Invasion (Best Laid Plans Book 3)

by Nathan Jones

  Standing in the opening there, braced by belts holding him from falling out, was the raider with the missile launcher. He'd just finished loading it and was raising it to his shoulder as Matt sighted in with his scope.

  Matt snapped off a shot that he was sure missed, and around him he heard a few more shots from the others, but there was no more time. “Scatter!” he screamed as he bolted in a direction that would take him away from the hilltop and keep him out of view of both the camp and the truck.

  Tam nearly slammed into him from behind, also running, while he heard the clatter of a weapon and other gear striking rocks as Pete simply threw himself into a violent roll down the hill going a slightly different direction. Matt didn't see Rick, although in his desperate scramble to get away he wasn't looking, but he was worried his friend had stayed put and was still firing at the man who'd shot a missile at his father.

  A moment later he heard a single instant of deafening noise and went temporarily deaf as the world behind him became blinding. The blast caught him at nearly the same time, throwing him forward.

  Since he'd been running downhill that meant a brutal landing. He felt a sharp pain from the arm he threw out to catch himself and lost his rifle almost immediately as he went flipping end over end, slamming into small rocks and bumps in the ground as he went. Dazed and hurting, it took him a few agonizing seconds to recover his senses enough to skid to a stop. Once he finally did he lay there, panting as he waited for his ears to stop ringing.

  Only to have Tam slam into him in her own uncontrolled tumble and nearly break his nose with her rifle, which she'd miraculously held onto.

  After that it took several seconds for Matt to remember who he was and where he was. The ringing in his ears slowly faded to the point where he could once again hear the gunfire and shouting around him. To his surprise he also realized that even in his daze he'd somehow managed to sprawl protectively above Tam, to halt her own descent and shield her from any flying debris.

  He hadn't done a good enough job, unfortunately. As he rose painfully to his knees he could see slowly spreading patches of darkness in the auburn-haired woman's hair and trickling down across her face, and he felt a surge of concern. She was bleeding.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should be doing something, retrieving his rifle or looking around for enemies shooting at them, but instead he dug frantically in the pouch at his waist for the antibiotic ointment and butterfly bandaids he kept there on Lewis's advice. His injured arm twinged with every movement, but in spite of the pain it only seemed to be bruised, not broken.

  As he knelt with the ointment Tam, hurt but lucid, slapped his hand away. Her voice sounded far away even though she was right next to him. “There's no time for that, we've got to get together everyone we can and get out of here!”

  Matt nodded and helped her to her feet, but she only managed a single step before going down again with a cry of pain as her ankle gave out. He awkwardly lifted the petite woman into a fireman's carry over his shoulders, glad she was so light, and started down the hill in a stumbling run. As he went he called hoarsely for Rick and Pete, unable to see them anywhere he looked.

  They were nearly to the bottom when a truck roared their way from the direction of the rise Ben's group had been on. He wasn't sure if it was the truck that had come from Chauncey's hill doubling back or the one that had gone after the volunteers on the rise, but either way its approach sent a wave of hopelessness through him.

  Even though it was pointless he couldn't let himself give up, so he shifted to hold Tam with one arm while he scrabbled at his belt to draw his .40 and point it at the truck. The vehicle swam drunkenly between the Glock's sights in his unbalanced stance and one-handed grip, but even so he was just about to pull the trigger when he saw a clear bullet hole in the windshield directly above the steering wheel.

  Matt slowly lowered his weapon in confusion. This was probably the truck that had come after Lewis and Jane a few nights ago, the one whose driver had been killed by Gutierrez to encourage them to back off long enough for Matt's group to save his friends. Still, he also had to consider that Red Yates, one of the refugees from Ben's group, had carried the town's only .50 caliber rifle with him to the rise.

  Grasping on that faint glimmer of hope he focused on the driver, trying to get a good look through the spiderweb of cracks and the fact that the vehicle was swerving madly. Then whoever was behind the wheel made it easier by leaning out the window as he braked the truck at the base of the hill Matt and Tam were on.

