“That it has. Come on, there a few people that will be just as glad to see you also,” Redeagle said, hopping out of the Suburban, taking his M16. Tim trailed him into the building through a shattered glass door, their booted feet crunching on the glass-strewn, tile-floored lobby.
Tim glanced over to the receptionist’s desk, seeing the mummified body of what appeared to be a night watchman, his thermos covered with dust on the counter. The sight gave him a chill.
Redeagle headed over a door marked ‘Fire Escape’ and then saw the look on Tim’s face at the sight behind the desk. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that myself.”
“Some things I guess we’ll never get used to.” “I think it’ll be up to our grandchildren to finish cleaning up the mess,” Redeagle said, pushing open the door, exposing the darkened interior to a set of concrete stairs that led up into the building. He pulled out a flashlight and lit up a narrow part of the stairwell. He started up the stairs, Tim following closely behind.
“I normally try to stay away from built-up parts of the country,” Redeagle said, “but sometimes there’s no alternative. It’s getting dangerous. Things are starting to fall apart. Just last year, I was over in Lincoln and the whole façade of a building collapsed right in front of me.”
“Every time I go into a town, I see more and more houses and buildings falling apart. I knew it would happen, I just never thought it would happen so fast,” Tim said in the darkness, their footfalls echoing in the narrow confines of the fire escape and they made their way farther up.
“This building is fairly new, and of mostly steel construction. I figure it has another ten or twenty years before it really starts to fall apart. It’s the older, unreinforced brick structures which are falling to pieces.”
“I guess the water is getting into the mortar, and the freeze/thaw cycles are doing the rest.”
“The weeds and plants taking root, also. The roots get into the tiny crevasses, and act like little hydraulic jacks, gradually pushing apart the buildings when the plants and trees grow bigger. Soon, most of the older buildings will be piles of rubble, I’m afraid.”
They reached the landing at the top of the stairs, standing in front of a gray metal door marked ‘roof’. Redeagle placed his hand on the doorknob, and smiled at Tim in the darkness. He opened the door and Tim squinted in the sunlight. As his eyes readjusted, he followed Dawn out onto the sun-bleached tar paper roof where industrial sized air conditioning units sat silent, like the gravestones of the building’s former occupants.
The pair walked out onto the roof, and Tim immediately saw two other men by the parapet, two lawn chairs set up, and a big, Barrett M82 semi-automatic .50 BMG sniper rifle, bipod still extended, set up on the edge overlooking the highway almost a thousand yards away.
Standing by the bizarre setup, was Sam Didinato and John Meadows. Both were smiling broadly, and Tim came up to them, grinning. Sam hugged Tim tightly.
“Tim, I’m so glad to see you!”
“I’m glad to see you two, myself,” Tim said, hugging him and slapping him on the back. “There’s nothing like 750 grains of diplomacy, eh? So how the hell did you know?”
“We had been following the fuckers, like you know, but we lost them outside of Albuquerque, then Taco go hold of us and let us know what had happened,” he said sadly. “I’m sorry about Holly and your kid, Tim.”
“It’s too late to do anything about that.”
“Anyway,” Sam went on, “me and John decided to release the buffalo and ride as fast as we could back to Redeagle.”
“We had to help in some way, mate,” John added. “We figured they’d come back east the same way they came.”
“You decided to rescue me,” Tim stated grimly. “I’ll have you know that second shot came within a red cunthair of taking my head off. I heard the fucker whiz by my goddamn ear!”
“Sorry,” Sam said with a sheepish grin. “Here’s a rag, you’ve got a little brains and shit on you.” He handed Tim a rag he produced from his back pocket. Tim took the offered rag and wiped the blood and brains from his face. “Hell, Tim, it was easy. Just like shooting Hajji in the Ghan.”
Tim looked over the parapet, southward towards the highway where he could see the vehicles, now all disabled by the rifle fire. Several of the sergeant’s men were milling around, now feeling safe enough to venture out in the open.
“Are you going to let them go?” Tim asked.
