by Vohs, J. W.
The soldiers hated being so exposed in a strung-out column, and the aggressive attack on the cab of the tanker rattled everyone. The overall result of the traffic jams and hunter attacks was that most drivers were looking to trade positions with the troops plying the watercraft. The sailors had experienced a change of attitude after hearing their comrades complain of life on the road.
Maddy shared her soldiers’ frustration. After plopping herself on the frozen ground near Luke and Gracie’s fire, she released a deep sigh and half-jokingly asked, “Either of you need a break from that freezin’ river? I’ll trade places with you tomorrow.”
Zach had also arrived for the evening council. “Hold on a minute, you’re supposed to be my partner. What if I was gonna ask to switch for tomorrow?”
“OK, partner, do you even know what a double standard is?”
Luke was struggling to conceal his smile. “So, uh, Zach, just out of curiosity, why are you asking to swap positions tomorrow.”
“You had any hunters swimming out to meet you and trying to climb in your boat?” He paused for half a second. “I didn’t think so.”
Gracie had heard the report, but she was still skeptical. “Did you actually see them trying to open the doors of the truck?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” Zach snapped. “Just who do you think ordered those archers into position? I’m telling you, they knew what they were doing.”
Luke’s skin prickled; he had no doubt that Zach was correct. He looked from Zach to Maddy. “If you two want to switch places, we can do that.”
Zach shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but you know we’d never really leave our troops; I was just complaining.”
“And he is really good at that,” Maddy added. “I was just kidding around—don’t think for one minute that we can’t handle ourselves. Well, I can handle myself, and I can handle this buffoon . . .” she playfully punched Zach in the arm and he reached over and pulled her ponytail.
Gracie looked at Luke. “So do we have to start worrying about hunters opening car doors now?”
“I think as they keep evolving, they’re gonna keep acquiring new skills. We should be aware of what a small number of them might be capable of, but avoid blowing it out of proportion.” Luke wasn’t sure of any precise details, but he had a strong feeling that the behavior of the two creatures in question was still an anomaly. For now.
CHAPTER 22
The next few days played out in much the same way as the first, with intermittent road blockages slowing the convoy’s progress, but only a few “typical” hunter attacks that were easily and effectively dealt with. On the fourth day, things got interesting.
“Luke?” Zach called calmly over the radio.
Gracie had a small hand-held unit attached to her coat as she piloted the canoe for the day, so she answered the call. “Hey Zach, what’s up?”
After a brief hesitation, Zach gave a coded message. “Just one of those days . . .”
Gracie instantly realized that the convoy had been stopped and needed Luke’s attention. The phrase Zach had just uttered was two steps below the signal for a full-blown attack that required everyone to come as quickly as possible. Something was definitely wrong. She was worried but kept her voice neutral as she replied, “Okay, Zach, I’ll get Luke for you.”
Luke took the radio from Gracie. “Go, Zach.”
“Hey, uh, we’ve been stopped by a Texas Ranger who wants to know why we’re in Army vehicles without military ID’s; he wants to see my commanding officer.”
A hundred thoughts rushed into Luke’s mind upon hearing Zach’s message, most of them positive; a local officer of the law wanted to see ID’s! As he jotted down the location of the head of the convoy and waved Gracie toward shore, he allowed himself to hope that some vestiges of authority had survived in northern Texas. The Rangers had a legendary reputation among American law enforcement agencies, and had actually been a military force earlier in their illustrious history. From fighting Comanches to Yankees to Mexican bandit-armies, the Rangers had always seemed to be bigger and badder than the average state police forces across the nation.
Gracie saw the situation in a different light: one cop holding up a mile-long military convoy. “This guy must have brass balls.”
Luke did a double-take, then laughed hard for about five seconds.
“What?” she demanded.
He blushed slightly before explaining, “Since when have you ever mentioned people’s balls?”
Gracie giggled. “I used to hear my dad say that whenever he saw somebody do something that required a lot of courage, or maybe stupidity. He also used to say that sometimes you can’t slide a piece of paper between courage and stupidity.”
