The sound of an engine reached him. When he motioned his three soldiers to take cover, they hid behind a dumpster. Ten seconds later, a jeep-like vehicle Taggart didn’t recognize rolled by with four enemy soldiers within, their rifles pointed in all directions, faces masked with black shemaghs. Taggart fought the urge to open fire on it. The vehicle was not part of their orders, and opening fire recklessly would only draw more of the enemy to this area—the last thing he wanted right now. This mission wasn’t a sweep-and-clear. They were going to retrieve a cache of ammunition and medical supplies hidden in an apartment building that was one of the points of interest they’d learned of from their mysterious 20s contact. The word was, they’d hidden it before the lights went out, and that made Taggart briefly wonder what they’d known ahead of time—and who they really were.
Once the enemy vehicle had passed and turned a corner, Taggart breathed easier and motioned his soldiers to move out. All over the city of New York, similar scenes were playing out with his other thirty or so soldiers, who now led about as many civilian resistance fighters as well as troops. Taggart had the only unit with no civilians, but his was also the day’s most important mission. The other missions were really hit-and-run raids meant to draw down enemy strength and improve the odds that Taggart’s group would succeed.
Twenty minutes later they arrived at the building, a four-story brick apartment building. The once-secure entry door hung open on a single hinge, and the thick metal door bulged inward at the center. Someone had battered it down. Taggart peered into the building using a mirror to avoid exposing himself to anyone inside. The small mirror would hopefully not alert any occupants.
He need not have worried since nothing moved inside except the flies buzzing around two bloated bodies by the mailboxes in the foyer. He didn’t have time to worry about bodies or about the stench of rot and sewage that permeated the building.
“The mission objective is in unit #309, third floor, east hallway,” Taggart said. “Unknown if it’s occupied. Advance by pairs. Noise discipline, soldiers. That includes you, Eagan, you little shit.”
Eagan grinned, and the other two soldiers moved out. They had their pistols drawn and went up the stairs with a steady four feet of separation. The lead soldier kept his pistol aimed up the next flight of stairs, almost walking backwards to do so. As they moved up toward the second landing, Taggart and Eagan moved into position behind them on the landing they had just vacated. And so it went, flight by flight, until they reached the third floor. The lead soldier motioned that both halls were clear, then one of the pair covered the west hallway and the other, the stairs as Taggart and Eagan flanked the east hallway.
Taggart took three deep breaths despite the stench, then he and Eagan moved down the east hallway with their backs to either wall. Fortunately, all doors in the hallway were closed. And with no need to “slice the pie” and edge across the field of view of anyone inside, hoping to see them before they saw Taggart and Eagan, progress here was faster and less dangerous than in the stairwell. If anyone popped out, he would hear the door open and have a half-second to react, knowing exactly where they were before they could know where he was.
Unit 309 was the last apartment down the long hallway. Taggart and Eagan flanked it, and Taggart steeled himself for entry.
God damn, entry was his absolute least favorite thing in the world. Worse than the chlamydia he got in Germany that one time. He and Eagan had practiced entries for a few minutes before leaving on this mission, which showed Taggart that Eagan knew what he was doing so he wasn’t worried about his partner screwing up. But room entry got soldiers killed if the enemy was on the other side, unless everything went just right.
“Showtime, Eagan,” Taggart whispered with a grin, pretending an eagerness he sure didn’t feel. The next three seconds would mean life or death, if anyone was inside. Those three seconds always felt like an eternity to Taggart, when the adrenaline was pumping and bullets flew.
Eagan moved away from the wall, stood in front of the door, finger-counted to three and then, without hesitation, kicked with all his might at a spot just to the inside of the door handle. The door flew open amid a shower of splinters from the door frame. Taggart ducked inside and to the right, the open door at his back; Eagan was right on his heels and rushed in to cover the other direction.
