by W. J. Lundy
“And if we find him?” Chris asked.
“Then you kill him and anyone that’s with him.”
Clyde pulled the map closer and moved a finger along a road. “You know, the boys said he was moving with some real soldierly types. It won’t be easy.”
“I trust you to figure it out.” Gus’s eyes glowed.
“And you trust the new fellas with this? They’ll be ready to kill, just like that?”
“If they give you a reason to think off of them, then make sure they don’t come back to camp.”
“Just like that,” Clyde said without taking his eyes off of the map.
Gus spoke softly now. “Call it a test. These boys pass, maybe we got some bigger things in store for them.”
Chapter 16
Crabtree, West Virginia
Free Virginia Territories
She slept solidly, dreaming of home and a time before the war, until she was startled awake. Forcing open her eyes, she looked into the clinic. The room glowed softly from the fire of a gas lamp. Ella was standing over her, looking down with gentle eyes. “It’s true, it really is you,” she said, dropping to hug Chelsea’s chest.
Chelsea struggled to comprehend what was happening; the events of the last days swished by in her mind like a movie. Her thoughts were blurred, but her love and emotions for Ella were real. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to focus.
Chelsea took the girl in her arms and when she pulled back, she placed her hands at the side of her cheeks pushing back her long brown hair. “Ella… how?” She looked at the girl’s face; she was so much older than when she’d first met her. There were tears in the girl’s eyes and her bottom lip quivered, but still she looked down and forced a smile.
Her voice came in a broken whisper. “When I heard there were more of us in the clinic, I prayed it was you. I begged them until they finally let me come and see for myself. I told them that you were my mother and I had to see you.”
Chelsea held her close again before moving herself up into a seated position, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She caught the girl eyeing the half sandwich on the tray beside her bed. “Have you eaten?” Chelsea asked her as her eyes scanned the room, confirming they were alone. Ella answered yes, but her eyes gave a different answer.
“Is Shane here?” she asked.
Chelsea closed her eyes and whispered, “I don’t know… I don’t know anything. Where are we?”
This time it was Ella who looked to the door to ensure they were alone. “I had to see if it was you. The nurse said you can leave. They brought you clothes.”
“Leave where?” Chelsea asked, looking to a stack of folded clothing at the end of the bed. On the floor, she spotted her leather military boots, the only thing of hers that wasn’t taken. Ella reached for the clothing and placed them on Chelsea’s lap, then moved back to the door and closed it slightly before returning.
“Hurry, you need to get dressed,” Ella whispered. “They call this place Crabtree, and they say it’s a town, but it isn’t. It’s dirty and muddy and most of the people here live in tents.”
“What people?” she asked as she went through the clothing.
“They tell us they’re soldiers, but they aren’t. Not like Shane or Mr. Brooks. These people are mean. They keep everyone in a barn. They told us all we have to do is be quiet and soon we will be brought to the city where everything is good.”
Chelsea pulled on a ragged sweatshirt and stepped into a pair of men’s denim jeans two sizes too big. “How many are here with you?”
“All the kids and most of the ladies. But none of the men are here; none of them.”
Footsteps in the hallway silenced the girl. Quickly, she spun and faced the doorway with Chelsea to her back. The door swung open and the nurse stood in the doorway with a skinny, buck-toothed man close behind. The man’s eyes shifted nervously between Chelsea and the girl.
The nurse smiled and opened her hands to Chelsea. “I see you’ve already dressed; that’s good. Bones here will be showing you where you can stay until the train arrives,” she said in a calming voice.
Chelsea stepped ahead and, from the corner of her eye, caught a glimpse of Ella snatching the half-eaten sandwich. She turned and faced the nurse, then squared her shoulders to look into the eyes of the man. “If you have a place to take us, then let’s go.” She felt Ella pull in behind her and tug at the back of her shirt.
