by C. A. Hoaks
Brian watched as the tense exchange wondering if he would need to intercede when another biker came out of the house with a bottle clutched in his hand. He called out and the moment of tension vanished. The bearded biker that started the confrontation turned with a big grin. He holstered his handgun then stormed pushed past the defending soldier to walked toward the man with the bottle laughing. The soldiers continued to defend the residents while two of the bikers disappeared into the barn. They reappeared a few minutes later with several burlap bags in hand. One of the men stepped inside a coop at the side of the barn and began pulling chicken after chicken from the coop, then passing the birds to a second man to be dropped in the bags.
Brian gave the binoculars to Billy and retrieved the rifle then ordered. “Get the men and load up. Give me five minutes to get set up then come in as fast and loud as you can. Draw as much attention as possible when you roll in, but don’t act threatening. Tell Leon to drive. Make it as wild and crazy. Try to convince them you’re red-necks having a good time as long as you can. Don’t shoot until I shoot or they catch on. When I start taking out the bikers, you make your move. If the soldiers make a move against us, they go down.”
Billy opened his mouth to protest then gave a quick nod and answered. “Yes, sir.” He turned and ran back to the truck.
Brian jogged down the road to a stand of mesquite and scrub trees where he fell to one knee on a rock to wait. He settled the rifle against his shoulder and used the scope to find his first target. He located the big biker that assaulted the woman and waited for Billy to initiate his end of the plan.
Suddenly the roar of the engine announced the plan was underway. The soldiers bagging chickens tossed the filled bags in the back of the truck and stared into the distance at the sound of the engine and yelling. Leon raced the engine. Billy and Juan clung to the roll bar in the back of the truck shouting and raising a couple liquor bottles into the air.
Brian took his first shot, and the biker went down to a shot to the head. The bikers scrambled; some running to their bikes, while others stumbled about in a state of utter confusion leaving the family unguarded. The three soldiers picked up the fallen man and woman and hustled the family toward the barn. They helped the elderly couple up and led them to the shelter of the barn.
One of the bikers noticed the soldiers disappearing with the hostages and raised a weapon to fire at the soldiers, but before he could squeeze off a shot, Brian fired. The biker collapsed to the ground with blood and brains mushrooming from the side of his head.
Another shot and another biker fell over a motorcycle bumping it off the stand and into two more bikes. Both bikes fell with a crash. One tumbling vehicle plunged into a rider knocking him t the ground where he lay pinned. Still lying there, the man pulled a handgun and fired it at the F-150.
Bikers started firing at the F-150 barreling down the hill toward the ranch, still not realizing which direction the shooting was coming from. Billy and Juan raised their handguns and returned back. The surviving men fired at the vehicle until one turned to shoot into the woods where Brian was hidden. The man next to him noticed and followed suit.
Brian fired the rifle twice more, and another man fell. Suddenly the remaining bikers laid down a barrage of gunfire in Brian’s direction while the surviving bikers ran toward the motorcycles. Brian crawled from the small ravine and hurried toward the building just out of sight of the shooters. He ducked back into the brush and trees. While the gunfire continued in the wrong direction, Brian found a narrow path leading around the back of the ranch buildings to get to the survivors before anything happened to them since he wasn’t sure which side of the action the soldiers would ultimately come down on. With the splintering of a tree trunk, Brian returned fire as he ran toward the barn door. “I’m getting too old for this shit.” He huffed as he neared the building and again fell to his knee just in time to see the big ugly biker and a smaller companion running toward the barn. Brian fired twice, and the men fell. The barn door slammed closed, and a crossbar was slammed into place.
The two surviving bikers ran to their motorcycles and cranked the engines. When the machines roared to life, Brian stepped from his hiding place and fire at the pair of bikers speeding away. One rider fell, and the motorcycle went spiraling out of control. The last biker escaped over a small rise and out of sight.