“So you’re saying that this guy is either very brave or very stupid?”
Gracie nodded. “Yeah, and either way, I want you to be careful with him.”
By the time Luke arrived at the crossroads where Zach had been stopped, carried to the scene by a Hummer sent to give him a lift, an entire platoon of black-clad infantry was standing in formation ten meters behind their leader. The troops stood at port-arms, with pikes across their chests, but they were fully armored and obviously ready to immediately resort to violence if they decided that Zach was in danger. Luke noticed right away that the Texas Ranger was standing next to a huge horse, bridle in hand and wearing a large cowboy hat; Of course he is. I wonder if Chuck Norris is on his way with the cavalry?
Luke immediately regretted the internal jest as he closed the door to the Hummer and a thunder of hooves from the crest of the rise behind the lawman heralded the arrival of at least a hundred horsemen. The riders were wearing leg protection of various designs, though most were outfitted in simple riding chaps Luke thought had been left behind with the demise of the cowboy culture of the 19th Century. The gear didn’t look a hundred years old, so the chaps were obviously of modern construction. Other cavalrymen sported leather pants similar in appearance to the racing-garb Luke’s soldiers used. The troopers were also gloved and clad in heavy winter-coats of varied color and design; they wore hats intended to keep out the cold rather than protect them from bites. All of the fighters carried long lances in giant, quiver-like devices attached to the rear of their saddles, with the usual assortment of cutting and bludgeoning weapons close at hand. None of that concerned Luke. What struck a spark of fear in his heart was the fact that every trooper was carrying what appeared to be a modern hunting rifle in his hands. The balance of power between his own force and that of the Ranger was now in serious question.
Luke’s attention was diverted from the Texas cavalry by Maddy rushing forward, with most of her company following at the quick-march. As with Zach’s troops, Maddy’s were fully armored with pikes in hand. She called a halt when Luke held up a closed fist, accompanied by a serious expression that even she understood and accepted as a sign that no argument was allowed in this situation. Satisfied that none of his soldiers were about to provoke a violent reaction from the heavily armed cavalry, Luke turned and made his way to the stand-off at the front of the convoy. He hoped that his face displayed more confidence than he felt; he and most of his soldiers were young, and the Ranger was old enough to be his father. Fighting hunters was Luke’s specialty, and he could handle bad humans too, but he had no desire to get into a scrape with a band of rifle-toting Texan cowboys.
Upon reaching Zach and the state police officer, Luke held out his hand in greeting. “Good morning, sir, I’m Captain Smith, Allied Resistance.”
The lawman stood a few inches shorter than the two warriors before him, but he exuded the strength and confidence that only comes from wisdom gained through experience. The graying-haired, bearded Texan appeared to be somewhere between thirty-five and fifty, with hard eyes that were clear, bright, and suspicious. After a tense few seconds spent appraising the newly arrived young man standing non-threateningly before him, he gave Luke’s outstretched hand a firm shake. “Wyatt Sanders, Texas Rangers.”
Luke smiled briefly before politely asking, “Why have you stopped my column, Officer Sanders?”
The ranger scowled. “There’re a lot of folks around here countin’ on me to keep ‘em safe. My men have done a great job of exterminatin’ the infected, but we trusted people we shouldn’t have early on . . .”
Luke held up a hand that indicated his understanding. “You don’t have to explain yourself to us, sir. We’ve been visiting settlements all along the Red River, from here to Shreveport, and there’ve definitely been some places where law and order desperately needed to be reestablished.”
Sanders nodded. “I’m glad you understand where I’m comin’ from, Captain. I’m sure you realize why I need to see some military ID before I let you pass through our territory.”