  It was Ben, pale but apparently unharmed, waving desperately for them to come get in the truck.

  Matt hefted Tam a bit higher on his shoulders and scrambled the last thirty or so feet to the captured vehicle. Red was slumped in the passenger's seat with at least one visible gunshot wound, to the shoulder, but when Matt threw open the door the man stirred himself just enough to slide over so Matt could help Tam up alongside him, leaving behind a seat slick with his blood.

  The auburn-haired woman barely seemed to notice. As she worked to get her seatbelt on Matt slammed the door shut and bolted for the back of the truck, surprised but pleased to meet a filthy and scratched up Pete there. He let the young man go first up into the bed, sliding down one of the benches in the space beneath the olive colored canvas tarp.

  While he waited Matt looked around desperately, and to his further relief he saw Rick appear as if from nowhere about thirty feet up the hill, bursting out from behind a sage bush that seemed too small to hide him. The young man ran as if the ground were falling away behind him, almost stumbling and falling headlong a dozen times, before he managed to reach the back of the truck. Matt, who'd climbed up into the entrance, reached down to haul him up.

  At the front of the truck bed, just behind the cab, Pete thumped his fist against the glass there and the truck abruptly lurched into motion, tires spinning out on the loose dirt. Matt should've been expecting it but the sudden motion still nearly knocked him off the back.

  He slumped down onto a bench, Rick falling onto the bench on the other side, and only then got a good look at the area beneath the tarp and realized that there was no one else there but him, Rick, and Pete.

  Ben had brought three other people with him to the rise, and only two of them had gotten away. He doubted the man would leave anyone behind so it was almost certain the others were dead.

  What seemed like only instants later the truck lurched to a stop again, and from outside Matt recognized a familiar voice screaming for help. He half fell, half jumped off the back to find himself at the base of the hill Chauncey's group had been on. A scorched Tom Harding, his clothes rags and bleeding in half a dozen places Matt could see, was halfway down the hill doing his best to carry Chauncey Watson towards the truck, but in his state it was more like dragging.

  And Chauncey . . .

  If Tom looked like he'd gotten in a fight with a burning thorn bush then Chauncey looked as if he'd been dragged through an entire thicket of them. Blood ran in a sheet down his face from a cut along his forehead, his clothes were blackened remnants with burned flesh beneath, and behind him ran a trail of blood stretching back up the hill.

  Most of that blood came from Chauncey's right leg, which-

  Matt looked away, fighting the sudden urge to be sick. Rick, who'd dropped down beside him, saw his father and screamed. Matt grabbed the younger man and pulled him along as he bolted forward to take Chauncey from an exhausted Tom, and with Rick's help carried him the rest of the way to the truck. The leg wasn't good, that's all he could think about now.

  “Where are the others?” he shouted at Tom, who in the urgency of the situation had put on a burst of speed and was already scrambling into the truck. At that the older man turned to give him a stricken look, which was all the answer Matt needed. Pete leaned down to help him and Rick lift Chauncey up inside.

  Somewhere behind him he heard the bark of automatic weapons fire, accompanied by the high pitched pings of bullets hittin
g the reinforced side of the truck. He also saw a few holes of light appear in the cloth tarp as shots ripped through it.

  They got Chauncey in and scrambled in after him, ducking low beneath the sides of the truck bed. As Rick got his dad stretched out on a bench and feverishly worked to rig Chauncey's belt as a tourniquet just below the hip, Matt half crawled, half lunged down the aisle between the benches to stay beneath the level of the tarp. He managed to reach the window to the cab and pounded on it with a fist, screaming for Ben to drive.

  Again he felt the truck lurch into motion, and it rumbled along beneath him on its way to carry them all safely to Aspen Hill. As long as the missing missile launcher truck didn't catch up to them. That was in Ben's hands, though, and he feverishly wished the man luck driving this thing.