Taggart saw two soldiers sitting at the table in the apartment’s breakfast nook. Their rifles leaned against the wall nearby, and their faces showed dumbfounded shock at the abrupt interruption. They died with those expressions on their faces when Taggart fired two rapid shots, double-tapping one, and then repeating that for the other. It all happened before the thought of firing crossed his mind. Years of experience had burned the reaction into his muscle-memory. Four rounds down, he ticked off in his mind without a thought for the men he had just killed. Guilt never came out until dreams came at night, but these two would barely be a drop in that bucket.
Behind him, Taggart heard three shots from two weapons, and spun around. Eagan had double-tapped a third soldier, who in turn had fired his rifle at the ceiling when his muscles jerked in shock and surprise. All three soldiers inside were now down.
Without another word, Taggart and Eagan swept the rest of the apartment room by room, closet by closet. They found no more soldiers, but they did find a man dead in the bathtub. They also found an unconscious woman bound and gagged in one corner, her cute yoga pants and “Talk Shit, Get Hit” halter top shredded and hanging loosely down.
Taggart clenched his jaw hard enough to hurt his teeth, eyes narrowed. “Eagan, cut this woman’s bonds, and leave your MRE next to her.”
Eagan nodded and did so. “Think she’ll live?” he asked with a voice that sounded carefully flat and emotionless.
After a couple seconds of silence that spoke volumes, Taggart finally said, “Crowbar. The wall between the bathroom and the living room. Sense of urgency, Private.”
Eagan made short work of the wall, and two PVC tubes fell out, each about two feet long and capped on both ends. “What’s in them, Captain?”
“Mr. Black—what a joke he is—didn’t say. He just said it was vital. Well, we have the cache.”
Eagan paused and then said, “Sir, I request permission to bring the civilian with us.”
Taggart frowned. “Negative, soldier. That could compromise our mission, and is outside our operational parameters. Now secure the package,” he barked back. Eyes closed, the woman made no sound. Taggart gathered the dead soldiers’ rifles. Any responding enemy soldiers would mow down anyone they saw in the area anyway, so secrecy was irrelevant and the resistance could use the arms.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Eagan, before those bastards can send more soldiers at us.” And before he had to smell one more motherfucking second of that death-filled apartment building.
* * *
2030 HOURS - ZERO DAY +6
Cassy moved as quickly as her wounded and bound shoulder would allow. Thank God the kids were smaller and also moved slower, so they set the pace for the whole “clan”. Frank was a smart cookie for coming up with the clan idea, since it gave the group some sort of “official” unity, a group identity that Cassy figured would probably be vital in the coming days and months.
She glanced around at the others. At the head of the group, Michael moved like a ghost, passing quickly through the trees and underbrush. He would stop and do his recon thing as the group caught up before moving ahead again. Michael was an honest-to-god Rambo as far as she was concerned. He moved the group in odd directions, but Cassy soon realized their path always took advantage of cover, or avoided walking along the crest of a hill, or skirted various hazards. Cassy prided herself on the preparedness skills she’d spent years developing, but Michael showed her on a daily basis just how limited her skills actually were when it came to defending the group.
Yes indeed, she really wished now that she’d taken more combat-focused classes. She only had some basic personal training from o
ther preppers she knew. Well, Michael might be able to shore up her weak spots—she’d have to watch him closely, learn from him, maybe even ask him to mentor her. And he would never say no to that, because he had to see that having two trained warriors and scouts was better than having just one.
To her left, Jaz and Jed walked together closely enough that she couldn’t hear their quiet conversation. Michael’s wife Tiffany trailed behind them a bit, her focus on the trees around them, looking for any dangers they might conceal.
To her right, Ethan and Amber were a mirror image of Jaz and Jed, walking together. Unlike Jaz, Amber stayed alert as she walked, but Cassy could see that she and Ethan had their own quiet conversation going. Behind them, Mary and Tiffany walked in parallel a bit behind the cluster of children and Cassy.
