by R. J. Spears
“Time to cut me loose,” Russell said.
“You aren’t going anywhere” Del said. “We need you at our backs.”
Russell tried to focus on the two of them, but the halos were expanding, and they seemed to shimmer. “Where’s Jones?” Russell asked, craning his neck to see past the cab of the pickup.
Jo leaned in and spoke in a quiet voice, “He’s having a crisis of conscience. We ran into a small patrol and it went south. We had to kill two of his old soldiers. It did not sit well with him.”
“But he’s clearly on our side,” Russell said. “Right?”
“Yes and no,” Jo replied. “He knows he did the right thing when he came down on our side against the Colonel, but he’s not good with us killing any more of his men.”
“With what we’re planning,” Del said, “that’s going to be a hard thing to avoid.”
“So, what is this plan?” Russell asked.
“It’s still coming together,” Jo said. “I really want Sergeant Jones’ input, but the mood he’s in, I’m worried to go near to him. He just might bite me.”
Madison, who had moved from the front of the top of the cab, now sat with her legs dangling into the bed of the truck. She let out a little laugh.
“Bottom-line, we need to take out their choppers,” Jo said. “We found some hand grenades with the soldiers we fought with, but unless one of us can throw one of those a hundred yards with some accuracy, they aren’t all that useful for what we need to do.”
“Can’t we just snipe the gas tanks?” Russell asked.
Del spoke. “Maybe, but those choppers have armored hides. I doubt if too many of our shots could get the job done. Plus we’d draw in a lot of attention.”
Jo leaned onto the side of the truck. “We also failed to mention that there seem to be a lot more soldiers there.”
“What?” Russell asked.
“It’s like they got reinforcements from their base out of Dayton. A lot of them. At least that’s what Jones thinks,” Del said while peering over at Jones, who was still not looking at them. Del thought Jones looked like some sort of granite statue, caught up deeply in contemplation and most likely regret.
“How many more?” Russell asked.
“Not sure,” Del said. “Forty. Maybe eighty.”
“Well, that complicates things,” Russell said.
That’s when Madison piped up, “I could try my lost little girl routine again and try to sneak in.”
“That would only work if no one there knows you,” Jo said. “There are still enough soldiers there from our little rebellion who will remember you.” Jo knew Madison would be nearly impossible to forget after she had killed two of the soldiers.
“Where does that leave us?” Russell asked.
“With limited options,” Jo said. “The best one will be to sneak in under the cover of darkness. Maybe plant a grenade or two on the helicopters and then hightail it out of there.”
“That seems like a big risk,” Russell said.
“I could do it,” Madison said. “I’m small and fast.”
Jo looked up at the girl and said, “Madison, we appreciate your offer, honey, but the risk is too high for someone your age.”
The set of Madison’s face changed, and she shot one of her legs out and drew it back hard, smacking the heel of her shoe against the back window the truck. “You guys need to stop treating me like a child. Mr. Schultz didn’t, and that might be the only way any of you got out of there alive.”
She didn’t wait for a response but swiveled around toward the front of the truck, slid down the windshield and jumped off the side of the hood, walking away in a huff. Jo followed Madison with her eyes, wondering if the girl would do something rash like go take on a platoon of men by herself, but the girl just went into the woods and leaned against a tree. She crossed her arms and looked sullen in that way that only teenagers can do -- the world doesn’t understand me and is actively working against all that I care about. In the old world that would have meant dating. In the post-apocalyptic world, it meant survival.
The outburst from Madison served as just enough distraction for Jones to get on his feet and start in the group’s direction.
“Here he comes,” Del whispered under his breath.
Jo turned her attention to Jones, who was striding toward them with purpose, his face set as if in stone.
He came up beside the truck and stood in silence for a few seconds. Jo didn’t know if she should draw him out or not, so she waited instead.
Jones let out a deep breath and said, “I know you’re working on some plan over here. You think maybe the two of you can disable or take out those helicopters on your own.” He looked to each one of them and held them in a hard stare. “Well, you can’t and you won’t. First, it would be suicide. None of you are equipped for anything like this.”
Del raised his hand, but Jones cut him off.
“I know you were in the service, but you drove trucks, right?” Jones asked, his right eyebrow arched upward.
“I did get into some combat,” Del said, defending himself. “More than once, my convoy came under attack. I know how to handle myself.”
“But you’ve never conducted a stealth attack on a heavily fortified military installation.” Jones once again locked eyes with Del, and it was Del who faltered. “No, I didn’t think so.”
“So, we just walk away?” Jo said. “That’s not acceptable.”
“Neither is any of you making an attack. For one reason, you’ll get yourself killed. For a second one, I won’t let you. If you do make it in there and are discovered, you’re going to have to fight for your life -- which means you may be killed, and that increases the chance that my men will be killed. I’ve had enough of that.”
Jo let out a sigh, then said, “These aren’t your men anymore. You made your choice. You should learn to live with it.”
“They will never stop being my men,” Jones said, his expression flat and emotionless.
It was Jo’s turn to go hard-faced. “Which means we are at a stalemate.”
