Trackers 2: The Hunted (A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Raven wiped another streak of paint across his forehead and let out a long sigh. “What if things go south?”

  “Then you hightail it out of here. I don’t want you trying to rescue me, okay? Go back to Estes Park and get help. One of us has to make it back.”

  After a moment of hesitation, Raven nodded again. “Don’t worry, I got your back, Major.”

  “I know,” Nathan said. He knew how crazy the plan sounded. He had a broken arm, a sprained ankle, and his entire body hurt. Raven was in better shape, but not by much.

  But they had the element of surprise, automatic weapons, a Humvee, and something the skinheads didn’t have‌—‌heart.

  Nathan reached out with his bandaged fist, and Raven bumped it back.

  “Shit, that kind of hurt,” Raven said when he pulled his hand back, chuckling. “I guess that’s not a good sign.”

  “You’re a tough son of a bitch, brother. You’ll be fine.”

  Raven shrugged a shoulder. He turned away, but Nathan tapped his sleeve.

  “Thank you, Raven,” Nathan said. “I’m grateful to have you with me.”

  “You saved my sister and niece. Least I can do is get myself shot up for your nephew.”

  Raven flipped the night vision goggles over his camouflaged features.

  “Happy hunting,” Nathan said.

  They parted ways, both of them knowing that the odds were good that they wouldn’t make it out of the Castle alive. Raven slipped out of the forest and down the slope of the hill to the outcroppings of rocks. He carried his MK11, but he had access to plenty of extra firepower. They had placed five M4s in strategic nooks along the bluff under the cover of darkness. As soon as Nathan drove into position, Raven would run from nest to nest and open fire to make it look like there was a small army up here. Then he would pick off each target with the MK11. Or maybe he would start with the MK11. Either way, Nathan trusted Raven to get it done.

  On the way back to the Humvee, Nathan managed his thoughts just like he always did before climbing into the cockpit of his F-16. He couldn’t let the desire for revenge get the best of him now. They had come too far for that. He had to be smart about this.

  Nathan checked on Joe when he returned to the truck. The plan was to keep him tied up, but that plan changed when he saw Joe wasn’t breathing. Nathan placed two fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse that wasn’t there.

  It was hard as hell to feel anything for these men. They had made their decision to join with the wrong side, and they would pay with their lives.

  Working quickly, he untied Joe and pulled him from the truck. Then he moved the body to the passenger seat, propping him up in what he hoped looked like a natural pose. He turned on the truck, headlights splashing across the road. The high beams cut through a light curtain of fog drifting across the road below. He rolled the window down to let in fresh air. This was it.

  Unlike the forest they had passed through to get here, the night was alive with sounds. Bugs chirped, and a bird cawed in the distance, the calming music of nature filling the truck. In a way, it felt almost like this was just a leisurely drive through a park. But then the headlights captured the tower and the two soldiers outside‌—‌including their shaved heads and high-powered rifles.

  Nathan gritted his teeth and continued down the road at thirty miles an hour. He could see the roofs of the cabins now, and the three men patrolling outside. Another soldier stood warming his hands next to the fire pit in the courtyard.

  Taking one hand off the steering wheel, Nathan grabbed his M9 and kept it near the door. The two men stepped away from the guard tower and strode to the road in a relaxed manner. One of them held up a gloved hand.

  Nathan hadn’t planned for that and eased off the gas. He’d thought he would be able to drive right into the camp. Instead, he came to a stop about two hundred yards from the entrance, hoping these men couldn’t see his face in the moonlight‌—‌or the fact that Joe was dead.

  The guard on the left walked toward the Humvee, while the one on the right remained in the road. Nathan aimed his M9 at the driver’s door as the man approached.

  “Come on, Raven,” Nathan whispered. The only reply was the pounding of his heart. He could hear it beating like a riveter in his chest. He raised his foot, prepared to stomp the gas, when a streak of red whizzed by the truck like a meteorite.

  Nathan didn’t hear the gunshot, but he saw the bullet hit the dirt. Raven’s first shot had missed. The skinhead stumbled backward and Nathan pointed his M9 out the open window.

