by Angela White
With their noses full of the holding cells’ decay and the harsh odor of gasoline, the twins headed for the center of the muddy, stinking camp, 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 just wrap up in a blanket and sleep under a big 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. Backdropped by a muddy, devastated landscape, covered in inches of reddish, ill-looking dust, the crushed plane was still more unbelievable than the destroyed city.
Loud snores were just audible over dogs yelping, women crying, and the pop of neglected campfires, 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, and the cautious brothers stayed in the shadows so that there was no clear shot.
Their dark eyes lingered on the naked teenager chained to the center pole of the filthy tent like a dangerous, white dog. She was curled into a ball against it, showing a body they immediately wanted.
Jennifer felt it, tensing. Other than that, she didn’t move.
“We have an offer for you.”
“And an untouched gift.”
Cesar grunted in recognition, putting his weapon back 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 thin, bloody girl at his feet whose swollen face and blood-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 lightly-bearded Slaver grinned hesitantly as he lit a cigar. Cesar had never really sure about these two, and he studied their faces 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, dark eyes full of hatred. “Yes, magic.”
“Spells. A Witch.”
Cesar’s slanted eyes narrowed as he 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, and 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 nodded together and 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 suddenly, turning as the flap opened to reveal a stocky, gray-eyed Mexican with crisscrossed gun belts, and an ugly scar that stretched across his forehead and ran over the top of his right eye. It cut his face in half and gave him the appearance of someone who liked causing pain. “Everything is okay?”
Cesar waved him in with his deformed hand. The twins ran scornful eyes over his broken, yellow teeth, baggy shirt, and torn, muddy pants, but saw 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’s slanted eyes went over the negro hermanos with clear dislike. He had been openly against Cesar letting these two live, even though he had voted to spare Rick.
The mercenaries smiled back 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. He was scowling openly as he slapped at a snapping fly the size of a milk jug lid. Men about to move toward him with questions, turned around.
José was only a cousin and not nearly as deadly as Cesar, but had earned a vicious reputation with his temper. He was left alone when he headed 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. Back 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 a feeling that never really went away, even when she was alone.
Cesar looked at the brothers with hard, calculating eyes. “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.”
They looked almost desperate to Cesar, clearly not the same men who had left him in New Mexico. “You know where she goes?”
“She’s only headed northwest, never deviates.”
“Toward Montana?”
They saw the determined anger in the Slaver’s eyes.
“There is a group near Yellowstone that calls for survivors.”
“You hear them this far away?”
He frowned, pulled a beaten-up sombrero from the debris-littered floor and slapped it on over his tightly-kinked black hair, “Si. Your bruja is headed to them?”
“Maybe. We think she’s looking for family.”
Cesar’s frown grew, eyes going over burnt spots on their clothes and the grimy red bandana wrapped around Dillan’s bandaged wrist. The white of the gauze had long since turned black. “We must get her before she reaches them. This group is big, organized. A Witch would make them a threat to me.”
He looked up, mind racing. “You can take her?”
Dean shook his head, while Dillan shrugged, neither of them meeting his eyes, and 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 saw his grimace when he moved his hand to deflect a determined fly. The injury to his arm was obviously bad.
That was it, Cesar decided. It was 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 back.”
It wasn’t a question and he looked at them with cool, dark eyes, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to agree…for now. “Mine during the day, yours at night?”
They both nodded eagerly at the lie 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 hand over his camp. Either way, they would lead these men
against the Witch.
“You have a plan?” the Slaver asked finally, eyes 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 hot eyes 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, see where she’s headed. 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 does.”
“How will you get them once she reaches the safety of this camp?”
“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 will be more likely to hand her over to save themselves.”
“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 was nodding, but thinking he would need proof to go through so much. Their word wasn’t enough. Surely this was 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 heading north and give them whores and whiskey.”
“Didn’t you tell us you wanted to take Cheyenne and Casper by May?”
Cesar’s eyes lit up greedily. “Si, and my men know it.”