The nurse looked at the empty plate and caught a glimpse of the sandwich in Ella’s balled fist. She nodded and pursed her lips in a smile. “Of course. I know you’re hungry. I know there isn’t much in the lodging, but I’ll ask if something more can be sent over.”
“And after that?” Chelsea asked, causing the nurse to focus her eyes.
“You’ll be fine, ma’am.” Bones said sternly. “There’ll be plenty once you get moving north and out of this hellish place.”
“North where?” Chelsea asked.
Bones grew impatient and pushed the nurse aside, then swung a hand toward the doorway. “Let’s go; I ain’t got all night.”
Chelsea stepped wearily ahead with Ella still grasping her side. Ahead of her, the hallway stretched into darkness, the only light coming from an open window at the end. Bones cleared his throat again, ushering them forward. Stepping outside, she found the night air crisp and heavy with the smell of wood smoke. She paused, allowing herself to adjust to the moonlight. The sky was filled with bright stars that appeared to hang low in the heavens. Her eyes desperately searched the camp’s surroundings, but she found it dark and bathed in shadows.
She stepped farther onto the wooden porch and could see that the clinic was, in fact, a small house. The neighboring few buildings she could see had groups of armed men positioned out front, many warming themselves around steel barrels with glowing fires.
Holding a lantern in one hand and pointing to the ground with the other, Bones pushed himself around her, indicating a rough walkway made of logs and planks surrounded by overgrown grass that moved its way through the mud. She could hear men talking and the faint sounds of horses. “Watch your step, ma’am. It’s just this way.”
Chelsea turned on her heel and took the treads, stepping lightly onto the planks that squished against the thick mud. The walk to the side of a barn wasn’t far, and soon they were stepping onto a deck plank. A pair of men armed with rifles hushed their conversation as she neared. As one man leaned back against a tall sliding door, the other, wearing a heavy wool blanket over his shoulders, approached and spit just to the front of her boots, causing her to stop. “Whatcha got for me, Bones?” he grunted.
It was too dark for her to see his face, but she had no trouble catching a whiff of the body odor and alcohol coming off of him. Bones gently nudged past her and held up the lantern, letting the glow light the man’s long hard jaw and cold eyes. “Evening, Roger. It’s just the girl and her ma, the one, Doc was keeping an eye on. He says she’s good to go now.”
“So, what the hell am I supposed to do with her?” the man scoffed.
Bones hesitated then said, “Gus wants her on the train with the others.”
Chelsea watched as the second man pitched forward and turned to work a lock and chain fastened to the sliding door. The other man stepped closer and looked her up and down. “I don’t understand why we sending all these women up north if Carson is really intent on repopulating the south.” He chuckled and shook his head at Chelsea, who painted a hard stare. “I’d be willing to populate with this one right now.”
The man to the rear finished with the lock and turned back, holding the chain in his hands. He gripped the edge of the door and tugged. “Hey, Bones, you any idea how long this babysitting’s going to last? Not exactly what we signed up for.”
“Train’ll be here day after tomorrow is all I know,” Bones said. He moved an arm back, guiding Chelsea and Ella into the low light of the barn.
They stepped forward and were enveloped in the light scent of hay and the low glow o
f lanterns. The barn was long and wide; across from her, she looked into a row of eight stalls facing an open floor covered with straw. In the open space was a small table and chairs, and a bench with a several buckets and pitchers of water—in what Chelsea guessed were toilet facilities. She was nudged forward and could see women and children cower away from the open door, avoiding eye contact with the guards. Bones opened a locked cabinet with a key and removed an old blanket and towel. He pushed them into Chelsea’s hands, then pointed to the stalls on the far wall of the barn. “Find a spot to rest. There’s food and water here, and you can clean up over there in the basins.”
“What about a bathroom, a toilet?” Chelsea asked.
Bones grinned at her. “We’ll call you for that when it’s time. If you can’t wait—find a bucket.” The skinny man backed out of the opening and the door slid shut, locking her in. People moved, and blankets were pulled aside from the stalls as dirt-smudged faces peered out at her.
