southern part of town—the side of town with the least defenses in place, according to Wyatt’s recon team. This might’ve been because the defenders thought the cliff to their south would be more than enough deterrent to prevent an attack from that direction. But as Gary was learning, the path down the steep decline was manageable.
Behind him, the redheaded man let out an oomph, and Gary glanced over his shoulder to snap at him to keep up. Gary cut himself short, though, when he saw Black helping the man up. Why was Black out of position? Oh, right—his team had been almost in front, Gary remembered.
“I got you, friend,” Black said in a sharp whisper. “You okay?”
The young man nodded. “I guess we all need a hand up from time to time.”
Gary made sure he’d turned all the way around again before he rolled his eyes. He slowed a bit until the redhead and Black caught up with him and the bald fellow. “Almost there,” he said, trying to keep his irritation out of his voice.
Crack! A rifle report echoed through the valley.
Gary’s lips twisted into a savage grin. The leading squads were already starting their assault on the few men their intel told them this place had on guard duty.
Another gunshot, followed by a death-scream.
In the clearing on the southern-most part of town, a shadowy figure fifty yards ahead came into view. Despite the fact the sun had barely peeked above the horizon, Gary could see the man’s red t-shirt and blue jeans. The man’s rifle swung in Gary’s direction.
Heart pounding in his chest, Gary found cover behind a large tree, and a bullet pounded the other side, bark chunks flying.
Close one.
He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.
Scattered gunfire echoed, and a few more bullets found a home in the tree trunk behind which Gary had hidden. During a lull, he popped out and took aim at the person in the red shirt, who was using the brief respite in the action to rush back toward town, fleeing the invading force.
Gary breathed in deep, then exhaled, squeezing the trigger, and the man’s head kicked forward, his momentum pushing him into a face-first tumble a few feet from a double-wide trailer. Perhaps the man had hoped to use that structure for cover.
Too bad, so sad.
Gary swung around the tree, finding his next target. Fortunately, it was easy to tell the difference between Wyatt’s people and the enemy, who all wore plain clothes, most in jeans. In the back of his mind, he reminded himself that the reverse was also true…
A woman raced from behind her flimsy concealment of a bush to find refuge behind a truck. Gary zeroed in on her, and bolted out from his own cover toward a large boulder. He ducked down and heard an angry insect whizzing over his head. He huffed out a breath, then sucked in the cold morning air. He was still alive—hopefully, he’d stay that way.
Gunfire petered out for a moment, and he took the opportunity to pop his head up. At the same time, the woman rose from behind the truck and took aim.
Dammit!
Gunfire off to his right. The woman screamed out, spinning from the bullet that had struck her, and her shot went wild. Gary glanced over there and saw Black standing with a smoking rifle. That crazy bastard had just saved his life.
Returning to his assigned spot, behind a boulder, Gary peeked out again. His side had eliminated the first line of defense. His heart soared. It was all going to be okay, after all.
And the lessons he learned here today, he would damn sure remember, because he’d be using them on his compound as soon as he could get Black to throw a dozen good fighters to his disposal. Abram had been a fool for thinking he could lock up someone like Gary in favor of that little cupcake, Nick. But Gary would fix that problem before the dust even settled, he swore—then brought his attention back to the fight at hand as he ducked, by reflex, just in time to dodge a burst of fire from a woman who appeared nearby in an upstairs bedroom window.
Pop. Pop. Pop. He solved that problem, just like he would with Nick.
Gary smiled in anticipation, thinking about claiming his compound, but the moment was ruined when he spotted Wyatt’s bulky frame racing out of the tree line, into the town. Black, who had been behind him a minute ago, now followed Wyatt close behind. Gary cocked his head—Black should have been staying back, making sure that none of these townsfolk attacked them from behind by surprise. Perhaps Wyatt had summoned Black to follow?
Regardless, this battle, it seemed, was going to be a cinch. Soon, they’d be securing this town’s stockpiles and going from building to building on the chosen sacrificial block, systematically clearing just a few of them—burning the deadwood or bloodying their noses, as Wyatt had put it. Gary’s stomach flip-flopped at the thought of that part, but Wyatt had been right to say that, in order to protect Clarks Crossing from retaliation, they had to make Nettletown bleed a little. It was necessary, no matter how unpleasant. Now, all Gary had to do was kill all the defenders he could, while his teammates put the rest of the plan into action.
16
Palmer grinned as he squeezed the trigger and a woman, behind a truck, cried out and fell to the ground. No way he was letting some random broad shoot his pet pit bull.
Off to his right, he spotted movement, and squinted to see better. It was Wyatt, pushing forward—alone. But where were the rest of his squad?
