by Angela White
Dean and Dillan came into the camp openly, not expecting to spot guards and they didn’t. Word had spread, and many of the places ahead of the Mexicans would already be abandoned by the time they got there. That would work in the twins’ favor. Empty towns meant no women and for these men, that might lose Cesar leadership if it continued long enough. The twins had an offer that would be to the Mexican leader’s advantage. Or so he would think, if they did this right.
They had made it over four hundred miles in two weeks. Alternating driving, they had stayed on the move until they stopped near the Nebraska-Colorado state line to rest and ferret out a few females for Cesar. His uncontested rule had given the Mexican a sense of power and control that few would be stupid (brave) enough to challenge and it was that strength the brothers had come for.
Despite owing Cesar their lives, Dean and Dillan felt no loyalty toward the mean little man. There was respect for his quick, brutal methods of control, but if not for their failure with the witch, they likely would have never returned. It was one more thing they hated her for. They had been gone a long time, and Cesar was unstable, making it hard to know how well they would be received. He might order them killed before they had a chance to make the offer.
Few of the passed out and sleeping slavers noticed their arrival. Those who did acknowledged them and ignored the bandages, swept the women, and then averted their gazes. Word had also spread about the brothers, and despite their long absence, now was clearly a bad time to draw their attention. Even the camp mutts, starving, mean mixes of indecipherable origins, shied from them.
Dean and Dillan went to the rear of the dirty area, past the reeking, rusted semis. They shoved the cringing captives into the rear of an empty one, locking them in. These were the holding pens for slaves, and there was no guard. Those already broken had no courage left to run, and those who were fresh wouldn’t make it far before every man in camp was on them. A loose slave was fair game.
With their noses full of the holding cells’ decay and the harsh odor of gasoline, the twins traveled to the center of the muddy, stinking site, certain they would find the leader there. His tent would be surrounded by his men so that if they were attacked, he wouldn’t be hit first. Cesar was smart, ruthless, and exactly what they needed.
The grungy green tent was indeed in the middle, and it was one of only a few dozen vinyl shelters. Most of the men preferred the open sky above them after years of not seeing it at all from federal detention centers. It was also a lot easier to wrap up in a blanket and sleep under a truck.
From outside Cesar’s tent, the twins could see the Loveland, Colorado skyline lit up with flames and thick, black smoke. Their eyes were drawn to the charred frame of the hulking jumbo jetliner resting in a thicket of piñon trees to the right of the burning town.
Surrounded by a muddy, devastated landscape, and covered in reddish, ill-looking dust, the crushed plane was still more unbelievable than the destroyed city behind it.
Loud snores were barely audible over dogs yelping, women crying, and the pop of neglected fires, but there was an instant silence as the twins slid inside the center lean-to…and then the sound of a gun being cocked.
“Who ees there?”
The smells of sex, blood, and violence mixed badly with the cigar smoke in the dark tent. The cautious brothers stayed in the shadows, so there wasn’t a clear shot.
Their gazes lingered on the naked teenager chained to the center pole of Cesar’s filthy tent like a dangerous dog. She was curled into a ball, showing a body they immediately wanted.
Jennifer felt it, tensing. Other than that, she didn’t budge. She knew better.
“We have an offer for you.”
“And, an untouched gift.”
Cesar grunted in recognition, putting his weapon under his pillow. When he yawned lazily, the twins grimaced in distaste as bad breath mixed with the other strong odors.
“So, you have returned. I did not think you would.”
A candle flared to life, giving them a better view of the Mexican and the bloody girl at his feet whose swollen face and crusted thighs said she had passed a rough night in Cesar’s tent.
“What happened to you?” the slaver demanded, getting a look at their bandages as he pulled up his cruddy jeans. The material was tacky with dried blood–the girl’s from the look of her. “Who attacked you?”
“A witch,” the bald brothers answered together.
The bearded slaver puffed on a cigar, considering. Cesar had never been sure about these two, and he studied them while pulling on muddy boots. If not for the good work they had done for him in the past, he would kill them here and now. “A bruja?”
They nodded at the same time, tones full of hatred. “Yes, magic.”
“Spells. A witch.”
Cesar tried to figure out what they could hope to gain from such a lie. When he found nothing, he let himself consider what it could do for him. He was no stranger to the occult and its mysteries. If the twins were telling the truth, if they had found what the old world hadn’t, his plans to seed America with his bastards and control it through them would be unstoppable. “You have seen this?”
The twins told him everything that had happened. They offered no excuses for their failure, didn’t talk up their actions, and it convinced the Mexican. The mercenaries believed what they were saying. Was it possible? A real witch?
The three men tensed as the flap opened to reveal a stocky Mexican with crisscrossed gun belts and an ugly scar that stretched across his cheek, ran up his nose, and over top of his brow. It cut his face in half and gave him the appearance of someone who liked to cause people pain. “Everything is okay?”
Cesar waved him in with his deformed hand.
The twins ran scornful smirks over the new man’s broken, yellow teeth, baggy shirt, and torn, muddy pants, but they both recognized him for what he was–a possible threat to their plans.
