Trackers Omnibus [Books 1-4]

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  “Shit,” Colton whispered.

  “I’ve been waiting for this day a long time,” Thompson said. “You messed my plan up tonight, but I promise you that you’re dead, and so is everyone you love. Enjoy your present when you get home.”

  The radio shut off, and Colton looked to Lindsey.

  “What does he mean?” she asked, fear gripping her features.

  “Drive, Lindsey. Drive like the lives of everyone you love depend on it.”

  Colton had a feeling they did.

  — 17 —

  Fenix sat in the shotgun seat of a Humvee on Highway 7, just three miles south of Estes Park. The heat from the vents warmed his face as they waited. He reached up and adjusted his helmet, then patted his ballistic vest.

  Armed with a brand new M4 and “four eyes” night vision goggles, he was fully prepared for battle, and so were the Brandenburger Commandos. They were positioned on the side of the road, waiting for a radio update from his scouts.

  “You sure about this, sir?” Horton asked from the driver’s seat. “Why the hell are we the ones attacking tonight? Why isn’t Thompson sending men?”

  “Goddammit, Horton, we’ve been through this. You just don’t get politics, do you?”

  Horton looked over, his jaw set.

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Fenix said. “We’re softening the defenses, and getting the intel Thompson will need for his attack tomorrow. Think of this as just a recon mission. A very fun recon mission that will net us that damn Indian and his family.”

  The new radio they had plucked from a Chinese vehicle barked to life.

  “Sir, looks like the town militia has mostly been moved to beef up their defenses on Highway 34. The vehicles that left earlier were heading to Fort Collins.”

  Fenix raised a brow at that. “What the hell are they doing in Fort Collins?”

  “Raiding a warehouse owned by Sheriff Thompson. I just got off the horn with him. He’s fucking pissed, sir, but he said to proceed with your mission. He needs that intel for his attack tomorrow.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Good luck, sir.”

  Fenix tucked the radio back in his vest and dipped his helmet at Horton. “Let’s roll, Sergeant.”

  Horton put the vehicle in gear and pulled back onto the road. Fenix shouted up to the soldier manning the turret. “Miles, trade me spots.”

  As soon as the young commando came down from the turret, Fenix took his spot on the big gun. Grabbing the M240, he roved the pintle mount into position. Fenix blinked at the green hue of his night vision goggles and waited for his eyes to adjust.

  The other two vehicles were following them at combat intervals, just in case Chief Colton had ambushes set up out here. Fenix doubted the man was that cunning. He might actually be dumber than Fenix thought, trying to raid a warehouse owned by Thompson.

  The sheriff owned everything east of Estes Park now. After taking down the FEMA camp, he had also taken over Loveland. In just two months, Thompson had built quite the empire for himself. That’s part of the reason Fenix had decided to join forces. They needed each other.

  He turned to look at the pickups following the Humvee. Both of them had once belonged to the Chinese, but now sported fresh black paint. He smiled proudly at the Sons of Liberty logo on the hoods. Then he swiveled the mount back to the front of the vehicle, the wind blasting his exposed face as Horton picked up speed. They weren’t far now.

  Around the next turn, two trucks and a minivan had been pushed up against one another to block the road. Concrete barriers were set up in front of them, with a barbwire gate serving as a makeshift doorway. Framing the road was a ditch, blocked with more vehicles and debris. There was no way to pass on the shoulder. He counted five figures standing behind the barriers, but only one of them was pointing a weapon at the road.

  He’d already been warned that there would be women here, but when he saw that one of the five people was much smaller than the others, he held his fire. Even in Iraq, he’d done his best to avoid killing children.

  The hesitation lasted only a moment. War was war.

  He squeezed the trigger while they still had the element of surprise, sending tracer rounds lancing through the night. They slammed into the concrete barriers and clipped one of the men standing guard. A geyser of blood shot into the air, and he dropped like a tree.

  Return fire was almost instant, and Fenix roved the barrel of the big gun toward the muzzle flashes coming from behind the barriers. Two more guards had come into view. Both of them were firing from behind a pickup truck.