“I don’t see a reason to waste any more ammo. They’re not going anywhere anytime soon unless they want to walk. I put a round into each engine block. They’re hoofing it now,” Sam said. “We’ve got a camp set up on the other side of the Missouri River in Council Bluffs,” Redeagle said. “It overlooks the interchange between I-80 and I-29. We can drive there and see which way they’re going if you want a little retribution.”
“Let’s get some distance between us and them, and we’ll decide what to do then. Thanks again,” Tim said.
The men packed up all of their gear and headed down to the lobby, all four of them doing their best to ignore the dead watchman, and piled into the Suburban.
With Redeagle at the wheel, they sped through the deserted and decaying city at breakneck speed, reaching the camouflaged camp in less than a half hour. There were two tents set up under an Army cammo net about two hundred yards off the highway between two vine covered buildings sitting atop a rise. Tim also saw that two horses were tied up farther behind the camp, happily grazing on the tall grass.
Sam took the big rifle and set it back up in a place he’d already prepared as an observation post. Tim had immediately stripped down to his waist, and Redeagle put a pot of water on a camp stove to boil.
While Tim was washing up, John broke out a few MRE packs and handed them out. When Tim was finished, he sat down in one of the folding camp chairs, set the MRE packet down on the ground next to him, and retrieved his pipe from his pocket. While he filled the bowl up and the other men dug into their meals, his mind went through the various options that lay before him.
He could head back to Arizona to be with Robyn, Jimenez, and Izzy, but it would only be a matter of time before this asshole president sent out more people to bring him back.
He lit his pipe, puffing away. “So Taco got hold of you?”
“Yeah. He told me they’re alright, or as alright as they can be. He’s scared though. I could hear it in his voice,” Sam said.
“Tell me what you know.”
“Taco let us know everything that happened. I think he got hold of Jerry too.”
“Jerry was on his way from Oahu. Not sure how much good that will do now.”
“Me and John made up our minds to leave the buffalo and ride as fast as we could back to where Dawn was.” “Fucking oath, my arse is still sore!” John said.
“I’ll bet,” Tim grinned. “Go on.”
“We rode until we Dawn.”
“When they told me what happened, Tim, I couldn’t sit there and let it happen. It was my idea to try to free you, if we could,” Redeagle said.
“We figured we had a day or two to get ahead of them, so we hopped into the Suburban and found that building overlooking 80,” Sam explained. “I decided to create enough confusion that you might have a chance to slip away.”
“You sure did do that. I still say that second round was just a teensy bit too close,” Tim said.
“I had no idea you were in that lead Hum-Vee, Sar’ Major, or I wouldn’t have taken out the driver like that,” Sam said defensively.
“Do you have any idea what you’d like to do, Tim?” Redeagle asked.
“Sort of. I found out some intelligence while I was with them. Apparently almost all of the bridges spanning the Mississippi are down or impassable. They had to go all the way into Minnesota to find a crossing.”
“Then we know which way they’ll go,” Sam replied.
“I was thinking that since we have the vehicle, I can try to stay a couple of steps ahead of th
em all the way, and harass the fuck out of them all the way back to DC. If you’ll let me use it, that is.”
“Hell, Sar’ Major, we’ll all go!” Sam told him emphatically.
“No, I won’t hear of it. I’m going alone.”
“No, Sar’ Major, we’re going with you,” Sam stated.
Tim looked into all of their faces for a moment, and then nodded, “Okay. But, Dawn, you’ve done enough.”
“I don’t mind helping,” Redeagle replied.
“You’ve done enough. I know that you’ve got your own settlement, and a family to worry about. I’m not going to hear of it. I thank you so much for what you’ve done, and you took a huge risk this morning for me. Now time for you to head back and get on with what you’ve got.”
The old Native American sat silent for a few moments, and let the words Tim had just said sink in. “Alright, Tim. At least let me help you a little today, and then I’ll head out in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Tim said. “There’s been too much heartbreak already. I’d hate to think of your woman and child without you. Sam, any ideas?”
“I figure it’ll be a couple of days before they get their wits about them. They’ll either be walking, or have another vehicle, though I think they’ll be on foot for a while.”