“Good. That will put us on an intercept course. Dean and I will keep an eye on her in the meantime, track her, and we’ll also find some bait to send in with Rick.”
Cesar considered it. He had used the betrayer again and again, 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 any 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 grinned savagely and the brothers knew they’d won.
“America is dead and I will show them that!” He gestured violently, the missing fingers making it a grotesque motion. He didn’t see the looks they 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 see 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 and began moving in at the stroke of midnight and gave no mercy to anyone, just like they hadn’t in any of the twenty other towns and cities they’d taken along Interstate 25. Moving inward, the Mexicans slowly took over Windsor for the next six hours, burning everything as they went. Those few who managed to escape would have nothing to return to.
Doors were kicked in and terrified girls and women dragged out into the rain, floors and bed clothes soaking up the blood of their husbands and fathers. Those found with the radio broadcasting good old American values were tortured, beheaded, and dismembered, 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 again, 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 men 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 Ft. Collins and found it abandoned. Word had spread through the area, and the survivors were scared. The Slavers were coming.
Chapter Twenty Nine
March 21st, 2013
1
This was going to have to be close enough.
Adrian waited for Kenn to finish updating the newest Eagle who was about to take over his post for the 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. shift. 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 the camp got ready to head out for another day of hard travel. They were on the edge of the Thunder Basin National Grasslands, just 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, he turned his eyes to 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, moose, and people? He was almost sure they would find out for themselves. People were talking about it.
“You’re the Man on this one, Marine. You ready?” Adrian asked as the Marine came to his side, sharp tone of a drill instructor replacing the calm demeanor the camp always saw. The Slavers’ rampage had moved 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 smile was hard as his eyes took in Adrian’s dusty jeans and wrinkled camouflage shirt. He’d been up all night, again. “Good, ready.”
“In and out, Marine, just like with the old lady but if not, if something goes wrong and you have to fight?”
Kenn’s eyes were 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 preached it, made them believe in it by doing it when he thought the man’s crimes (it was almost always men who committed the big transgressions now) warranted it. This definitely did.
The Slavers were a growing threat he felt duty-bound to challenge, to eliminate. Yet he couldn’t, at this point, not against 150 well-armed men who had become good at conquering large groups of survivors. The terrible stories of the refugees who escaped, town after town, neighborhood after neighborhood (life after life!) made him burn to do something.
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 back, satisfied the wide-shouldered Marine 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 about the same time.
“Watch your six. We need you.”
“Semper Fi.”
“Oorah!”
A deep frown planted itself across Adrian’s forehead as Kenn and the Eagles left camp. He hated it that their first encounter with these dangerous men would happen without him there to judge the threat. Adrian hit the button on the tape player in his pocket, listening intently. Was he missing anything?
“SOS, Safe Haven! This is Cheyenne! SOS!”
“Go ahead, Overloaded.”
“They’ve hit Wellington! We can see the smoke and people are coming here, and I can’t care for them! We need help now!”
Adrian hit stop, the desperation making him consider changing places with Kenn, but shook his head. He couldn’t. The Marine wasn’t ready for leadership of an entire camp yet. For this mission though, he was perfect. Kyle and his team were good, making steady progress every day, and though only ten men were getting into the armored vehicles, they would still be a force to be reckoned with.
Fighting a migraine, Adrian headed for his tent. Another forty souls would bring their number to a hundred and seventy seven. They were only a week from Cheyenne, but there was no way the whole camp could go and get out without being seen. Kenn and Kyle would make it in two days, and he would worry the whole time.
2
“All those jeeps worry me,” Kyle stated quietly, lowering the binoculars.
“We’ll have to draw them out,” Kenn replied, sharp eyes watching the heavily-armed Mexican men patrol the top and four sides of the large brick school house where the refugees were hiding. Two on top, one each on the sides and rear, and two more on the front doors - maybe four inside, but judging from all the jeeps parked wildly along the exits, probably more like six or ten.