  Horton stayed the course, driving full steam ahead even as bullets pecked at the hood and windshield. One of them pinged off the armor surrounding the M240, but Fenix too remained steady. He fired bursts that slammed into the bed of the pickup truck and punched through the metal and into the flesh of the guards. Both men spun away.

  Fenix quickly roved the barrel back to the concrete barriers, where three of the four remaining hostiles were firing rifles. A bullet whizzed close enough to his head that he flinched. Then he fired a burst that took down two of the men just as they popped up to fire again, leaving two remaining hostiles.

  Horton slowed the vehicle when they were a few hundred feet away, and coasted to a stop while Fenix unloaded on the blocks. Rounds pockmarked the sides, breaking away chunks of concrete.

  The small figure darted away to the side of the road, and a woman raised an arm to reach after the child. Fenix took her arm off with several rounds, and then finished her off with one to the torso.

  He eased off the trigger and scanned the roadblock, his heart pounding with excitement. Another gunshot cracked from under the mini-van and pinged off the armor surrounding his gun. Fenix ducked down as more shots hit the armor. When they stopped, he grabbed the gun and unloaded on the mini-van, taking out the tires and pinning the shooter underneath.

  The echo of the gunshots faded away, leaving only the whistle of the wind. Steam rose off the dead at the barriers, their blood pooling on the frozen road.

  Fenix ordered the teams out of the vehicles. The men approached slowly, rifles shouldered, scanning for movement while he slowly raked the barrel back and forth.

  He could see most of the dead sentries from his vantage in the turret. Two men and a woman lay on the concrete near the barriers. One of the men was missing most of his head, and the other had taken three rounds to the chest, opening up gaping holes. The other bodies were all back near the vehicles, and none of them were moving, except for the man pinned under the van. The chassis had crushed his back, but he still moaned and tried to get away as the SOL soldiers approached.

  Miles aimed a pistol point blank at the man’s forehead, firing a round that shattered the silence. Fenix continued searching for other hostiles. The kid was long gone, from what he could tell.

  “Move the barriers,” Fenix ordered.

  Working together, the SOL soldiers pushed the concrete barriers out of the way, opening a gap for the Humvee and the trucks to pass through. Horton would do the rest by slamming into the mini-van and pushing it off the road.

  Fenix suddenly glimpsed motion in the ditch to the right of the roadblock. A girl was hiding in the bushes, a knife held in one hand and a pistol aimed at Miles.

  “No you don’t, kid,” Fenix whispered. He fired a blast of rounds into the dirt at her feet, kicking up debris.

  “Drop it!” Fenix yelled.

  His men whipped around and centered their weapons on the bush. The girl remained there, apparently thinking she was invisible. His next shots were closer this time, tearing over the top of the foliage.

  She finally tossed the gun over the bush and onto the concrete.

  “The knife too!” Fenix shouted.

  The knife came next.

  “Put that kid in one of the trucks,” Fenix ordered.

  His men grabbed her, and then dragged her kicking and screaming to one of the black pickups.

  “Horton, let’s go,”
Fenix said.

  The Humvee rolled forward, and the cow guard crunched into the mini-van, metal scraping metal. It took a few minutes, but Horton managed to push the vehicle perpendicular to the others, opening a gap for the convoy to continue.

  Horton gunned the engine, leaving the dead behind without a second thought. Reaching up, Fenix flipped his NVGs off and stared up at the dazzling, star-filled sky. He took in a deep breath of fresh, freezing air. Prospect Mountain rose into the sky. They weren’t far now, and in an hour or less, he would have what he came here for.

  A flare suddenly streaked away from the crest of the mountain. Fenix watched it climb toward the moon before exploding and spreading a red glow over the town. They had been spotted, but it didn’t matter. The Brandenburger Commandos were ready for a fight.

  He plucked the radio out of his vest and gave orders for the three vehicles to split off to their destinations. Then he opened the private channel to Sheriff Thompson.

  “Crow 1, this is Eagle 1. Do you copy? Over.”