  Pop, pop!

  Nathan dropped the guy with shots to the eye and nose. The second guard took a 7.62 mm round to the chest, blood gushing from the wound and coating the ground. Raven had come through. From over a thousand yards out, it was a hell of a shot.

  There was a fleeting moment of silence in the valley as the other guards realized what was happening. Then the real gunfire started. Muzzle fire from one of Raven’s nooks illuminated the rocky bluff behind the Humvee. Return fire flashed across the camp from every direction.

  Nathan punched the pedal and sped toward the entrance. The skinheads outside the buildings ran for cover, leaving their posts just like Nathan had hoped. A heavyset man lumbered into the road with a rifle aimed at Raven’s position. Nathan pointed his M9 out the window and got off two shots that sent the man diving for cover.

  The radio Nathan had forgotten about suddenly barked to life.

  “Snake Nest, this is Tower 1. We’re under attack, I repeat‌—‌” The voice was silenced, and a body plummeted from the top of the tower in the rearview mirror as Nathan raced toward the camp.

  Four down. Not bad, Raven.

  Nathan swerved off the road and saw the fat skinhead running away from the gunfire. The headlights captured his thick, tattooed arms and the back of his shaved skull. He glanced over his shoulder, his face a mask of terror as Nathan plowed into him.

  The crack of metal on bone drowned out the gunfire as the man was knocked down and crushed under the weight of the Humvee. He put the vehicle into reverse and ran the guy over again for good measure. There was a muffled screech and then silence as Nathan steered back toward the camp. As soon as he turned back onto the road, gunfire lanced into the windshield. He ducked down as rounds bit into the seats. Two of the bullets tore through Joe’s corpse.

  “Shit,” Nathan muttered. He slammed on the brakes, put the vehicle in park, and grabbed his M4. Another flurry of shots hit the front of the vehicle, punching through metal. He bailed out, losing the radio in the process. Keeping low, he bolted for the cover of the nearest tree. His ankle screamed at him, but adrenaline kept him moving.

  Rounds speared the Humvee, shattering windows and pinging off the armored turret. Safely behind the tree, he counted the sound of the rifles. There were at least three or four, maybe more.

  Nathan risked a glance around the right side of the tree. A skinhead half-hidden behind a barrel outside the first cabin saw him and squeezed off a burst. The bullets hit the tree, peppering Nathan with bark.

  Holding in a breath, Nathan moved around the left side of the tree and fired a three-round burst that hit the barrel. Return fire cut into the tree before he could raise the red dot sight.

  He placed his back against the trunk and waited.

  There was a brief lull in the gunfire. Exhaling, Nathan bolted from around the tree and took up position behind a boulder. He popped up and fired a shot that hit the guy behind the barrel in the neck.

  Nathan was up and moving before the body hit the dirt.

  Two more muzzle flashes came from the camp, but neither of them were focused on him. He centered his rifle on the last flash and then pulled the trigger. A shout, then silence.

  Nathan stopped behind another tree to catch his breath and change his magazine. A stick crunched somewhere to his right, and he glanced over to see a tall man with an athletic build looking down the iron sights of his rifle.

  “Got you, you piece of shit,” the m
an snarled.

  The top of his shaved skull suddenly flew up like a white toupee caught in a fierce wind. Nathan didn’t stick around to check if he was dead. He moved fast with his rifle roving for targets, his broken arm throbbing with pain. He raked the muzzle back and forth.

  Nothing moved across his field of vision.

  Had they done it? Were all the skinheads down?

  “I’m coming, Ty,” Nathan whispered. He ran to the nearest building and grabbed the handle, but it clicked, locked. He took a step back and kicked the door open with his good foot to reveal a room filled with crates.

  Nathan cursed and ran for the second cabin. He opened the unlocked door, but found only more supplies.

  Where the hell were the kids?

  A bullet hit the dirt when he moved back outside. He looked up at the cliff. Was that a warning?

  Hold the fuck on, Raven.

  Nathan got to the third cabin when he heard the rattle and cough of engines.