Leon pulled into the barnyard blocking the military vehicle from behind while the crash of motorcycles at the front ensured the truck would not be moving. Billy and Juan jumped to the ground and ran to the side of the vehicle where Brian had taken cover.
When the soldiers in the barn made no move to attack, or open the door, Brian called out. “This is Captain Brian Jamerson, from JBSA-Sam Houston. You boys need to let the civilians go.”
“Captain?” A voice called out. “We ain’t holding the family. We brought them in here to protect them.”
“Then you boys bring them out here,” Brian replied. “And that’s an order, in case you’ve forgotten I am an officer.”
The voices answered. “Yes sir, no sir.”
The barn door swung open, and one of the soldiers stepped out into the afternoon sun. Brian motioned with the barrel of his gun for the young man to move away from the door. The family walked out, with the remaining two soldiers carrying the old man and the woman with the injured younger man stumbling behind them. Brian turned to the family. “Folks, you go inside and get cleaned up. We’ll be needing to talk to these soldiers and sort a few things out. We will be returning everything these men have taken.”
All three soldiers stared at Brian with a look of pure terror in their eyes when they saw Billy covered them with his military rifle.
Chapter 39
Hondo
Tate loaded the last of the supplies into the back of the old pickup they had picked up for the one-way trip. She verified she had a spare battery, a set of jumper cable, and a toolbox scavenged from the white truck. She placed a cooler with food and plastic jugs of water behind the cab and secured it. The container was within reach of the back window for easy access. Additional supplies included bolt cutters and twenty gallons of gas in four five-gallon plastic buckets were tied to the sides of the truck bed as well.
Matt walked toward the truck and stopped at the back to pull the rope securing the gasoline. “You do know if someone shoots into the bed, we could end up being a bottle rocket.”
Tate laughed. “I don’t know what makes you think a gas can is any safer. This is pretty much the same thing. People we meet won’t automatically imagine its gas.”
“And if they start shooting?”
“Same thing as if they were jerry cans.” Tate laughed. “You’re not much of a morning person are you?” She said changing the subject.
Matt took a sip of coffee from a metal cup then growled. “Well, let’s go if we’re going.”
“I’m driving. You can ride shotgun or in the back.” Tate climbed into the truck, slammed the door and cranked the engine.
When Matt’s butt hit the seat, Tate slammed the truck into gear and punched the gas.
“Damn it!” Matt cursed. “If you’re gonna drive like a lunatic, I’m not riding anywhere with you!”
Tate eased up on the gas and assumed a more sedate speed as she steered the vehicle toward the wrought-iron gate at the entrance of the campgrounds. “I hope you’re not going to be this surly all the way to Hondo.”
Matt snorted then picked up a thermos from the seat and poured a second cup of coffee. “You want some?”
“Sure. Sounds good.” Tate answered. “You don’t want to do this, do you?”
“Not really. If you’ll remember, we tried to pick up a truck once before and ended up in a mess. We could just take a truck and head north. Why do you have to have a new rig? Gas is gonna go bad eventually? A big-ass rig will get shit for mileage.”
“It’s our best chance of getting there. With the right tractor, I can get through almost anything.” Tate quipped.
/> “You better. I’m betting two little girl’s lives on it.” Matt answered.
An hour later they approached the charred remains of a small town. It looked as if the entire city had been set to blaze.
“I did that,” Tate stated with a smirk on her face.
“What?” Matt sat up and looked at the devastation. Buildings were burnt shells, bodies of the infected lay in charred heaps on the streets. Some of the infected were little more than black lumps of charcoal with chomping teeth while others crawled on blackened stumps. The smell wafting through the air was one of cooked and spoiled meat at the same time. “Damn, that town is just rank!”
Tate pointed to the west and distant wooded peaks. “There’s a family up there about ten miles as the crows fly. I picked up a kid, and the plan was to rescue the rest of the household. I was in charge of the distraction part of the scheme.” She chuckled. “It got a little outta control, you might say.”
“You think?” Matt asked.