Luke shifted slightly, instinctively comprehending the fact that now was not a good time to display any indecision. “The U.S. government is gone. A General from USAMRIID named Matthew Barnes is calling himself president back east, and he has a fleet of Blackhawks and a few battalions of soldiers and conscripts he uses to project power. But he’s a fraud; the president is dead. Barnes created and introduced the virus into Afghanistan, apparently with the goal of ruling what was left of the world after the infection ran its course. The only legal authority that remains in the former United States is that wielded by people such as you, in localities where you’ve managed to maintain the authority you held before the outbreak, and the officers of the Allied Resistance now fighting Barnes’ forces. I’m a captain in that force, which is headed by Generals Stephen Carlson of the Utah Territory, and Jack Smith of the Indiana Resistance Force. We also have associated units along the Mississippi and central Louisiana.”
The Ranger seemed intrigued, but remained firm on his original demand. “So, no ID?”
Luke turned to Zach. “Lieutenant, order your soldiers to shoulder arms and march them back to join with Lieutenant Johnson’s company. Send a message to halt all other forces in place until we obtain permission to use these roads or decide to choose another route.”
Zach obviously didn’t want to leave his friend and commander alone with a Texas Ranger backed by a hundred, rifle-toting horsemen of unknown intent. “Sir . . .?”
“Do it, Lieutenant,” Luke ordered in a tone he’d never used with his buddy before. “Turn your troops over to Johnson and start mapping out some alternative routes north of the river.”
Sanders shook his head as he watched Zach move off to follow the order. “My jurisdiction extends well to the north of the Red River; until I know who you are, and how you came to be in possession of one hell of a lot of U.S. Army property, you aren’t crossin’ any of our borders.”
Luke nodded slightly as he worked on a solution to the impasse. Finally, he observed, “I notice, officer, that you aren’t wearing a uniform or a badge.”
Sanders slowly reached toward a pocket inside of his coat. “All my uniforms are too big on me now; I look ridiculous.”
Luke again held up a hand to stop the officer from continuing the search for his badge. “Officer Sanders, I’m sure you keep the badge safe because it has some sentimental value to you. Perhaps a family member or a respected mentor pinned it to your chest when you became a Ranger?”
Sanders nodded slowly. “Your point?”
Luke used his chin to indicate the line of horsemen arrayed behind the lawman. “Nobody needs to see a badge or uniform to know that you’re in charge around here, and the fact that you’re still alive, and worried about civilians, makes you one of the good guys in my book.”
Ranger Sanders looked behind Luke for a good ten seconds, taking in the view of the ranks of heavily armed and armored soldiers standing in formations that indicated tight discipline. He could tell from body height and shape beneath the generally tight-fitting leathers that there were plenty of women in the ranks: there didn’t appear to be any of the slavery he’d heard about in some of the lawless areas of the southwest. “I get your point, to a point. You’re obviously the commander of a pretty impressive military unit, and crossin’ Louisiana and Texas and livin’ to talk about the trip proves that your soldiers know how to fight. So I accept that you’re a captain in somebody’s army, but I have no way of knowin’ what your intentions are here.”
Luke tried again. “I’m from Indiana, and I ended up recuperating from a wound suffered during the Battle of Vicksburg while the rest of our volunteers went back home with General Smith.”
The Ranger’s eyes narrowed. “One of our hams picked up a broadcast about a big fight at Vicksburg. The humans won, huh?”
“Yes sir, that General Barnes has a way of controlling the infected from his helicopters, and he rounded up tens of thousands of them and tried to capture the bridge at Vicksburg. Two Utah divisions came east on the Pacific Northern Railroad . . .”
The increasingly intrigued officer interrupted, “Wait a minute, y’all got railroads runnin’ up north?”
“We have the Pacific Northern running one track between Utah and Fort Wayne, and another line was opened up from Iowa to Vicksburg when we saw where Barnes was headed. That bastard would be here now if we hadn’t stopped him below the Ohio and east of the Mississippi.”
Ranger Sanders took one last glance at Luke’s impressive-looking soldiers before coming to a decision. “Hell, son, even if you’re just makin’ this stuff up, I want to hear the rest of the story. How ‘bout you have your people set up a bivouac along the river, and you and me can parlay out here over some steaks?”