  At that point all Matt could do was slump down with his back against the wall of the cab, staring at the early morning sunlight he could see through the gap in the tarp at the very back. It killed him to leave his fallen friends behind, with no hope for a proper burial after the brave sacrifice they'd made. But under the circumstances there didn't seem to be any other option.

  Chapter Eleven

  Blowback

  They stopped only once in their wild drive back to Aspen Hill, to pick up a surprised Gutierrez who'd only had a chance to take down one sniper. The former soldier's elation at the sight of them arriving in a truck was quickly quashed, however, when he saw how few of the volunteers were in the vehicle.

  That count went down one as they screeched to a stop in front of town hall and desperately worked to get the wounded into the clinic. Red Yates had taken another shot after all, in his upper thigh that nicked his femoral artery, and he bled out as they were carrying him inside.

  That left a grim tally. Thirteen people had gone to attack the camp. Of them only eight returned, and of those only five had escaped serious injury and only Gutierrez and Ben were unharmed.

  Everyone in Matt's group had survived, more by good fortune than skill. Most of the enemy gunfire had been targeted at Ben's group on the low rise, and Chauncey's group had suffered the first missile strike and given them warning of what to expect when the missile was fired at them. Matt, Pete, and Rick were all mostly unharmed aside from damaged eardrums and scrapes and bruises from rolling and falling debris, while Tam had a fractured ankle and would be out of action for the foreseeable future.

  In Ben's group Carl Hopewell and Vicky Sanders had died in the firefight, which meant that after Red's death only Ben had survived. The refugee leader had not only miraculously escaped the worst of the fighting unharmed, but by taking the truck had probably saving them all with his quick thinking.

  From Chauncey's group Abel Metford and Jack Barnes were killed almost instantly by the missile, while Tom Harding had suffered wounds that seemed superficial only in light of what the others had suffered. Chauncey was on the brink of death, weak from severe burns and blood loss and with his right leg mangled beyond any hope of repair.

  As for Lewis and Jane, Matt knew the plan had been for them to not return to town and instead head southwest into the mountains for safety. But they hadn't radioed in, and after all the losses his own group had suffered it was hard not to fear the worst for them.

  None of his people could tell him exactly how bad they'd hurt the enemy in all the confusion, but his best tally gave them five confirmed kills and up to four others who'd definitely been shot, some possibly fatally. They'd also managed to take the truck, which had been loaded up with a lot of the best equipment and supplies in case the raiders needed to quickly abandon their camp. That included food, about twenty gallons of diesel in the tank, spare uniforms, weapons, noise suppressors, ammunition, grenades, body armor, helmets, hazmat suits, and night vision gear.

  Matt could never call the disastrous attack a victory, but it had turned out better than it could have. Still, he had led five good people, among the best Aspen Hill had to offer, to their deaths. That number could very well go up to six, since Chauncey might die within the next few hours and was in the clinic being feverishly worked on by Terry, April, and Sam, who'd been standing by to treat any wounded from the attack.

  At the moment Matt was slumped in a corner at the front of the auditorium, watching as his brother-in-law, sister, and wife all worked frantically to help the wounded up on stage. Catherine had been waiting at the clinic along with the others, and she'd taken it upon herself to notify Chauncey's family so they could come be with him. After that she'd gone to handle the far more difficult task of finding the loved ones of the deceased to inform them of their loss and offer her sincerest condolences.

  Matt tried to insist that it was his duty to do that, especially since she'd been against the attack in the first place. But the Mayor gently but firmly told him that he needed to wait at the clinic until he could be checked along out with the others who'd walked away from the attack, just to be sure they really were fit to continue fighting.

  For one thing there was the possibility that adrenaline and shock were keeping them from noticing more serious injuries that would need tending to, but more importantly she anticipated that Turner would push back after the morning's attack and she wanted Matt and as many of the volunteers as possible to be ready.