“We’re only about twenty miles from Hondo. I’m stopping in a few minutes, then you get to drive.”
“Are you sure? You seem to have an issue with me behind the wheel.”
“I got no choice. I need to look at the grounds before we head into the lot. I can do it then open the gate without you doing your Rambo thing.”
Tate turned off the two-lane highway, then drove down a narrow blacktop toward a distant water tower. Fifteen minutes later she stopped the truck at an intersection with even smaller roads intersecting the first. She slammed the shift into park and pushed open the door.
“I’m taking a piss, go around the front,” She called over her shoulder as she slammed the door.
Matt walked to the side of the road, did his own plant watering then casually strolled back to the truck to find Tate sitting in the passenger seat and grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler. She tipped it up and took a long drink of water.
“Going to be a hot summer.” She commented.
“Been through worse.” Matt retrieved his own bottle and took a long drink.
“Middle East?” Tate asked.
“Pakistan border near Chabahar,” Matt answered.
“Ain’t that where they had the big explosion? A terrorist bomb plant or something.”
“Bullshit story.” Matt reached into the cooler and pulled out a bag of trail mix. At Tate questioning look, he continued. “My team went in to check out rumors of a secret lab. It blew up before we got across the border, but we saw the results.”
“Is that why the US nuked Iran right after the attack? The people I met on the hill talked about it.”
“They designed the virus and knew what it would do. No way, the government was not retaliating when it was released over here.” Matt frowned. “It didn’t matter. Iran was already dead we just didn’t know it. They killed themselves, but not before smuggling the toxin into the country across the Mexican border.”
“What do you mean?” Tate asked.
“When they blew up the lab it released the toxin. We were outside a small village on the Pakistani side the border. We saw the explosion and slapped on Semco masks when a cloud drifted toward the village. People that were walking around before the mist fell to the ground, convulsing and blood started leaking from their ears, eyes, mouths. We tried to help, but all we could do was watch them die. The worse was when they started to get up. We thought they were probably sick but was going to be okay since they got back up.” Matt made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sob. “People came out of the houses, and the infected attacked everyone. The surviving men, women, and children were being torn apart. We tried to help, but it was hopeless.” His voice trailed off.
Tate studied his face then asked. “What happened?”
“There was just so many of them. Two men were attacked right off the bat. All I could do was fall back taking our wounded and call it in. We were told to get outta there, and someone called in an air strike. We got our evac and brought our guys out, but they got sick, and the medical folks had to put ‘em down.”
“So people knew?” Tate asked.
Matt cleared his throat and growled. “Doesn’t matter, now. Let’s get this show on the road. We got a truck to steal.”
“No problem,” Tate answered. “Another mile down the road, turn left on the dirt lane. We'll come in behind the lot. There’s a hurricane fence with a chained gate. That’s why we need the bolt cutters. If it’s clear and we can get a rig I like, I’ll wave, and you can follow the fence around to the front gate.”
Matt turned on the dirt lane. “Why not drive through the back gate?”
Tate pointed at a small walkthrough. “That’s why dumbass.”
Matt grunted.
“Stop at the corner. When I give you the okay, go around to the front of the lot, and I’ll let you in.”
Matt stopped the truck and turned off the engine. Tate swung open the door and stepped out of the cab. She buckled the holster with her handgun and pulled the machete scabbard around to her hip. She reached into the truck bed and picked up the bolt cutter.
“Need some help with that chain?” Matt asked.
“No, dumbass. Do what I told you,” Tate answered.
Matt shrugged, and Tate walked away. She balanced the bolt cutter on her shoulder and sauntered away from the truck. He watched Tate marveling at the smooth, dark shadow moving under the white, wife-beater T-shirt with the movement of her muscles. He gave himself a mental shake and focused on Tate.