Luke feigned the act of thinking the proposal over for a moment, so the Ranger tried again. “Have your folks set up defensive positions anchored on the Red; even if we had bad intentions we wouldn’t be able to use our horses to flank y’all.”
“Your soldiers have rifles,” Luke objected. “We have a few .22 pistols.”
Officer Sanders held up one finger with a twinkle in his eye. At the sight of what was obviously a pre-arranged signal, one of the horsemen trotted forward to join his commander. The young trooper had quickly slipped his gun into a sheath attached to the saddle before he approached, keeping both hands on the reins as a sign of peaceful intentions. As the man arrived, he perfunctorily saluted his leader and drawled, “Ya need to see me, sir?”
“I need your firearm, son.”
The trooper obediently pulled the weapon out and handed it over; Sanders immediately passed the gun to Luke. “Ever seen one of these?” He asked with a grin.
Luke had seen it before, in a magazine. The rifle was a muzzleloader of modern design; it looked like a bolt-action .30-06 or .308 from a distance, but the gun was loaded with black powder and a lead bullet forced down the barrel with a rod. He doubted that the weapon was anywhere near as accurate as Civil War-era rifles, and could probably only be fired once from horseback in a hot fight with a horde of infected. If his army was dug in or behind the Hummers, they would be nearly impervious to the cavalry’s guns. If the troopers moved in to engage at close-quarters, Luke’s pike and spear-men would slaughter them and their mounts with relative ease.
He handed the muzzleloader back to Sanders. “If I was you, and I don’t have your experience so you’re probably way ahead of me on arming your fighters, I would order each of my soldiers to carry several revolvers as well. I know the Confederate cavalry units often did that: it gave them a big advantage during any melee against Union horsemen.”
The Ranger shrugged, “They all have at least one of those, but they’re inaccurate as hell during a tight scrape with a bunch of eaters: head shots are a bitch. And I was about to tell you that we had ‘em; we’re not tryin’ to put nothin’ over on ya.”
Luke accepted the stolid lawman’s explanation. “I believe you; last thing either of us need is a fight against a competent human military unit.”
“That would definitely be a waste in these times.”
Luke smiled warmly. “Every instinct I have is telling me your word is good, officer.”
Sanders re
turned the smile. “Call me Wyatt. Meet back here at noon? Bring a few of your people along if you want; I’ll arrange steaks for lunch.”
“Sounds good,” Luke replied. “I’ll bring cornbread, and a trusted friend or two. We’ll be unarmed.”
The Ranger suddenly looked alarmed. “Hell no, son, I can’t guarantee there’s no eaters in the area; the critters follow the river into our territory. You folks wear your damn weapons!”
Officer Sanders had just passed Luke’s final test. “Thank you, sir, I figured you’d say something like that.”
Sanders laughed with genuine mirth. “You’re a sharp one, kid; I’ll see you in a coupla hours. And call me Wyatt.”
John and Tina arrived in Vicksburg with more than a handful of prisoners from the Castle. They had an interesting lead on how Barnes was still managing to keep his aircraft fueled so long after the collapse of industrial civilization.
“Ever hear of Hydrotreated Renewable Jet fuel?” Tina looked from Jack to Carter. “Maybe the HEFA process?”
Both men stared at her blankly. “Yeah, well, neither had I. But it turns out that there’s been a lot of research into renewable jet fuels produced from organic materials like vegetable oils and animal fat. No surprise that the military was funding a lot of it.”
“So yer sayin’ that Barnes is able to make his own fuel for his choppers?” Carter scowled. “I guess it makes sense that if the bastard was plannin’ on controlin’ his flesh-eaters with aircraft, he’d of planned for keepin’ ‘em in the air.”
“Yeah, but there’s some good news.” Tina smiled at Jack. “Turns out there’s only one facility in the continental United States that was set up to produce this biofuel. It’s in Norco, Louisiana, not quite two hundred miles straight south of here.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “On the Gulf?”