  He didn't feel ready. The late night and early morning combined with the tension the upcoming attack, the frantic nature of the fight itself and the minor injuries he'd taken, and the grief of how it had ended all took their toll on him. And that was on top of a succession of poor night's sleeps going back for about a week and a half now.

  And that was just the physical pressure. The discouragement and grief of losing people on his watch, of being unable to stop the enemy whose presence loomed over the town even when they weren't attacking, and of worrying for Sam and the rest of his family all ate at him as well. He was exhausted and just wanted this war of Turner's to be over.

  So it was little surprise that, in spite of the adrenaline still pumping through his system and his need to be ready for whatever the raiders had up their sleeves, as he sat there waiting for news about his injured friend he drifted off into sleep.

  “Matt?”

  Considering the events of the past day Matt should've bolted awake with his heart hammering in his chest. But his name was spoken gently, by a voice nearly as familiar as his own. He opened his eyes to find Sam sitting against the wall next to him, her hand on his leg. She looked tired, too, and her dark eyes were filled with worry as she stared up at him.

  Matt did his best to smile and rested his hand atop hers. “Hey. You okay?”

  “That's my line,” she said, trying to sound flippant, but her tone was as forced as his smile. Genuine cheer was hard to come by these days, even for someone as determinedly optimistic as his wife.

  “I'm fine. Got a bit of dirt rained on me and I might have a few bumps and bruises, but I was lucky.”

  Sam frowned slightly and scooted up into his lap, putting her head on his shoulder. “That's not what I mean and you know it.”

  “I know.” Matt put his arms around his wife and held her close, feeling tears stinging his eyes. He wanted to reassure her that he was fine in the way she meant, but even for her sake he wasn't sure he could say the words. Not after his failure that morning. Not after people who depended on him had been hurt, had died.

  He wished he could just hold her like this forever and tune out the reality of the world. To not have to think about what had happened, what was happening, and what would happen in the future.

  As the silence dragged on he was afraid she would push the issue, and in spite of his best efforts he'd fall apart when the town most needed him to be strong. But she just sat there quietly with him, her breathing soft and even against his neck. It was more soothing than a comfortable bed and blankets, and in spite of himself Matt found himself drifting off again.

  Terry woke him with a hand on his shoulder. His brother-in-law's face was drawn with strain, and his clothes were stained with blood. The si
ght of it sent the events of the morning crashing back into Matt's mind, and he felt a new surge of grief and guilt.

  Sam was asleep in his lap, and under even her slight weight his legs had gone numb. He awkwardly stood while still holding her, trying to be gentle, and carried her over to the nearest cot to lay her down. She murmured a slight protest before going back to sleep.

  Matt followed as Terry led him out of earshot of everyone in the room. “What is it?” He looked at his brother-in-law's expression and felt a stab of fear. “Chauncey? Is he-”

  Terry shook his head. “Still alive, but his leg is mangled beyond repair. It needs to be amputated immediately. I probably should've done it first thing, but to be honest I wasted too much time thinking I could save it.”

  Matt looked at the ground, fighting a surge of emotions. “Have you told him?”

  His brother-in-law shook his head again. “He's been drifting in and out of consciousness, barely coherent, and I've been worried about the procedure itself.” He leaned closer. “Matt, I've never amputated a limb! I've never done anything like that! I mean I have a basic idea of what to do, it's not exactly brain surgery, but I'm missing a lot of the finer details. How high should I cut to save as much of the leg as possible? What's the best way to cauterize the wound afterwards? Should I leave a flap of skin to sew over the end of the n-”

  In spite of his best efforts Matt found himself dry heaving, and he staggered away a few steps to stand in the corner facing the wall, doing his best to get his stomach under control. The procedure itself wasn't all that shocking or nauseating for someone raised on the TV shows and movies that came out these days, or at least had before the Gulf refineries attack.

  But this was happening to his friend. To Chauncey, as solid and firmly grounded as anyone in Aspen Hill. How would he stay grounded on one leg?

  Matt took a few more deep breaths and then made his way back over to his brother-in-law. “Will he live?”