“Chelsea, is that you?” came a female voice.
Chelsea stared into the low light and took a step forward, her eyes searching for the speaker.
“Oh my god, it is you,” a woman said, rushing from between hung blankets. Chelsea watched the young woman approach. She quickly recognized her from the camp. She had brilliant green eyes and chestnut hair. Karen Winters was five four, her face was thin, and her skin pale. Chelsea spoke with her often around the camp. Karen and her father went out of their way to make themselves useful, trading game and other food for work. Karen’s father was a gifted craftsman and helped the camp’s residents with building homes and crafting furniture.
The woman rushed forward and embraced her tight. Chelsea winced at the pain in her ribs, and the woman let go, stepping back. “You’re hurt,” she said, looking her up and down. “Come sit.”
The woman showed her to a stool. Chelsea sat as other woman quickly hovered around her. She was given a bowl of broth and a cup of tea as she was bombarded with questions. Ella sat close by her as she quietly told them about waking up in the clinic, and just now being released with no information about what they were doing here, or who held them.
The woman explained their capture at the camp. How they’d been separated from the men, then moved to this place in trucks. They were told there were more women at the clinic, but not who or how many. Karen explained how Ella had begged to see if her mother was among the wounded. So far, their captors had treated them well and had provided them with food, water, and shelter. Chelsea let her eyes search the barn, stopping on the doors. A double at the front and the sliding door at the back. There was a loft but the ladder had been removed.
“And we’ve been here three days?” she asked.
An Afghani woman nodded, and, in broken English, said, “Did they say anything of our men?”
Chelsea frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know, they said we were being moved north on a train.”
Karen nodded. “A man from the trucks said we were safe now. That we were being rescued and would all be relocated north where the Primals had all but been exterminated.” Karen leaned forward and placed her hand on Chelsea’s knee. “I have to ask—you were on watch when they attacked…”
Chelsea nodded her head slowly.
“Did you see my father?”
“No, I’m sorry. But I know our people are out there and they will come for us.” Chelsea turned her head toward the door. From outside, they could hear men shouting, then gunfire erupted.
Chapter 17
East of Crabtree, West Virginia
Free Virginia Territories
Brooks held a finger to his lips. The point man was pressed into the foliage, nearly concealed in the shadows of overhanging brush. As a place to sleep, Brad could have wished for more comfortable accommodations. The soldier pressed in deep and slid under the boughs of a mountain pine. The men were nestled into the face of a ridge. Just ten feet below them, a snow and ice covered trail led out of the valley.
Brad could hear their plodding feet on the trail below. Turning his head, he could see them in the pale moonlight. A barefooted man walked by, dragging a bloodied stump attached to a grey and decaying leg. These were Creepers; Primal victims of the harsh winter, frozen yet still refusing to give up the ghost. Unlike humans, they didn’t succumb to frost bite, get hypothermia, and die; somehow, their brains continued to function, their hearts and lungs refusing to quit until frozen solid.
It’d been months since any of them had seen a 'Creeper', as they were called. The ones that stumbled along, nearly frozen, on that last leg before finally fading to death. The Primals had evolved in the last two years; they knew to seek shelter during storms and during the frigid temperatures of winter. They hunted in packs and often—with the aid of the more intelligent Alphas—avoided danger when they could. But something was different on the mountain now… The Primals were spun up and acting irregular. The battle had stirred them, keeping the things out in the sub-freezing temperatures.
A single gunshot cracked, then echoed through the night air. The Creepers halted on the trail, then with grunting exhilaration, marched on with renewed vigilance toward the sound of the gunfire. The single gunshot became many, and soon turned to automatic weapons fire. Somewhere ahead, a one-sided battle was raging, and these things were feeding it.