“No, but it cannot be helped. Get the men up and ready for tomorrow–then give Richard the signal. Trace light red ‘e uno green.”
Cesar hated the sound of the broken English coming from his mouth, hated anything American, but with so many of those here not knowing their native language, he had little choice if he wanted to be understood.
José swept the hermanos with clear dislike. He had been openly against Cesar letting these two live, though he had voted to spare Rick.
The mercenaries smirked tauntingly.
“We have esclavos in truck six.”
“See to them.”
The heartless killer bared his broken fangs at them before ducking out into the heavy wind and mud. Men who were about to come toward him with questions changed their mind when they viewed the look on his face.
José was only a cousin and not nearly as deadly as Cesar, but he had earned a vicious reputation with his temper. He was left alone when he stomped to the trucks, worrying about the twins. They were hard-asses, and if they decided they wanted control of Cesar’s camp, there was a good chance they would get it. In Mexico, they were the ones to call when no one else could get the job done.
The wind beat against the tent, and in the thick silence after José ducked out, all three men could hear the girl’s nervous breathing.
Jennifer had been with him since the week of the war, and fear for her life was something that never left, even when she was alone.
Cesar looked at the brothers with a hard, calculating expression. “There is no way to explain these things?”
“No.”
“We followed for almost a month. She was alone until she sent out the wave of power.”
“She conjured a protector.”
They appeared desperate to Cesar, clearly not the same men who had left him after they’d conquered NORAD. “You know where she goes?”
“She’s only traveling northwest, never deviates.”
“There is a group near Yellowstone that calls for survivors,” Cesar said.
“You hear them this far away
?”
Cesar frowned, pulled a beaten sombrero from the debris-littered floor and slapped it on over his tightly kinked black hair.
“Sí. Your bruja is going to them?”
“Maybe. We think she’s hunting for family.”
Cesar’s frown grew, noting burnt spots on their clothes and the grimy bandana wrapped around Dillan’s bandaged wrist. The white of the gauze under it had long since turned black.
“We must get to her before she reaches them. This group is big, organized. A witch would make them a threat to me.” Cesar looked up, mind racing. “You can take her?”
Dean shook his head, while Dillan shrugged.
Cesar felt a tremor of worry in his gut. He had never seen or heard of a time when the twins had disagreed on anything. The woman’s soldier must truly be strong.
“Not by ourselves,” Dillan stated finally, and Cesar observed his grimace when he flapped his hand to deflect a determined fly. The injury to his arm was obviously bad.
That is it, Cesar decided. It is her man they wanted, her soldier.
Surely he was the one responsible. Then why say a woman? That was worse. Either way, it came down to revenge.
“So, this is why you’ve come.”
It wasn’t a question, and he glared at them, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to agree for now. “Mine during the day, yours at night?”
They both nodded eagerly, and Cesar grinned, his gold front tooth flashing. “It will be good. We will lay a trap, kill her soldier and have her.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“She knows things.”
Cesar fingered the handle of his hoja, hating it that they were always so disrespectful.
The injured brothers waited for him to pull the knife and thus hand over his camp. Either way, they were determined to pit his men against their witch.
“You have a plan?” the slaver asked finally, full of controlled anger. Anyone else, he would have already challenged, but against these two vicious assassins, he wasn’t sure he could win with only the blade he was sitting on and a hangover. He was too far from his gun.
“Yes.” Dean’s leer lingered on the chained girl, but he was aware that the evil Mexican was now an enemy instead of an ally and would need to be handled as such. ”We’ll follow her; figure out where she’s going. If it’s a good place, we can take shelter there for the winter.”
“You are estupido to let her reach familia. Then you face dos brujas, yes?”
The twins were clearly pissed at the insult, had killed for less, and Cesar kept his hand on the knife, thinking he would at least be able to take one of them with him.
“It’s better to control them both, than to have the missing one ambush us. And we can’t find the other until she leads us to them.”
“How will you get them once she reaches the safety of this Haven?”
“You’ll surround them and demand they hand over both. We’ll pick off a few easy targets, use your inside traitor to cause chaos, and then make it clear we followed her so they’ll hand her over to save themselves.”
The other brother picked up the explanation. “Once they do, we’ll make her use her power against any defenses they have, and you’ll be in control of a safe area, new supplies, a witch, and slaves–all without having to fight and lose men.”
Cesar needed proof to go through so much. Their word wasn’t enough. This had to be a trick. “The men will not believe.”
“They will later, but for now, it doesn’t matter. They don’t even have to know. Just keep going north and give them whores and whiskey,” Dean instructed.
“Didn’t you tell us you wanted to take Cheyenne and Casper by May?” Dillan asked.
Cesar’s face lit up greedily. “Sí, and my men know it.”
“Good. That will put us on an intercept course. Dean and I will track her, and we’ll also find some bait to send in with Rick.”