Boots crunching against the gravel, Palmer sprinted across a bit of open ground to follow Wyatt, not slowing until he was back among cover. Where was Wyatt going? Then Palmer spotted one of the defenders retreating ahead of Wyatt…What the hell was the leader of Clarks Crossing doing? That could have been a trap, and Wyatt was rushing headlong after him.
Sure enough, gunfire erupted from off to Wyatt’s right. Up ahead of Palmer, Wyatt zigged to his left, zagged right, and raced toward the ranch house the man he’d been chasing had disappeared into. Wyatt plowed through the flimsy door at full speed an
d vanished.
Palmer turned to fire off a round, and the man who had shot at Wyatt screamed and fell.
Palmer used that opportunity to follow Wyatt into the home. Eyes adjusting to the dimness, he kept his voice quiet. The last thing he wanted to do was get killed by friendly fire. “Wyatt, it’s me…Black.”
“Black,” came Wyatt’s voice, but he sounded somehow different. “Over here.”
Palmer did his best to close the door behind him. It was busted up a bit, but by closing what was left, it would be difficult for the enemy to breach the house behind him without putting themselves in a precarious situation.
Wyatt called out again.
Palmer followed Wyatt’s voice, and it took only a moment to find him. He lay on his back, on the floor behind a couch, and even in the dim light, Palmer could see the blood oozing from the man’s abdomen, flowing slowly over Wyatt’s outstretched, clutching fingers.
Palmer crouched down beside him. “That’s not a great place to get shot, my man.”
“That bastard shot me.”
“Yep. I see that. But don’t worry—I killed him for you.”
Wyatt grimaced, gripping his wound to staunch the flow of blood. “Help me out of here, man.”
Palmer shook his head. “Sorry, cowboy, but you’re the weakest link now.”
“Please,” came Wyatt’s begging voice. So much for being a strong leader.
Palmer reached for his knife, grinning as he pulled the six-inch blade from its sheath. He held it up and felt a little thrill at the base of his belly when he saw the shock on Wyatt’s face.
“No…What are you doing?”
Palmer stared at the man, eyes cold. “Burning the deadwood. Culling the weak. Isn’t that how you put it? It’s still a great idea.”
Wyatt had fallen for such a simple trap, which had suggested he was unfit to survive. His pathetic begging had just proven it. Before the man could say anything, Palmer lunged onto him, plunging his Ka-Bar hilt-deep into Wyatt’s belly. He jerked upward on it, eviscerating Wyatt the same way he’d gutted that sniveling idiot, Joshua. Both Wyatt and Joshua were of the same breed, men not cut out for this new world.
Wyatt let out a howl of pain, and Palmer half heard a faint slosh as his guts spilled out.
What a pathetic creature masquerading as a leader—a sheep in wolf’s clothing. And from the ashes of this so-called “leader,” a new form of leadership would take control of Clarks Crossing and its bounty of resources. A better one, more fit for this wonderful new world.
Grin still fixed to his face, Palmer watched the life escape the man, and after a minute of struggle, Wyatt let out a long, ragged breath and drew no more. Only dead eyes stared back at Palmer.
Palmer let the pathetic meatbag slump to the ground, and the next phase of his plan became clear in his mind.
Gary stepped over a familiar corpse and popped his head out from behind the cover of a pickup truck—the same truck the woman Black killed had hid behind before Black had raced after Wyatt. Where had those two gone?
A flash of colored fabric—the enemy’s shirts. Gary’s eyes went wide when he saw the man swing his rifle in his direction. Pulling back down behind cover just in time, a bullet pinged off the front fender, mere inches from where Gary’s head had just been.
He sucked in a deep breath. Another close call.
Several shots rang out in the town beyond, followed by a scream that seemed to echo in Gary’s mind. Someone must’ve taken care of that bastard with the rifle, and it was music to his ears. Good for them.
Heart pounding in his chest, Gary waited for the inevitable lull in gunfire that eventually came as his enemy reloaded.
During the reprieve, a familiar voice rang out from beyond the truck, further into town. “Fall back, fall back!”
Had he heard that right? Were they retreating?
Before he could figure out what the hell was going on, a man in black camo raced past the front of the truck, and Gary recognized him instantly—Black.
He expected a few bullets to whiz past or overhead, but none came. What had spooked Black enough to warrant a retreat if the enemy didn’t seem too interested in returning fire? Gary waited a moment before he popped his head up, but he saw none of the townsfolk. Still, he trusted Black knew something he didn’t. Something had gone terribly wrong, or perhaps Black had learned they were about to walk into a trap. Well, it was time to go, either way.