  A few seconds later, an enraged voice came over the channel. “Roger, Eagle 1, this is Crow 1. What’s your fucking status? Over.”

  “We just took out the first roadblock and are heading toward Prospect Mountain.”

  “You see Colton, you don’t touch him. Got it?”

  Fenix didn’t like Thompson’s tone, but he held his tongue. After all, Colton had shot Thompson and his men, leaving them for dead on the side of the road. That’d make anybody touchy.

  “Roger that, Crow 1. Proceeding with the mission. In a few hours, I’ll have that Indian’s head on a pike, and you’ll have the intel you need to add Estes Park to our expanding territory,” Fenix replied.

  ***

  Raven stopped at the edge of the river, his bare feet sinking into the mud. Teepees lined the riverbank to his right. Smoke fingered out of the pointed tops. The scent of sizzling meat hit his nostrils, and he walked toward the river camp. Hissing wind and chirping crickets filled the warm night.

  He knew it was another dream, but this one was peaceful, unlike the nightmares. Raven continued walking next to the river, calmed by the sound of rushing water.

  The peace was shattered by a high-pitched scream.

  And then he saw them.

  The figures emerged from the water on the riverbank below the camp. They were naked men, six of them, their pallid flesh dripping in the moonlight. Sinewy muscles glistened across their bare flesh as they climbed the steep slope on all fours, like animals.

  At the top, they stood, then moved at a crouch toward the teepees. One of the men remained behind, his shiny skull tilted up at the moon. He suddenly twisted and looked in Raven’s direction. His face was not the face of a man. Jagged teeth rimmed his carmine gums, and eyes as black as obsidian fixated on Raven’s location.

  These were Water Cannibals, and they were here to kidnap children and bring them back to their underwater lairs, where they would feast on the tender flesh.

  Raven felt the paralyzing fear that always came with dreaming about the monsters. He remained behind the bush, staring through the spindly foliage as the Water Cannibals snuck into the village.

  Another scream finally snapped him from the dream, and his mind reverted back to reality. His eyes focused on a dimly-lit space, with only a small lantern illuminating the sheets covering his body. Across the room was a medical chart.

  He remembered, then. He was in the Estes Park Medical Center.

  But had the last scream come from his dream, or had it been real?

  Raven squirmed in his bed, trying to wake up and focus on the room. The chair Allie had been curled up in earlier was empty. In her place was Creek. The dog was by his side, tail wagging, whining at him as if to say, “Get up.”

  Raven’s gut knotted. He knew something was wrong. But he could hardly move or think. His entire body felt numb, like it didn’t belong to him, and his mind was in a muddled fog.

  A scream came from outside his door, and a gunshot followed. He knew the sounds were real from the way Creek reacted. The dog’s back went rigid, and he bared his teeth at the door.

  The hospital was under some sort of an attack, and his family was missing.

  Raven tried to move again, and this time managed to roll onto his side and throw a leg over the side of the bed. Creek nudged up against it, his way of trying to help.

  Another scream, and a flurry of gunshots. Raven swung his other leg over the bed. He stood on bare feet and reached out for the wall, palming it to keep his balance.

  Breathing heavily, he held there for a few seconds, trying to get his breath and focus. He was dressed only in green pants. Shoeless and shirtless, he stumbled over to the door. He grabbed the handle and slowly opened it to peer out into the dim hallway. A lantern set up halfway down provided just enough light to see the passage was empty. Creek wedged his body next to Raven to look out.

  “Back,” Raven whispered.

  A wave of light-headedness passed over him, and he forced his eyes closed to prevent himself from passing out. Then he opened his eyes and stumbled out into the hallway.

  The gunfire had ceased and the screams had faded, but Raven could make out the sound of crying somewhere in the distance.

  He grabbed the railing attached to the wall. He had no weapon to defend himself, but there was no time to look for one. He had to find Sandra and Allie.

  Creek trotted ahead, sniffing the tile floor. His nose stopped at the edge of a red streak. Raven’s heart thumped at the sight of blood.

