by W. J. Lundy
As the world degraded, the southwest retracted, forming a new border region encompassing Texas, Oklahoma, Mexico, and Arizona. Already home to a great deal of the nation’s military might, they used the armed forces and remaining fuel reserves to their advantage. Many generals and base commanders around the United States closed their own facilities and eventually joined the United States of Texas. This southwestern province was now home to most of the nation’s previous populations, and were in control of the only viable Primal vaccine.
The wild card was with the remnants of the Department of Homeland Security. High-level heads of state, government employees, and parts of the military broke off and went to bunkers in the Rocky Mountains. Calling themselves the Coordinated National Response Team, the C.N.R.T. considered themselves the new central government. They posted up in the center of the Greater Colorado Nations and attempted to keep control over smaller regions by force with the might of the US Military. Slowly, the C.N.R.T. began making rash decisions to cut off support to remote settlements within the former United States.
These unpopular decisions created mutinies with military units still loyal to the people, causing many of them to defect to Texas. The C.N.R.T. went dark just after the discovery of a vaccine for the Primal virus. All communications with their bunkers ended, and nobody had heard from them in some time. With the fall of the C.N.R.T., Colorado and most of the military elements still under their control scattered with survivors and joined the two remaining regions.
With the country and most of the world in shambles, the United States of Texas was the last real authority able to move freely on the continent. They had the strength of the military backing them and, with the use of their bands of Texas Rangers, were becoming famous across the badlands. However, not all of their exploits were popular; especially when it came to the robbing of supply convoys headed to the Midwest Alliance. There were rumors of full-on skirmishes along border areas and destruction of remote outposts. The Republic was lost. What remained was crumbling, and nobody thought Texas could do anything about it.
“Texas Rangers,” Brad sighed and looked down at his calloused hands. “I ain’t interested.”
“They want our help getting in contact with the Midwest Alliance; they want to start peace talks.” Brooks looked across the table. “I wouldn’t come all the way out here if it wasn’t important. Sean is already putting a team together; they will be here this evening. We’d like you to join us.”
Brad pursed his lips and looked away. “You wasted your time looking for me; I won’t fight for them, and I sure as hell won’t kill for them. I am done with that, Brooks. How many have we killed already?”
Brooks grinned. “We’re still here, aren’t we?”
“What good has it done? The Primals are still out there, and now we’re killing each other out on the frontier. And for what? Territory and canned vegetables.”
Brooks shrugged and took another sip from the jar. “It could get you home. Back to Michigan. That is where you were headed, right? Just guides, Bro, walk in the park. Hell, Texas is the only one serious about putting this country back together again. Maybe we can make this work.”
“Talks? Like the talks they had with the C.N.R.T?” Brad said. “Like the ones you and Sean had in that mountain?”
Brooks dipped his chin and frowned. “They had to be stopped. You knew what they were up to; you were there.”
Brad looked down at his rucksack. “You were right about the pack. I’m leaving.”
“You should wait until spring; winter isn’t a good time to be out there all alone.”
He grimaced, knowing his friend was right. “If I don’t go now, I might never. Besides, the Primals will be slower in the winter. More predictable.” He bluffed.
“When you leaving then? Sean will be here soon; I’m sure he’d like to see you off.”
Brad smiled, knowing that the old SEAL chief would really try to talk him out of leaving, and would most likely succeed. If he was going to ever get home to Northern Michigan, then today was the day. He lifted the jar and finished the last of the whiskey, feeling the burn as it flowed into his belly. “Was good seeing you, Brooks. I’m sorry you wasted your time.”
Chapter 2
Two miles south of The Outpost,
Free Virginia Territories.
Blowing snow cut the trail. It was bitterly cold and miserable; every step reminded the men that a storm was moving over the top of the mountain. Sean stepped ahead of the other men and lowered his scarf, looking down the narrow path that dropped along the mountain’s face.