Rushing from behind cover, he followed Black up the ridge, as did a few others of Wyatt’s people. His boots pounded into the rocky soil of the incline, and after a couple of minutes, he reached the rendezvous point they’d set up before the battle began—up beyond the crest, behind the largest boulder, an easily defensible spot at the hill’s mid-point.
Gary furrowed his brow when he crouched down with the others. Looking Black in the eyes, he asked, “Where’s Wyatt?”
A few other people finally caught up just then. A couple focused solely on defending their position, though none of the enemy had chased them up there—yet.
Gary kept his eyes on Black, and saw the somber expression on his face. What in the world was going on?
“Listen,” Black said, scanning the men and women that huddled around, jaw set tight. “Wyatt’s dead.”
Gary couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The leader of Clarks Crossing, dead? His lower lip fell slightly, though he tried to keep the shock off his face.
“What?” This came from the redheaded man Black had helped up before the battle began. His face was an almost comical mask of shock. “Are you sure?”
Black nodded. “Saw it with my own eyes. One of the savages here shot him, but just mortally wounding him wasn’t enough. The bastard then stabbed him, gutting him like a fish. It was too late before I could help him, but I killed the bastard in Wyatt’s honor. These people…they’re monsters.”
A couple other men and women hung their heads, clearly distraught. A few muttered their muted curses, and Gary couldn’t blame them. Their leader had just died, and badly, from what Black had said.
Black put a hand on the redheaded man’s shoulder, and his voice was hushed but confident. “Follow me back in there. We’ll get retribution. We’ll get payback. All of you—we need to put an end to this, once and for all.”
“Shouldn’t we go back home? It’s too risky to—”
“And let them defeat us? They killed our leader,” Black cut in. “Do you think they’ll just leave us alone now? Don’t be stupid—now, they’ll for sure come back to do to your kids what they did to Wyatt. That was what he was afraid of in the first place, right? And you want to just let that happen? No way in hell. I’m doing this, I’m ending it, even if you won’t.”
“You’re not saying we should go back in there and—”
Black held up a hand. “You can scurry back home and hide, waiting to wake up one night with some Nettletown knife at your throat. Or, you can join me in teaching these people not to mess with Clarks Crossing. Bloody them even more, so they couldn’t come back at us even if they weren’t too afraid to even try it. I don’t think I have to tell you which option will protect your family the most, in the long run.”
Gary expected more kickback, but none came. Perhaps these men and women were enamored by Black, who locked eyes with each of them in turn with the steeliest gaze Gary had ever seen. It was like Black was looking straight into their souls, conjuring up a part of them that they didn’t even know they had. He’d told them what they knew, what they felt was true, and surprisingly, it wasn’t any different than what Gary had been thinking. Do it now, so you don’t have to do it later—that was the key to surviving, in the long run. And somehow, that gaze made it feel…okay.
Black spoke up again, his voice gravelly and severe. “These savages need to pay for what they did to us. What they did to Wyatt. Let’s give them a lesson in humility—a lesson they’ll never forget. Let’s wipe these bastards off the damn map.”
The people around Black
nodded, mesmerized. One even cried out in approval to annihilate whoever remained in Nettletown. They would do it for retribution. They would do it for Wyatt. And, even if they weren’t aware of it yet, Gary knew the truth. They would do it for Black.
As they followed Black out from cover and headed back down toward the town, splitting into two groups, ready to destroy every last person they found there, Gary felt a pit in his stomach. Something was happening that he couldn’t quite understand, something that put him off kilter. This man, who called himself Black, was taking the bull by the horns, taking over where Wyatt left off. And these people were following him, though Gary didn’t know why. Surely, they had someone local they could follow…
But as Gary ran, a voice in the back of his mind reminded him of an uncomfortable truth, that he too was following Black, back down into a town of innocent people, intent on bloody revenge—only, revenge for a man who wasn’t even his leader, in a town that wasn’t even his home. Was this a cult of personality? Black was the man who stood squarely in the eye of this hurricane of chaos.
But before he could question it further, the first gunshots rattled his nerves, driving doubt and debate aside for the moment as survival became the more important issue. He gritted his teeth and continued on, into the storm of gunshots and terrified and agonized screaming that began to erupt all over the city, in every direction.
A slaughter had begun.
17
Palmer glanced around at the multitude of corpses that littered the main strip in Nettletown. First, they’d overwhelmed the defenders, much like a tidal wave washing over a sandcastle’s walls. Nettletown simply hadn’t had enough people to withstand such a concerted, furious attack. Then, when the defenders had been slaughtered, Black’s people had gone door to door, eradicating any survivors they found, taking their time to ensure that none of the people of this place were left in hiding.
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 11