  He froze.

  Not just a few engines. Dozens of them. Some of them sounded like the whine and splutter of old motorcycles and dirt bikes. Others were the deep roar of diesel engines, possibly military vehicles. The enemy’s cavalry was en route. He had to get moving.

  Nathan ran for the third and final cabin.

  “Come on Ty, please be here,” he said.

  He opened the door. A man hiding inside raised a pistol and fired. The shot hit the frame of the door just above Nathan’s head. He answered with a three-round burst into the man’s chest and then stumbled back outside.

  The kids weren’t here.

  Ty wasn’t here.

  This wasn’t the Castle. It was just the forward operating base.

  Nathan’s mind raced. Either Joe had lied, or maybe he hadn’t known as much as he pretended. Either way, Nathan was fucked if he didn’t get moving.

  He ran for the Humvee, his ankle hurting so badly it felt like he was ripping the muscle. If he could reach the truck, maybe he could get back to Raven and find a way out of here. They’d have to regroup, scout the area again. Joe had mentioned tunnels in the mountains, but searching those would require more time.

  Headlights swept over him. Nathan jumped into the Humvee just as the bikes came into view. Behind them, pickup trucks full of soldiers and two Humvees drove down the road feeding into the back of the camp.

  Heart kicking, Nathan slammed the door. The engine was still on, but it was making a rattling sound. When he shifted into reverse, the truck jolted and then stalled. He tried it again, but got only another grinding noise.

  “Come on! Come on!” he shouted, trying again.

  Nathan decided to abandon the truck. He grabbed his rifle and moved back outside just as one of the motorcycles zipped down the road. Several more circled around him, cutting off his escape.

  “Drop your rifle!” someone shouted.

  “Hands on your head, asshole!” yelled another voice.

  Nathan hesitated, calculating the odds. He finally lowered the gun and dropped it to the dirt. He raised his hands above his head and slowly got to his knees.

  Nathan looked up at the hill, silently sending a message over and over again.

  Run, Raven.

  Nathan had failed, but Raven was still out there. He knew in his heart that Raven would come through on his promise to save Ty, just as he would have watched over Sandra and Allie if their positions were reversed.

  Over the angry shouts and curses came a surprisingly polite voice. “Well hello,” the voice said. “We weren’t expecting company.”

  Nathan looked up at a man with thick hair and a well-groomed beard shot through with gray. He raised a fist with brass knuckles, arched both brows, and said, “Welcome to the Castle. I really don’t think you’re going to enjoy your stay.”

  Sandra opened the front door for Allie. Colton had given them a lift to Raven’s house, and now he was lingering on the porch, looking like a man with something on his mind.

  He let out a sigh. “I really wish you would stay in town, Sandra. I told Raven I would look after you while he’s gone. The man who took our supplies and broke Theo out of jail is the same man your brother owes a lot of money to. Name of Nile Redford.”

  “Mr. Redford... That snake.” Sandra remembered that name all too well. She looked at the shotgun propped next to the front door and then sat on the porch swing.

  “You sure you won’t come stay with us?” Colton asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve got this gun and Creek to look after us. I feel safer up here, anyways.”

  “You know you’re welcome at my house. Kelly loves company, and I bet the girls would like a sleepover.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Chief. I can look after myself.”

  Colton sighed a second time. “I’m not the chief anymore, Sandra.”

  “What?” Sandra planted her feet on the porch, stopping the porch swing. “Why the hell not?”

  “Long story. I still haven’t told my wife yet.”

  “Who’s in charge?” Sandra asked.

  “Don Aragon.”

  Sandra sniffed. “That guy is a piece of work.”

  “It was his idea to execute the Todds,” Colton said. “Well, him and Mayor Gail.”

  “That’s one thing we agree on, then. Now people will know what happens when you mess with Estes Park.”

  “You sound just like them,” Colton said with a shake of his head. He put one hand on his duty belt and the other on the grip of his pistol, and turned to look at the sky.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m sick of people like the Todds, Mr. Redford, and Brown Feather thinking they can just take whatever they want.”