  He stopped to look in the nearest room. This was where John Palmer had been staying, and Raven could see the bed was empty. Martha Kohler, the doctor refugee, wasn’t in her room either.

  Raven continued slugging along, using the railing and the lantern light to guide him. His body tingled, numb and distant. For the first time in his entire life, he truly felt as light as a feather.

  That’s a good thing, Sam, he tried to tell himself. Just keep moving. One step at a time.

  Creek followed the trail of blood to an intersection, where his tail dropped behind his legs. A figure backpedaled around the left corner, nearly bumping into the dog. The man slowly turned, revealing black eyes and a mouth full of jagged teeth in the dim light. Raven knew what he was seeing couldn’t be real. He blinked, and the man’s face changed from that of a Water Cannibal into something worse…

  A swastika and other black tattoos in the shapes of Nazi symbols covered his neck. The dark mustache hanging over his lips curled into a grin when he saw Raven and Creek. He quickly raised an M4 rifle, but Creek was faster.

  “Attack!” Raven said, his voice nearly a shout.

  Creek leapt onto the unsuspecting man. The dog tore a chunk of flesh away from his neck, pulling a vein with it and silencing the man before he could scream for help. The rifle clattered to the ground, and blood painted Creek’s fur red.

  Raven staggered forward and leaned down to pry a knife from the man’s belt as Creek continued tearing strings of flesh away from the man’s neck. An awful gurgling sound came from the Nazi’s lips as he tried to scream. Somehow, he continued squirming as his neck gushed blood.

  “You piece of shit,” Raven whispered. He got down on his knees and rammed the blade deep in the man’s gut. He jerked and focused wide eyes on Raven.

  That’s right, Raven thought. He continued jabbing the knife into the man’s side, holding his gaze the entire time until the man went limp.

  Raven stopped to look at his handiwork, but stars floating before his vision blurred his view. When they cleared, he saw Creek’s muzzle was dripping red onto the tile, and strands of gristle were hanging from his teeth.

  “Back,” Raven muttered.

  The dog retreated. Raven went to stand, but slipped in the puddle. He reached over to grab the railing, and hoisted himself up with one hand, the knife in the other.

  A muffled scream sounded in the distance.

  Raven scooped the rifle off the ground and rounded the corner
with the blade in his left hand, the gun in his right. As soon as he stepped around the corner, he saw bodies. Doctor Newton was sprawled on the ground, his white uniform splashed with red and his eyes staring at the ceiling panels. Two patients were face down, their backs bloody messes from what looked like knife wounds.

  The man Raven had just killed must have done this, and Raven had a feeling he wasn’t alone. He set off through the scene of carnage, his naked feet leaving tracks in the blood.

  This hallway was darker. The lantern lay on its side, its glow partially obstructed by the floor. Raven stopped when he heard a stifled scream. It had come from behind him. Laughter followed, and then a voice Raven recognized.

  “Let her go!”

  Was that Allie?

  Hearing his niece in distress made Raven’s blood boil. He didn’t need the railing to keep moving now; adrenaline fueled his actions. He turned around and strode down the hallway, gun shouldered, with the knife pressed up against the grip of the handle. When he got to the operating room doors, he waited.

  “My brother is going to come for me!” Sandra shouted.

  More laughter followed. Then a deep voice. “Your brother is passed out like a drunk. He ain’t coming for you, bitch! We already made sure of it, but don’t worry. I already sent Greg back to kill his dog. When we’re done with you, we’ll bring your unconscious brother to the General.”

  “NO!” Sandra screeched.

  Raven clenched his jaw, and Creek moved into position, his single eye focused on the door as if he could understand what was happening on the other side. Raven adjusted his grip on the rifle and the knife, then slowly shouldered the door open and brought the barrel up, freezing at the sight that greeted him.

  Sandra was on the floor in the middle of the room with two Nazis holding her down. A third stood watching, with arms folded across his chest. Her features were swollen and bloody.

  In the corner, Allie was curled up with a nurse who also had cuts on her face. All three men looked at Raven, eyes widening when they saw he was holding a rifle.