Looking behind him, he saw the two Texas Rangers. The men were covered in heavy oilskin jackets, wool scarves wrapped around their necks. His own men made up the rest of the small patrol. Sean stood watching as the soldiers slowly made their way up the trail.
“Problem, Chief?” a Ranger asked. Burt—a tall, wiry man—he was the leader and the older of the two Texans. Affable enough as far as Sean could tell, and he was not pushy, which was a good trait when asking for help these days.
“Bad weather coming in.” Sean said, nearly shouting over the wind.
“It going to be a problem for us?” Burt asked.
Sean shook his head no. “The Outpost isn’t much farther, we can rest up there,” he said. He waited for the last of his men to move into sight, then turned back and continued up the trail. His vision was fading with the intensity of the storm. Gray sky blanketed by the thick, cottony clouds blew horizontal to his front. He opened his mouth and felt the cold sting against his tongue.
He looked at the ground; the trail had already dusted over, blocking the gravel surface ahead. Soon they would be trudging in deep snow. He stopped again, listening to the breathing of the men on the trail behind him. Instinctively, his eyes wandered up to the slope to the heavy, brush-laden tree lines above him. The trail was on the slanting edge of a ridge. At the top was a thick line of dark trees; below was nothing but jagged shale and rock.
Something felt off about the place. Sean reached to his chest and checked the heavy scoped rifle clipped to his vest. He kept his eyes on the trees, the feeling of being watched suddenly coming over him. It was a sense, something most men have but only the best of men are able to detect. A tingle or a rising of the hairs on the back of his neck; Sean had felt it before, moments before contact with an enemy or the explosion of a roadside bomb.
Sean dove for cover in the same instant that he felt the disruption of a round zipping through the air. He landed hard on the uphill side of the trail, crawling for the cover of large boulders. Pulling his body in tight, he tried to disappear within the snow covered rocks. The crack of the sniper’s single shot echoed off the heavy cloud cover. He looked back and could see his men scrambling to both sides of the trail. Behind him, he saw the body of the young Ranger. The man’s mouth was gaping open, a cloud of condensation seeming to hang over the dead man’s lips, a perfectly round hole punched just over the Ranger’s right eye. Blood seeped from behind the man’s head, painting the freshly fallen snow bright red.
Sean locked eyes with Burt, who had tucked into the rocks beside the body of the fallen Ranger. “Is he alive?” Burt asked without lifting his head to look.
Sean shook his head no.
“Do you see the shooter?”
Grimacing, Sean exhaled and pressed back against the rock. Slowly, he raised his head so that he could see over the edge of the large boulder pile. He scanned the tree line, searching the tall, dark pine trees for any sign of the attacker. Finding nothing, he dropped back down and looked at Burt, shaking his head. “I don’t see anything.”
Laying against the snow-covered ground, he suddenly felt the cold seep into his clothing. The sweat at the center of his back was beginning to cool. They could not stay in the rocks forever; soon, they would have to move. Sean looked back at his men and gave them a hand signal to get on line and prepare to move up the slope toward the trees. It was a risky move against a hidden shooter; they would be
smart to wait until dark and try to pull back. Sean looked up at the falling snow. They would freeze before they escaped, and who knows if the shooter had night vision. He grimaced hard and looked back at his men, nodding for them to advance.
Sean would not ask his men to expose themselves to the sniper alone, so he was the first to break cover. Moving out of the boulder pile with his rifle up and at the ready, he expected a shot to come at any moment. He climbed beyond the trail and into vegetation. Stopping, he took a knee, now scanning the far off trees through the scope of his own rifle. He looked left and could see the rest of his men cautiously moving from cover and climbing the slope. Burt crept forward and knelt beside him.
The veteran SEAL felt exposed and naked, kneeling in the high grass using his own men as bait while they advanced up the slope. His heart raced as he waited for the next bullet to rip through his own skull. With his men on line, he waved them on and covered their advance through the scope of his rifle. He clenched his teeth, knowing he would only have a split second; he hoped it was a single shooter.