She got to the gate and took a couple minutes to look at the yard. Half a dozen brand new heavy-duty rigs were lined up at the front of the truck lot. Several consignment tractors were parked at the side of the office located toward the front of the yard. A massive repair shop covered the back portion of the lot. Tate looked around and saw three vehicles in front of the repair shop. “Shit,” She whispered. Private cars or trucks meant people; could be infected. Tate took a deep breath and opened the bolt cutter. She worked the released jaw into the hasp of the lock and leaned one handle against her hip then pulled the other with both hands. Tate pulled with all she could muster, and nothing happened. Tate glanced over her shoulder at Matt watching from the truck. She adjusted the angle of the bolt cutter, grabbed the handle and pulled. This time, the muscles of her arms bulged, and the cheap metal of the hasp snapped. Tate put the cutter down, loosened the chain then stepped through the gate and closed it. She walked to the corner of the repair shop, peeked around the edge of the building, and saw an infected man standing in the shade of the opened truck bay. A mangled body lay at the infected man’s feet. The head rolled from left to right, the eyes wild and searching for its own prey.
Tate rested the bolt cutter on her shoulder while holding both handles. She stepped into the bay and swung just as the infected man turned. The heavy metal jaw slammed into the side of the man’s head, shattering his skull. Blood and gray matter exploded from the wound. The infected man fell to the concrete floor where the mangled body flopped and floundered until she swung the cutter a second time ending the unrest. Tate recognized the two dead men. She studied the shadows wondering if she would find the driver of the third vehicle. She hoped not since she knew who it belonged to. Satisfied, no more infected were in the repair shop, she stepped out into the sunlight. She glanced at the truck behind the fence and gave Matt a wave. He waved back, and she headed for the front gate.
Chapter - 40
To Save Them All
The woman with the broken wrist, Enola, walked from the medical office where Ben Nascha lay sleeping. She asked. “Is he alright? Why is he not waking up?”
“I gave him a sedative to work on his arm. He’ll be out for a while,” Cassie answered then asked. “His arm is extremely infected. Do you know when he got hurt?”
Enola shrugged. “I think about a week ago. We were attacked by another group. They waited until we set up camp and settled in for the night. They snuck into the back of the camp where we had the fewest guards. They killed
the two guards then crept into the first tent they came too. They killed three families and began hauling away supplies. They were still cleaning the last of the supplies out when they came back into the tent, but the dead families got up and attacked them. When the screaming started, Ben and the men ran into the middle of the mayhem. I think he got hit with a machete. The dead families and thieves were attacking the camp.” Tears filled Enola eyes with the telling. “It was just so dark. We lost a lot of good people before it ended.”
“I’m sorry,” Cassie whispered.
“Back then, we were prepared for the dead, but not the living. We thought we were escaping the violence by leaving the Cartels behind.” Enola walked to the couch and sat down, exhausted. “We heard the news and thought we knew the dangers awaiting us?”
“The infection is airborne, we’ll never escape it. It’s part of our lives now.” Cassie answered. “We had our own situation here. We lost a whole family. Now we take precautions.”
Liz walked from the kitchen to the two women with iced drinks in hand.
Enola’s eyes widened in surprise. “Ice? You have ice?”
Liz passed her the glass. “The lodge was set up to be self-sufficient, but we limit ice usage now. How is your arm feeling? I can fix you an ice pack.”
“No thanks. I’m alright.”
“No reason to be in pain, I can give you something.” Cassie accepted her glass of tea.
“No, thank you.” Enola took a long drink then pressed the cold glass to her forehead. “How soon can Ben leave?”
Cassie shrugged. “Actually, I was going to suggest he spend at least a couple days so I can keep an eye on him. The infection is worse than I thought. If he’s improved in a couple days, we can switch to pills.”
Liz emptied her own drink and reached out to retrieve Enola’s empty glass. “I can go back to the camp with you and explain about Ben’s injury and how it’s being treated. It’s getting late, and I’d like to see if Pablo and his crew are back. Harry stayed to help set up the water tank so I can ride back with him.”