“No,” Jones said, holding up his index finger. “There is one and only one option.” He paused, letting the silence emphasize his point. “I go in there and disable the choppers. By myself.”
“How the hell can you do that when we can’t?” Del asked.
“I know these men,” Jones said. “I’ve trained them. I know how they work. I’ll go at night and can try to blend in. It won’t be hard.”
Del spoke next, “You’ll have to excuse me, but you’re a pretty big fella and blending in is going to be a real challenge.”
An uneasy silence filled the air between them for the next few seconds.
Jones broke that silence. “It’s that or we leave. There are no other options. Take it or leave it.”
Jo considered what Jones had put on the table. It did lower the risk because it meant that only one of them was taking all of it, but it also meant that the chance for failure was higher. Failure was not an option. Their people were depending on them to get those helicopters out of the skies, no matter what it took.
Equally troubling was the sneaking concern that Jones might return to the fold, and if the soldiers embraced him, that left them up shit-creek without a paddle. He knew where they were and could probably find out where their people were hiding on the way east. She knew this was a remote chance, but there was so much on the line.
Despite this niggling concern, she had grown to trust the man. It was hard to turn her back on him because he had given up so much to do what was right.
“Okay,” she said, and a weight lifted off their little gathering. “You’re on. What can we do to help?”
Chapter 39
Delayed Departure
Staying behind was a really bad idea. My head knew it. My legs knew it and wanted to run. My guts knew it and wanted to go with my legs. All-in-all, every part of my being was telling me to run, but my stubborn old heart was the lone holdout, clinging
against all probably reality and better judgment that Brent was probably dead.
Not probably, said my head. He is dead. Every one of Jenelle’s people were dead. Between the time Brother Ed and I had spent watching and the time I had on my own, we hadn’t seen anyone but Kilgore’s troops hanging around amid the burning houses. Nothing in their body language bespoke of anything different. They all seemed relaxed, as if there was no more threat.
Not a care in the world really, other than tracking Jason and the rest of us down and eradicating us from the world. Talk about cheery thoughts.
None of these thoughts put me at ease. Brent was surely dead, and all my energy should have been invested in the living because if I didn’t, they might not go on living. The wolf was near, and he had a bloodhound with him, ready to sniff us out.
Still, like an idiot, I stayed rooted in place, watching Kilgore and his crew hanging out in the street just down from the house engulfed in flames. The upper floors of the house were gone. The roof had collapsed on itself, smashing through the second floor, sending gouts of flame onto the first floor. The intensity of the flames created a heat mirage that rippled the air between Kilgore and his men and me, giving them a shimmering, ghost like quality.
Billows of black smoke wafted in and around the houses and rolled down the street like ominous waves, filling some portions of the street. Fortunately for Kilgore and his men, the wind was blowing away from them or else they wouldn’t be able to stay where they were.
I didn’t feel the oppressive heat of the fire or the choking claustrophobia of the smoke, but I’m sure the soldier’s did, and I was hoping that was enough to drive them out of the area so that I could search for Brent. I avoided saying that I was searching for Brent’s body because that was conceding that I should have been heading north with great haste.
Still, the clock ticked away, and the soldier’s didn’t budge. I had no idea why they stayed, and there was no use guessing. I only knew Brother Ed would remain true to his promise and would be on the road north at the exact twenty minute mark from when he arrived back at the house. There was no stopping that, and I didn’t want him to. There was no use anyone else being at risk due to my fool’s errand.
I decided I had to get into action, even if Kilgore and his men stayed on the scene. As carefully as I could and with many, many glances toward the soldiers, I started cutting between houses, making my way south in an expansive arc around the danger. It was slow going, and I could feel seconds and minutes slipping away, but I kept moving. I made it two blocks south of where I suspected Kilgore and his men were when I spotted a truck sitting crossways in the street. There was something strangely familiar about it. I hadn’t seen it before, but I had. The memory just wasn’t concrete.
Sure, it could have been there for months, but in the recesses of my memory, there was an image of this specific truck, and it didn’t take my mind much time to recall it.
This was Kilgore’s truck. The one from my vision.
I pulled up quickly, and a voice in the back of my head said to retreat, but like the fool I am, I ignored it. Instead, I retreated into the shadows of a tree but locked my attention on the truck, watching for any movement. This lasted for nearly a minute, and I decided that, with time working against me, I had better take a chance and eased out of my hiding place, heading toward the back of the truck with my gun up and ready. By the time I was within twenty feet of it, I was taking very cautious slide-steps forward, trying to watch in every direction a once.
No one sat in the truck, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone in the bed of it or maybe sleeping across the back seat. It was a farfetched possibility, but when your life's on the line, it starts to seem like anything is possible. Maybe a giant humanoid rabbit with big furry ears and a hat was getting ready to spring out of the truck at any second.
Hey, the dead walked the Earth, why not giant bunnies?
No rabbit appeared, but I discovered the bed of the truck was full of weapons, but I didn’t dwell on them at that moment. Instead, I slid alongside the cab and peeked inside and found it empty. Just to cover all the bases, I circled around the front of the truck and placed a hand on the hood. It was warm.