The Ranger moved in closer. “Why haven’t they shot again?”
“Shut up and spot for me,” Sean scorned. “Watch for movement in those trees.”
Sean leaned in, panning with the scope. He had not seen the muzzle flash, and the report of the rifle came long after the zip of the round. The shooter had to be far away. His eye locked on a downed tree. Snow lay in a straight bank along the logs surface, but part of the clean edge was knocked away and pressed down at the center. As his brain registered what he was looking at, he watched a man cloaked in a gray overcoat rise up from behind the log and extend his rifle.
Sean fired first, hurrying to get off the shot before the enemy sniper could target his men exposed on the slope. His round went low and to the right, kicking up a flash of cold powder and tree bark. The sniper flinched and pivoted. He locked onto Sean’s position; instead of returning to cover, he tried to aim his rifle. It was a fatal mistake. Sean pulled the trigger a second time, launching a .308 round from his AR10 at over three thousand feet per second. The sniper’s head snapped back and splash of blood sprayed the pristine white snow surrounding the sniper’s hide.
“You got him!” Burt shouted.
“Keep looking, there might be another.”
Sean kept his eye to the glass, searching. The downed man did not move. He scanned all along the ridge covering the approach as the first of his men reached the sniper’s hole. He looked up into the face of his Pashto scout. The man carried an AK47 at the low ready and moved expertly over the rough face of the rocky slope. He knelt down then turned back to Sean. Hassan held his hand in the air and waved it in a circle.
Sean nodded and got to his feet. He turned back to see Burt going over the fallen Ranger’s clothing. “Something you want to tell me?”
Burt kept his eyes on the task, reaching down to remove the gun belt from the dead man. “This is your territory; I thought you said it was safe out here.”
“It is safe,” Sean, rebutted.
“Tell that to my man,” Burt said. He finished removing the dead man’s valuables and wrapped the heavy trench coat around the body. “You get a lot of bandits out here?” He rolled the body and removed a black leather pack from the man’s back.
“Bandits?” Sean grunted. “That was an assassin, and he was after your man.”
Burt stood and wiped blood from his hands onto the outside of his coat. He shook his head and looked at the patrol now positioned around the sniper’s den in a tactical stance. “We should join the others; might not be safe in the open here.” He prepared to step off when Sean grabbed him by the shoulder.
“You need to tell me what’s going on before we get up there.”
The ranger pulled away. “I told you, it was a bandit.”
“Bandits rob the weak… that man was lying up there in wait. He avoided all these easy targets and took down your man, and then he hung around. Probably to get a second shot at you,” Sean said. “You need to tell me who the hell it was, or were turning back.”
“Texas is paying your group a lot of food and ammo for this trip.”
“You are paying us to guide you through Primal territory to the Midwest lines; not to get our asses picked off by snipers.”
Burt nodded and looked up the slope then back at Sean. He held up the pack and said, “There is a bounty on this. I had no idea that word of its location would’ve reached this far.”
“What is it?”
“Get us somewhere safe and I’ll explain.”
Sean ignored the demand and turned to move up the slope. At the top, he found his men gathered around the sniper. A scoped Remington Model 700 was leaning against the blood-spattered log. The man wore a gray and white tiger-striped overcoat; beneath it he wore tactical clothing—light blue fatigues with a gray, digital block pattern scattered over it. Joey Villages, the group’s Marine rifleman, already had the body’s pockets turned out. He turned and looked up as Sean approached.
“What do you got?” Sean asked.
“Chief, this guy isn’t no Cholo. Looks like a pro to me. His rifle is clean, he’s wearing no patches, no identification, but he’s packing a GPS.”
Sean pursed his lips, and reached out a hand. “GPS? All the birds went down months ago.”