  Colton nodded like he understood.

  “We’ll be fine,” she continued. “Go home and spend some time with your family.”

  “I’ll stop by the medical center tomorrow and check on everything there,” Colton said. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” Sandra replied. Using her toes, she pushed the swing. It rocked back and forth. Creek watched Colton from the dirt at the bottom of the porch, ears perked. Allie came back outside and sat down beside Sandra. She chewed on a half of a peanut butter sandwich.

  “When is Uncle Raven going to come home?” Allie asked.

  “Soon, baby. Soon.” Sandra stroked her daughter’s hair and studied the dazzling stars in the black bowl overhead. She loved it out here. Estes Park had been a haven from her past, a place where she could start over and raise Allie among good people.

  At least, it had been a haven. Things were different now. The violence and fear had stripped away her peace of mind.

  Her eyes flitted from the stars to the shotgun propped up against the siding. She doubted Mr. Redford would come back, but she was prepared if he did. She wasn’t scared of him, especially after being kidnapped by Brown Feather. Nothing could be worse than that.

  A falling star caught her eye. It streaked over the jagged teeth of the mountains to the east.

  “Wow, did you see that?” Allie asked, sitting up.

  Another meteorite broke through the atmosphere and tore through the sky, leaving behind a trail of fire.

  “Is that the Raven Mocker, Mama?” Allie asked.

  Sandra pulled her hand from around her daughter’s back. “What? Who told you about the Raven Mocker?”

  “Um…Uncle Raven did?”

  “Of course he did,” Sandra said with a frown.

  Allie looked at the sky with curious eyes. “Does that mean someone is dying out there?”

  Sandra shook her head. “It’s just a story. It’s not real.”

  “Will you tell it to me?”

  “No, it’s too scary.”

  Sandra relaxed against the cushion. She used her feet to push off again, the swing creaking back and forth.

  “I promise I won’t get scared,” Allie said.

  Creek lifted his head to look at them as though he wanted to hear the story too.

  “Please?” Allie begged.

>   “Fine,” Sandra said. She pulled Allie close, using her arm as a wing.

  “The Raven Mocker is a witch from an old Cherokee tale. It was used to explain meteorites and falling stars, which is what we’re seeing now.”

  “A witch? Like in The Wizard of Oz?”

  “This is a male witch‌—‌a man who takes the form of fire when he sails through the sky, leaving behind sparks and making a sound like a high wind.”

  “I don’t hear any wind,” Allie said.

  “That’s because those are just shooting stars and not the Raven Mocker. The story says he appears at night when someone is dying.”

  “Do you think Uncle Raven is dying?”

  Sandra reared back at the question. “Allie, no! Why would you say that?”

  Creek let out another low whine and moved up the steps to sit next to the swing.

  “It’s okay, boy,” Sandra said. She reached down to pat his head. “I know you miss Raven. I miss him, too.”

  Sandra looked back to the sky just as another falling star streaked over the mountains. This time she heard the rushing of the wind.

  RAVEN ZOOMED IN on the Humvees and the pickup trucks that surrounded Nathan on all sides. Soldiers fanned out across the camp with their weapons at the ready, some of them yelling orders. For skinhead pricks, these guys seemed way more organized than Raven had expected. Where the hell had they gotten all of these old vehicles and bikes? It was like they were prepared for the EMP attack...

  Or hoping for the attack, Raven mused.

  He centered the crosshairs of the MK11 on the man closest to Nathan. The pilot was sprawled on the ground, having been hit several times with brass knuckles. There wasn’t anything Raven could do from here but watch. If he opened fire now, he was liable to hit Nathan.

  Rounds suddenly lanced away from the camp, kicking up dirt and pinging off the boulders all around Raven. He lunged for cover and flattened his body just as another volley of bullets slammed into the other side of the rock.

  He was really in trouble now. He cursed as he wiggled across the ground like a damn worm. If he did somehow manage to make it out of this one, he was going to reconsider his choice of career. Tracking had not been working out lately‌—‌all he ever seemed to find these days was trouble.