Not that I really needed any more convincing that this was Kilgore’s truck, but any doubt was erased. I decided to detour to the bed again to see if I could see any goodies worth taking.
What I saw nearly astounded me. Laying in the bed of the truck was a cornucopia of weapons. Lots of them. Big ones, small ones, long ones, weapons of all kinds, and all of them looked dangerous. It was like Christmas morning during the apocalypse.
There were several assault rifles, an array of handguns, and one RPG with several warheads. Sprinkled in there was a handful of grenades. They had come loaded for war. It was a captivating mass of death dealing, and that’s how the soldier found me when he came around the back corner of the house on the north side of the street. I must have been gape-mouthed because he clearly saw me before I saw him despite every precaution I had taken just minutes before to remain undetected.
It was only when he stopped hard in the front yard that I caught his movement. I jerked my head up and looked across the forty or so feet between us and saw him starting to bring up his weapon.
He was a tall and lanky soldier, looking partially soot covered from being in the smoke from the fires. He wore an olive drab, Army-issued hat on his head with dark curly hair sticking out from under it. His expression was cold and flat and maybe a little detached, but he was going to kill me however he felt because that rifle he held was ascending into the firing position.
My reaction time was slow because he had spotted me first, but I had the one and deciding advantage that he didn’t. I had the truck between him and me, and he was out in the open.
Another person might have pulled back before firing but not this guy. He let loose as soon as he had his weapon up. The truck took the worst of his onslaught, bullets bursting deeply grooved holes in the cab and engine compartment. The bullets shattered the windows, sending a spray of safety glass back at me.
I ducked down and slid along the side of the truck, staying out of view and using the truck as my personal wall. One way to go would be to sprint out of there using the truck for cover, but that had some risk. Once I ran, my back would be exposed.
My best defense was offense, and I decided to drive this asshole back behind the house. Besides, there were some toys in that truck I wanted. Plus, I didn’t want that truck going anywhere after I was done with it.
I eased out beside the right fender and saw the soldier, now down on one knee, aiming at the truck. He must have not been able to see me or else I’m sure he would have kept blasting away.
“HEY!” he screamed. “I’ve got someone here!” Shouting back in the direction he had come from.
Well, that wasn’t fair. It was only supposed to be me and him.
I peeked out with my weapon up and fired a barrage at him. He ducked and rolled on the ground just as my bullets ripped a trough in the grass where he had been positioned. He stayed down but went flat against the ground and somehow managed to aim in my direction. It wasn’t much of an aim, but he got off a long rip of bullets, and I was forced to pull back.
I quickly made my way back down the side of the truck. Once I made it back to the bed, I popped up and fired another flurry of bullets his way.
He was a smart one and had already done the roll trick again, making his way toward the left side of the house. While he rolled, I quickly foraged. Had there been more time, I would have been more discriminating, but I just grabbed what came easiest and that turned out to be three hand grenades in a small canvas bag.
If I had had more time, I might have tried to take the truck, but there was no way this asshole was going to let me do that.
I made an on-the-spot decision and pulled the pin on one of the grenades and dropped it into the bed of the truck. There was no benefit in standing around to watch the end result of that, so I turned
and sprinted back toward a house on the south side of the street using the truck as a barrier between the soldier and me. I made it twenty feet when I heard the pounding report of a gun, and I turned on my jets. Just as I made it by the corner of the house, I took the quickest of peeks backward and saw another soldier standing beside the house where the other soldier still lay prone. This new arrival did not hesitate and unloaded on me.
Splinters of wood sprayed off the house just next to my shoulder as the soldier’s bullets tore off siding and the wood beneath. I edged just past the wooden carnage and disappeared around the corner with only inches and milliseconds to spare.
Good fortune shined on me as the grenade went off and the truck went up like a Fourth of July fireworks show. Not that I stopped to look. I only hoped that it distracted them enough that I could make my getaway.
My next obstacle was a small fence that wrapped around the backyard. I vaulted it and took an immediate right turn and started across the backyards of the houses along the street. I slowed only to glance between the gaps of the neatly spaced out houses. Nothing came into view, so I guessed Kilgore’s men had their hands full with the exploding ordinance in the back of the truck.
My intent was to do what I could to check for any sign of Brent. Foolhardy, I know, but I owed it to Linda to give her something definitive. There was a lot of risk involved and little chance of reward, but I maintained my pace, and I made it to the second to the last house on the block and cut toward its front. My purpose was to find out where Kilgore and his men were. I could run as fast and as far as I could, but there was a chance I could blunder into this if I ran blindly.
I slowed as I came to the front of the house and peered around its corner trying to get some appraisal on Kilgore’s next move. It turned out his next move was to lose his shit as he watched the truck go up in flames. It was hard to get an actual gauge on what he was doing from the distance I was away, but there was no denying he wasn’t happy. He was stomping his feet and the two soldiers at the scene were getting their asses chewed. I was fine with that.