Joey nodded. “I know, right? But look at this thing; it’s still humming,” he said, handing the small green device off to Sean. “Look—it’s got way points all pre-loaded. This guy knows where all our shit is at: Camp Cloud, the outpost, even some of our safe houses. And there’s more; these tracks? I’d say his spotter bugged out. I sent Sergeant Cole and a couple others to scout ahead.”
Sean dipped his chin and flipped through the screen of the GPS, cycling right and recognizing the stored destinations. He turned and tossed the device to Burt. He stepped toward the fleeing man’s boot prints in the snow. Looking up at Burt, he said, “You going to tell me what the hell is going on here?”
Burt looked at the men surrounding him uneasily. “Look, I just lost a Ranger; I’m as eager to know who this is as the rest of you are.”
“Bullshit,” Sean said, closing the distance between them. “Shine some light on it, or I’m pulling out.”
The Ranger shook his head. “There is no pulling out now; they know who you are, where you live, and where you sleep. You’re in it just as deep as Texas is now.”
Chapter 3
The Outpost,
Free Virginia Territories.
“Sure you won’t change your mind?” Brooks asked him.
The two men walked toward a high wall of vertically placed logs on the north side of the outpost, the tops of the logs sharpened to fine tips then buried in the ground side by side. Along the top of the wall was a narrow catwalk that the outpost’s residents used in case of attack. Comprised of few buildings—less than a half dozen in total—the entire compound was effectively surrounded by the wall. Aside from the tavern, there was a pair of bunkhouses, a mess hall, and an old barn that they used for storage.
Brad adjusted the ruck on his back and pulled a shoulder strap tight. Snow was dropping in wet, heavy flakes. He could feel the chill on his face, but the whiskey still gave him a sense of courage to put the place behind him. He looked ahead to a guard staffing the gate, who then nodded to Brad and slid back a long plank that allowed the gate to swing open. Brad stopped and turned back to his friend. “I’ve got to do this. I’ve been putting it off for too long now as it is.”
“I’ll go with you; just ask,” Brooks said. “The wilderness isn’t a good place to be alone.”
Brad shook his head. “No. Sean sent you up here to get me. I know he would be more than pissed if you ended up joining me instead.”
“The Midwest is a wreck, Brad. I know you’ve heard the same stories I have… the food riots, mass killings. I really think you should reconsider.”
Brad remained silent, and Brooks knew he would not convince him to stay, so the big man just clen
ched his jaw and nodded. Brooks extended his hand and the two men shook. “Good luck to you, Brad. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
He forced a smile and turned away, then headed for the open gate and the road beyond it. Brad had to force every footstep, wanting to turn back but knowing he needed to get home to find his family, or at least know what happened to them. He made a silent promise to return to this place one day, but knew in his heart that he never would.
Passing beyond the gates onto the snow-covered path, he looked far into the distance of endless rows of pine trees and the purple sky behind it. He followed the two-trek road in a trance, letting the after-effects of the whiskey take his thoughts. He knew it was a bad idea to travel this way groggy and unaware. Brad reached down, grabbed a handful of snow, and pressed it to his neck, letting it shock him back to his senses.
He was moving along an old, mountain logging trail. Grass and weeds now covered most of the surface, as it had been well over two years since the last vehicle had traveled there. Brad did not have much of a map; not one that would do him any good in the back country, anyhow. Just an old, county road guide and a military issue compass. Both sides of the road were flanked by uncut forest. Whichever logging company once worked there, for whatever reason, never got around to clearing that bit of the mountain; and now they never would.
From early planning and speaking with a couple of the locals, he knew the road would lead him out of the pass and onto a main highway. From there, he planned to continue north, moving out of the mountains and along the old interstates. Maybe find a small town and, hopefully, a truck. All of this while avoiding the Primals and, even worse, the others that wandered the back woods these days. Brad walked until the road curved and banked around, still moving out of the mountains. Several times, he saw the opening of trailheads and game trails.