For over an hour, the men of Brad’s team lay hidden in the rocks and trees, attempting sleep but shivering from the cold. Fighting the muscle cramps from holding position, until finally, the last of the Creepers had moved by. Brooks was the first to leave his hide, belly crawling to the trail below, then moving to a crouch. With his night vision covering his eyes, he searched the trail, then quickly called the others to his position. Without speaking, the team moved out rapidly into the heavy underbrush, patrolling perpendicular to the trail and keeping the sounds of the gunfire to their right.
A cold wind blew through the trees, rattling the branches and dropping snow on their heads. The sounds of the Primals’ moans continued to mix with the gunfire as they trekked through the moonlit forest. Soon, Brooks turned them back to the west, toward the sounds of the raging battle. The terrain changed and they were traversing downhill. Brad slowed, checking his footing with every step as the terrain worsened; it was no time for a fall or twisted ankle. He stepped lightly, checking every step, avoiding the branches and thorns of bushes.
Just before dawn, the gunfire suddenly stopped. They descended down a stepped ledge, then turned to follow a fast running stream that snaked its way to low ground. The forest thinned, and a game trail appeared near the banks of the stream. Brooks slowed the group again and pointed out into the pink and purple predawn sky. In the distance they could see the glow of lights and campfires. Moving on, they stopped at the edge of the valley in a thick, tree line. As the sun broke, the men belly crawled the last hundred yards, reaching the last ridge overlooking a large expanse of flat ground.
Below them, Brad could see the outlines of a large timber wall, not unlike the one that surrounded the outpost he called home. Inside the wall was a farm and a grouping of buildings, not quite a village. They were close enough that Brad could see armed men moving along the tops of the walls, and men inside walking along plank boardwalks.
Looking through the optics of his rifle, Brad witnessed the results of the previous night’s battle. A corpse-filled road met the fence at a large gate. The stream they’d followed continued to wend through the flat ground and pass under the wall. As the sun broke the eastern sky, he could make out tiny pillars of smoke, a large tent city, and a motor pool filled with vehicles. A train track cut right through the center of the walled compound and, looking beyond, Brad could barely identify the rise of a railroad bed that moved through the flat land.
The team was concealed in heavy trees, but there was no cover to their front; nothing but snow-covered grassland between them and the walls. Leaving Hassan to observe the compound, Brad watched as Sean pushed back away from the edge with the others following. He gu
ided them to a small depression and into a tight huddle. Sean pulled off his gloves and rubbed his fingers together. “So what do ya all think?” he said in a hushed voice.
“It’s gotta be them, Chief,” Cole replied. “And by the looks of those tents and the number of vehicles, there must be a lot of them.”
“They dug in, built themselves up for a stay.” Joey nodded in agreement. “Could be over a hundred men down there.”
Brooks dropped to his rear and pushed back against a tree, then pulled a wool watch cap low over his brow. “I kinda wish we’d hauled that mortar tube along,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest and closing his eyes.
Sean looked at his vest, patting the empty magazine pouches. “We don’t have the ammo to hit them head-on, and if we run up against them guns blazing—we’re toast.”
The Ranger agreed. “This position of theirs works two ways; they got open fields of fire and so do we. We can set up here and keep them pinned inside the compound. We starve them out,” Burt said.
Sean shook his head. “We don’t have the time, and we don’t know what other assets they’ve got,” he said, then looking at the faces of the men around him, added, “Besides, it’s not like we have loads of supplies.”
Burt steeled his gaze. “Whatever; we decided Carson has to be killed.”
Brooks chuckled and looked up from his nap. “Okay, tough guy. Are you even sure he’s here? Do you even know what he looks like?”
The Ranger spun his head back and locked eyes with Brooks. “If he isn’t here now, he will be. It’s how the guy operates; he gets his kicks seeing people controlled.”
Brad rolled his shoulders and nodded his head. “A guy like that should be easy enough to identify. We’ve all seen it before. The guy walking with body guards; the one that doesn’t really fit in. The guy that’s just a little too clean, with a collar shirt, surrounded by grunts.” Brad grinned and gestured toward the compound with his chin. “If Carson is here, we’ll find him.”