Cassy wasn’t sure what she thought of having Tiffany and Mary bring up the rear, so to speak, but the Jaz/Jed, Amber/Ethan situation sure as hell could turn into a total clusterfuck. Jaz was gorgeous, and Jed seemed to always find reasons to be near her, smiling and laughing. Amber, in turn, seemed to hover around Ethan, ostensibly to question him on a variety of survival and preparedness topics, but no one could miss how close they stood when they talked, or how often Amber laughed at Ethan’s nerdy little jokes.
Worse, when Amber wasn’t off to the side chatting with Ethan she was watching Jaz and Jed like a hawk. Any time Jaz said anything, Amber would roll her eyes, or cluck, or suck her teeth. There was tension there. Yep, a total clusterfuck was coming if that “love square” got more serious. Regardless of Amber’s growing friendship with Ethan, a sizzling animosity threatened any peace between Amber and Jaz. Well, mostly that was Amber since Jaz seemed oblivious. The poor girl was just used to men paying attention to her and women not liking her. It must be just so much background noise to the beautiful young woman by now.
Cassy realized she was gritting her teeth and turned her attention back to the task of guarding and guiding the young ones. This was no time to start pointing out elephants in the room. But later, after they all got to her farm? That would be a different matter. How to discreetly deal with the problem? Maybe she should talk to Frank about it. He was their reluctant leader, and plenty smart. He had a weird way of bringing everyone together and hashing out problems without starting wars.
When they got to the farm, Cassy felt certain, Frank would not resent Cassy for taking charge of the farm stuff. His leadership would be essential to getting everyone moving together on the many tasks they would face at the homestead if they wanted to get production up in the coming spring. More mouths meant more planting, more tending, more everything.
Then Cassy nearly ran into her son, Aidan, when he stopped abruptly. A quick scan of the others showed they had all stopped. Michael, up ahead, had his fist in the air. It was the signal for “stop whatever you’re doing, be quiet and stay still,” Michael had explained, along with a couple other hand signals. Cassy had almost missed it by wandering in her thoughts.
She watched now as Michael crouched low behind some scrub brush. She was certain it couldn’t hide a person, yet somehow their scout managed to get smaller than she thought possible. He sat stone-still for several minutes and the kids got fidgety but they stayed silent. The adults had their rifles at the low-ready, alternating between scanning their surroundings and looking to Michael for instructions. Then Michael slinked backwards away from his concealment, moving toward the group.
Once there, he briefly and quietly spoke to Frank, then used one of the other hand signals he’d taught them, the one for “gather around” or Rally, as Michael called it. The clan quietly gathered around Michael, and he nodded at each in turn, apparently approving.
“Okay, clan, here’s what’s up,” Michael said almost in a whisper. “Ahead is about two hundred yards of open ground, running between an occupied auto body shop on the left and a large house on the right that I think is also occupied. Our task is to get across that open terrain quickly and silently. We’ll stay low, crouching as we go. Cassy, you’re injured. Can you run bent over without killing yourself or crying out in pain?”
Cassy noted how Michael asked this without apparent emotion. He was all business at the moment. If she said she couldn’t do it then he’d think of another way around, she was sure, but it would be something even more dangerous than traversing open terrain between two groups of people with unknown intent. The thought scared her.
“I’ll make it,” Cassy said, her face expressionless. This was going to hurt like a bitch, but there was no help for it.
Ten minutes later, Michael had explained the plan and the route he thought was best, and drilled into them several times that if someone started shooting at them, they had to reach that cover before any other consideration. Getting caught in the open in a crossfire would mean death. He looked hard at them and didn’t pull any punches as he spoke. No one had any doubts about their situation.
“Now,” Michael continued, “listen up. Each child needs to go with an adult. If a kid gets shot, carry them. If an adult gets shot, keep fuckin’ running. Better one down than all. I’ll go after anyone down later, if they’re alive. If you get shot, lie still and wait until the firing stops, then look ahead for me. I won’t willingly leave one of our clan behind, I promise you all. While you cross, I’ll stay in position on overwatch and then follow and regroup with you once you’re in the trees across the field. If the enemy fires on us, I’ll be right here to take them out. Jed, you’ll have to take two of the kids with you. Too dangerous for me to take one. Are we clear, and are we ready to move out?”