“Agreed,” Tim said, puffing on his pipe, feeling a little more like his old self with each passing minute.
“With that in mind,” Sam said, “I figure you and John head east tomorrow along I-80, and I’ll hang back a bit. I’ll keep an eye on them, and ride my horse forward, reporting their movements to you by the sat-radio.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Tim said. “And then we can fuck with them along the way.”
“We’ll take it to them,” Sam said. He handed over his M4. “I think you’ll need this. I’ve got another one.”
Tim took the carbine, placing it on the ground next to the forgotten MRE. “I’ll take the Barrett, too.”
“Sure thing. I found it in a gun shop in Lincoln. I’ve got about two hundred rounds for it too.”
“I’m sure I’ll put it to good use,” Tim said, grinning evilly.
“Oh, another thing, Taco told me that Colin fucker was with them. Is that true?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” Tim said, fire in his eyes. “I’ve got a special treat for him too if I can get my hands on the bastard.”
“Sar’ Major, you may have to stand in line,” Sam said.
Tim let that statement hang in the air, and with nothing more to be said at the moment, they went about tidying the camp in preparation for nightfall.
When the sun had slipped below the Rocky Mountains well off to the west, Tim sat alone, his back to a tree, looking out over the deserted highway below the hidden camp. He sensed, more than heard, movement to his rear, and turned to see Dawn Redeagle approaching almost silently in the waning daylight.
He sat next to Tim, looking out at the same sight.
“It never ceases to sadden me,” Redeagle said, “looking out at the empty highways like this.”
“It does the same thing to me, Dawn. All the people gone...”
“We have to try to make a better world for our children, Tim.”
“I fucking tried, Dawn. They wouldn’t let me,” Tim spat bitterly.
“Now you want retribution, and I sympathize. Do me a favor?”
“What’s that?” Tim asked, looking into his friend’s eyes in the approaching darkness.
“Please stay on the moral high ground. Don’t debase yourself and let yourself be dragged down to their level.”
“Dawn, all I can say is I will try. I can’t promise anything else.”
Redeagle nodded, leaving it at that. He’d said what he wanted to say. It would be up to Tim now to either heed his words or not.
“Any ideas on what you’ll do if you’re successful enough to make it all the way back to Washington?”
“I guess I’ll cross that bridge once I get to it,” Tim replied.
“Another word of advice,” the old Arapaho man said. “Don’t go and burn that bridge once you’ve crossed it.”
“Again, I can’t promise anything. I’ve made too many promises to people I couldn’t follow through on. Now I just want a pound of flesh.”
“Just make sure that pound of flesh isn’t rotten and maggot-infested.”
“I understand,” Tim told his friend, remembering the words that Robyn had said, through tear-filled eyes: Daddy, you’ve got to kill all of them. Those words were burned into his soul, and it was one promise he told himself, he would keep, even if it took him getting killed to do it.
“It’s the world we’ll leave for future generations, if we’re to survive as a people. Let’s not leave them a world filled with hate, okay?”
“Hate is all I’ve got left now.”
“Don’t let it burn you alive,” Redeagle said, patting him on the knee, and slipping away back towards the camp, leaving Tim alone to watch the last of the sun’s rays slip behind the mountains to the west.
Chapter 25: Hit and Run
Tim lay prone on a cold, windswept hill overlooking Interstate 70, halfway in between Hagerstown and Frederick, Maryland, the big .50 caliber rifle in front of him. John Meadows was lying next to him, shivering in the mid-December morning, temperature only in the teens with no indication of warming.
The sun was blotted out by a heavy gray blanket of clouds, which threatened snow, while the two men waited for the radio to come to life. The three men had played cat and mouse with the sergeant’s party all the way from Iowa, and now, eight weeks later, were only a day’s journey away from Washington, DC.
From Iowa, Tim had let his quarry start out eastward for a few days, letting them get their guard down before making the first strike. It wasn’t a big strike as far as combat was concerned, just a single shot fired, killing one of the sergeant’s men from a distance of over 900 yards. The big Barrett rifle was good at that. The soldiers on the road never even heard the shot until the unlucky man was lying dead in the center of the road, gaping hole in his chest, a pool of blood spreading out from his lifeless body.