Cesar considered it. He had used the betrayer repeatedly, and no one ever suspected him until it was too late–because he was white. The Americanos should have remembered their own history. Whites were not more trustworthy than the Russians or even himself, for that matter. They were just a bit more careful to cover their asses.
“Less than a month from now, you’ll own Wyoming, probably have a good start on Nebraska, and be only a day or two from the tank hidden near there. Best of all, you’ll rule the entire western half of this country, from the Nevada wastelands to the Midwest corn belt,” Dillan stated.
Dean finished it off. “Plus, this group you want will know you’re coming and lose courage.”
Cesar gestured savagely and the brothers knew they’d won.
“America is dead, and I will show them that!” Cesar gestured violently, the missing fingers making it a grotesque motion. He didn’t see the looks the twins were giving his young slave. She was his personal property, and he didn’t share. He wanted to be sure the bastards he left were his, and every man in his camp knew he would kill (the girl and the man) to be sure of it.
“It shall be as you say. Drink, smoke, rest. Tomorrow, we take Windsor and then you shall have the revenge you deserve. Now, let us go get my gift, and you will prove she is pure.”
2
Cesar invaded the untouched town of Windsor under the cover of darkness and a violent thunderstorm, ruthlessly directing his men to block escape routes at all four corners of the city.
They split up, began moving in at the stroke of midnight, and gave no mercy to anyone, like they hadn’t in any of the other towns and cities they’d taken along Interstate 25. Moving inward, the Mexicans slowly invaded Windsor over the next six hours, burning everything as they traveled. Those few who managed to escape would have nothing to return to.
Doors were kicked in and terrified girls and women were dragged into the rain, floors and bedclothes soaking up the blood of their husbands and fathers. Those found with the radio broadcasting good old American values were tortured, beheaded, and dismembered, then left with Mexican flags draped over their faces. All the males were killed where they were found, babies left to die alone, and female after female was raped, beaten, broken.
During the first hours of this hell, the twins were in Cesar’s tent, taking what was his. They snuck back to join the battle (slaughter) after they filled her with seed over and over, and Cesar never knew they hadn’t been with him all the time.
A few of his sharper men could have told him, but that might mean a confrontation between the three, and Cesar’s men weren’t sure he would come out on top. The twins were hard, and none of Cesar’s crew wanted them in control. Their way of life now was perfect, without rules, and the stocky Mexican was still followed without hesitation even when they got to Fort Collins and found it abandoned. Word had spread through the area, and the survivors were scared.
The slavers were coming.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Success and Failure
March 21st, 2013
1
This had to be close enough.
Adrian waited for Kenn to finish updating the newest Eagle who was about to take over his post for his shift of eight in the morning to two in the afternoon. Jeremy was on Neil’s team, Level Three status, and the right to have Point had only been earned last night.
Adrian sighed, tired and worried as he waited for his people to get ready to start another day of hard traveling. They were on the edge of the Thunder Basin National Grasslands, off 387, and while he was glad to be east of 25, pictures had verified that Casper and Buffalo were ghost towns.
It made his stomach burn. One was buried, the other submerged. His warning hadn’t been heard, hadn’t mattered. They hadn’t picked up a single survivor since the dust storm, which made these people in Cheyenne all the more important.
Sighing again, Adrian swept the mountains that surrounded them. Would the evergreens up there have the mold that the fir and pine trees down here did? Would it smell like smoke and unburied dead? Were there bodies of deer, m
oose, and people? He was almost sure they would discover that for themselves.
“You’re The Man on this one, Marine. You ready?” Adrian asked as Kenn came to his side, sharp tone of a drill instructor replacing the calm demeanor the camp usually witnessed. The slavers’ rampage had traveled up Interstate 25 faster than they had estimated, and Cheyenne had called again.
“Locked and loaded. Kyle’s team is stowing the beans, bags, and bullets.”
“They’re good to go, eager to prove themselves. What about you, jarhead? How do you feel?”
Kenn’s expression was hard as he noted Adrian’s dusty jeans and wrinkled camouflage shirt. He’d been up all night again. “Good, ready.”
“In and out, Marine, like with the old lady. But if not, if something goes wrong and you have to fight?”
Kenn’s voice was intent. “Then we’ll kill as many as we can.”
It may have been wrong in the old world, but it was all that was left to them now, and Adrian made them believe in it by doing it himself whenever he thought the man’s crimes (it was almost always the men who committed big transgressions now) warranted it. This definitely did.
The slavers were a growing threat that he felt duty-bound to eliminate. But he couldn’t yet, not against one hundred fifty well-armed men who had become good at conquering large groups of survivors. The terrible stories of the refugees who had escaped, town after town, neighborhood after neighborhood (life after life!), said he needed to tread carefully with the slavers.
It pleased him that Kenn seemed to feel it too, repeating himself to make sure his boss knew.
“If any opportunity comes up to do damage, we’ll take it. I’ll take it.”
Adrian clapped him on the arm, satisfied that Kenn meant it. They had been falling behind and would arrive later than expected. That made the mission more dangerous, putting the Eagles and the slavers near Cheyenne at roughly the same time.