Silent nods all around, and the others picked the child they would move out with. Five kids. Six adults, including Cassy’s daughter, Brianna. Though only thirteen, she’d have to be an adult for now because Cassy wasn’t well enough to carry even Michael’s five-year-old son, Nick. The task of leading Nick would fall to Jed, who would have two kids with him.
“Alright then. You all know the plan. It’s time to move out. You can do this, folks. This is our clan. These are our kids and our people. We will make it. Don’t be scared—save your fear for later. For now, it’s time to man up, take a deep breath and do this.”
Cassy nodded and offered up a silent prayer to a God she wasn’t sure she believed in. Please, God, let us get through this and if anything goes wrong, let the kids be safe.
* * *
The clan moved north to the strip of trees that ran east-to-west, separating the occupied garage from the house. Now creeping westward among the trees, they stayed as silent as a dozen untrained people could. The light rapidly dimmed as they approached the western edge of the trees.
Cassy saw Michael again give the hand signal to rally around, and crept forward with the other adults. When all had come close, Michael said, “Okay, this is it. When I give the signal, move in a crouch as fast as the kids allow. Head straight at those closest trees across the field, while I stay in position to defend. Once you are all across, I’ll move out. I have to keep this plan simple for the kids, but I know we can do this.”
Cassy understood that he really meant the plan was kept simple for everyone, since Michael was the only one with real training and experience, but she nodded anyway. Michael was pretty darn good at this stuff, for being so quiet most of the time. The speech reminded everyone of the kids, and took their minds off of their own fears. Five star job, she decided.
Michael crept ahead again, sidling from cover to cover until he was near the tree line closest to the auto body shop. He kept still for about a minute, watching, and then raised his arm to wave the clan forward. More or less all at once, the group quietly moved to the last few trees and then, as Michael had directed earlier, moved out in pairs. One adult and one child left the trees, crouched as low as they could go and still move, as fast as they could without running. Five seconds later, the next pair. And then the next.
Cassy was the next-to-last to go, leaving only Jed and of course Michael. She took two deep breaths and then rushed out.
Crouching low caused a sharp spike of pain to stab through her shoulder, and she nearly cried out, but stopped herself by biting her lip. She was certain she bit hard enough to draw blood. The ground was uneven, and she recognized the tell-tale signs of a farm field left fallow. Once she stumbled to her knees, but with a hiss of breath from the pain she was able to rise up again and continue. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jed leaving the trees, the last of the clan besides Michael. So far, whoever was guarding the garage to the south and the house to the north had not noticed them, and she prayed their luck continued. Cassy saw that the first of the group to leave the trees was almost to the opposite tree line, almost safe. Cassy was still some 150 yards from safety, however. She put her head down, focusing on the terrain and on putting one foot in front of the other despite the pain in her shoulder.
Their luck was not to last. As the second adult reached the safety of the trees, a shot rang out from the south. A second later came another shot, quickly followed by one from the north. Cassy remembered what Michael had said and simply kept running, no longer bothering to crouch. Every time her foot came down the pain spiked again, and soon she saw spots and realized she was very near to passing out. If she did, her only hope would be that Michael made it out and somehow rescued her. She risked stopping for a few seconds to let the rising pain subside. It was either stop or pass out.
Jed and crew ran past her. He stopped and turned back to help while the two children kept running, but Cassy waved him on. He nodded once and was gone. That Jed was a no-bullshit guy, redneck as they come and had his share of “character defects,” but his heart was good. In his world, Cassy thought, if an adult said to go on then that’s what he’d do—Cassy was a grown woman and could make her own decisions. Cassy spared a smile.
Dark New World (Book 1): Dark New World Page 17