And so it went.
Over the preceding weeks, Tim and John raced ahead in the battered old Chevy Suburban fueled by propane, Sam Didinato on his horse staying well off in the distance, radioing ahead to Tim the location of and direction in which the sergeant’s party was travelling.
The road leading back towards Iowa was marked with the bodies of the sergeant’s men, strewn out over the countryside like breadcrumbs. Sometimes Tim would let them go on for days without taking a shot, then hit them, never taking more than one shot in a day. The psychological impact of his actions was devastating to the travelers, and exactly what Tim had planned on doing.
What was left of the sergeant’s unit was now a shattered shell of what it once had been. The men were jumpy and shot at anything that appeared even slightly to be a threat to them. He knew that none of them slept anymore, especially after what Tim at the time though was a foolhardy and unnecessary chance.
One evening, three weeks prior, Didinato decided on his own to really screw with them. Using all of his years of field craft, he sneaked right into their enemy’s camp and made off with their only radio, leaving them alone and directionless.
Scared, paranoid, cold, and hungry, they were now nearing where Tim and John had set up their sniper’s nest again. Tim listened for the sound of the approaching old and rusted Buick Skylark that he had allowed his prey to get running a few weeks prior.
It was the third vehicle the sergeant’s beleaguered party had obtained on the harrowing journey back east, and Tim had let them travel, once even let them get a whole week, before putting a.50 caliber bullet through the engine block.
He had several chances to disable the vehicle, and with the.50, it would have been just as easy to deny them transportation. He’d reckoned he’d give them one last straw of hope to grasp onto, no matter how tenuous and fleeting that hope would be, beca
use this would be the finale, right here this very morning, Tim had decided the evening before.
“Shit, mate! How do did you Yanks ever learn to live in this fucking cold!” John said, his breath coming out in wisps of steam that dissipated rapidly in the cold, bitter wind.
“You never get used to it. I know I never did,” Tim said, bringing his binoculars up to his eyes and scanning the empty road before him. He dropped the glasses onto the ground inches from his face and scratched at the three weeks’ worth of beard he’d let grow. The itching was beginning to annoy him.
“I used to think three or four degrees Celsius was cold. This is just fucked,” John said, shuddering. “I can’t feel me fucking feet.”
“Be thankful it hasn’t started snowing yet,” Tim said, gazing up into the slate gray sky. “We’ve been lucky so far, though I think that’s about to run out.”
“I wish it would warm up a bit.”
“So do I, but we’ll have to wait until April now,” Tim said.
The radio crackled to life. Tim picked it up and heard Sam’s voice, clear, steady and calm, come over the tiny speaker.
“Tim, this is Sam, do you read me, over?”
“I copy you, Lima Charlie, over.”
“They’ve just started out. They should be at your position in about two zero minutes, over.”
“Thanks. Start making your way here. The fun is about to start. Out,” Tim said, stowing the radio into his ACU pants pocket. “John, get ready.”
John readied his carbine while Tim tucked the butt of the rifle into his shoulder and peered through the Bushnell 10X40mm rifle scope out at the road before them.
The cold wind was coming from directly behind them, making Tim happy that he’d not have to adjust for windage. It still chilled the two men lying in wait, but it shouldn’t affect the flight of the bullets.
They heard the approaching car a few minutes before they saw it. Looking through the scope, Tim saw the old, rusted Buick appear around a bend in the road five hundred yards west of them, thumbed off the safety, and centered the scope’s crosshairs on the left front tire. Taking in a deep breath, he pulled the butt stock tight into his shoulder, placed his right index finger on the cold metal trigger, exhaled, and squeezed. When the trigger broke five pounds, the gun barked loudly, and the recoil Tim felt was satisfying. The bolt travelled rearward violently, ejecting the spent round, and started forward again, stripping off another fresh round out of the magazine, chambering it, slamming it home, ready for another shot. All this happened in a millisecond, just as designed.
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