by T. K. Malone
Renshaw sat back up and looked over the edge. “Long way down, Zac. A man might not be able to survive such a fall. Shall we?” he asked, grinning in the newly risen moonlight.
“And miss all the fun?”
He pointed at Zac. “And there you have your answer. We can’t turn our backs on it, because we’d miss all the fun. I’ll make no bones about it, Zac, I want to find out who did all this: the bombs, setting army against army, destroying Black City, then Aldertown and Morton Deep. I want to find out why and who, Zac. That’s what I want. That’s why I can’t walk away.”
“You think you can do that? One man, six men; you think you can find out who started all this?”
“What if I had more than six men? What if I had the Meyers' army? Like you said, money doesn’t matter, not anymore—just power.”
“You think they’d turn?”
Renshaw laughed. “I’m not even sure which side they’re on. So, I’m stuck with what I’ve got.”
“But can you win with what you’ve got?”
“With six men? No, I don’t think I can. But, once this is all sorted, could be I’ll have some more companions.”
It was Zac’s turn to laugh. “Is that an invitation? I thought we were going to get you all killed?”
Renshaw sprang to his feet. “Oh, that’s a certainty, but I like to have options.”
“Talking of options.” Zac, too, jumped to his feet. “What about Connor?”
“I have little to no intel on him. If he is just a husk of a man, then he dies. Only fair. And only fair you’re the one to do it.”
“And if not?”
“Way I look at it, Zac, nothing’s off the table.”
Renshaw returned to the camp, leaving Zac to stare after his receding silhouette. An unlikely ally, he thought, or just another trick, another twist in this tale? Yet, though he wanted to doubt him, Brad Renshaw’s thoughts on Connor so mirrored his own as to be almost seamless. If Connor was just a decrepit shell, then Zac would, through tear-filled eyes, end his life, assuming he could. But then, Brad had also posed another question, and that was about the future. Zac knew so far he’d been thinking no further than getting to Connor, and he should really look beyond that. But without knowing how it was all going to end, he just couldn’t see that far, nor did he see the point.
Looking around, his heart skipped a beat when he saw Laura climbing up to join him.
“They’re making ready to move out. We’re going to camp about halfway down this valley side, about an hour or two from here.”
Zac mumbled a reply, his eyes now fixed on the valley beyond.
“What’s up, Zac?”
He wanted to tell her, to tell her of his plans, however fledgling they may still have been, but the future he’d only just been offered still seemed a lifetime beyond his immediate task—that of meeting with Connor. Renshaw had brought this confusion to the fore, and he could see something in it, something important, but it wasn’t Laura.
For the first time in an age, he wondered if Teah was truly alive, and his heart ached for news of her. He’d no idea where the feeling had come from, nor why it had reared up now, but when he glanced at Laura, it brought him to wondering about their relationship. Had they just been thrown together? Was that the sum of it?
“What’s up?” he echoed. “I’m marching to kill my brother, that’s what’s up.”
18
Zac’s Story
Strike time: plus 9 days
Location: The Journey to Aldertown
“Joint commanders, Zac. I never said I was in complete charge—just mostly,” Renshaw said and passed Zac the binoculars. “Thing is, they appear distracted.”
Lying prone beside Renshaw, Zac took his turn to take a closer look down at the valley floor. It was clear a well-entrenched army was in complete control, not the two-sided battle he’d been led to believe. A few hundred yards up the far side of the valley, there was a swarm of activity. Zac could clearly see the Hell’s Gates, the entrance to Project Firebird, and could see the black stain of the blast which had broken the first and a waft of sooty smoke from the one which had gone off during the night.
“So, you dragged me out of my little den to show me this?” Zac asked.
Renshaw scoffed. “Were you sleeping? Somehow, I doubt it. Takes a bit of getting used to, sleeping on a mountainside during the day.” He shuffled back a little. “Two explosions—two so far. Mind you, that second one was a double blast; looks like it’s caused them some problems.”
“How so?”
“Looks to me like a load of ordinance went off just outside the entrance. Either they messed up, or the firebird bit back. Done us a favor, though.”
Zac scanned the slope. Now Renshaw had pointed it out, he could see them holding back, sweeping the entrance, clearly looking for something. “Two explosions in the space of a few hours, then nothing. Something’s rattled them.”
Renshaw rolled over to face Zac. “It’ll take a while to get through those gates. Sure, the first will have been easy: blow, clear and stack again. But the next? They’ve got to pull out all that rubble ‘n shit before they can even start the next one. And if the route is laced with surprises…”
“So, how long?”
Renshaw shook his head. “We’re tight on time on a timespan, and we’ve no clue what tight means—that make sense? Reckon we’ve got a while—though they’ll get into a rhythm. Shame we can’t just join up and go in with them, save a lot of trekking.”
Zac reached into his fatigues, fiddling through the strips until he found his cigarettes. “How do you get on with this crap?” he said, plucking at one of the straps
“Once it’s saved your life a few times, you get over its little quirks. May I?” and Renshaw reached out for one of the cigarettes. “Lot of marching,” he repeated.
Zac took a draw on his smoke. “What’s on your mind?”
Renshaw smiled. “Only seen the one drone down there, and the helo’s about a mile up the valley. Now, I overheard my men talking to John—Loser: one hell of a nickname. They seem to trust him and so are clearly prepared to talk to him. Seems he’s one of us, and, so I hear, an ex-sniper. Now—”
“Just where are you going with this?”
The lookout was already dead, slumped in the corner of a sandbag bunker overlooking the mouth of the valley, his throat cut. Zac only glanced at him, but he could see he was young, so very young, and Renshaw’s men were deadly. Looking back, Zac waved Noodle and Billy forward.
“So, now we wait for Loser,” Noodle muttered.
“Yeah, he’s the cue,” Zac said.
“Tell me the plan again, just so I’m clear, cos I can’t help but think we’re being used as cannon fodder.”
Zac huffed. “Don’t think they think we’ve got any finesse,” he muttered.
“I’m quite happy with the plan,” Billy said. “What’s not to like?” He shuffled around and looked over the sandbag wall. “Three hundred yards, I reckon. We gotta run three hundred yards, shooting everyone up, and trust Renshaw’s men to pick off any problems.”
“Exactly,” said Noodle, “just as I said: we’re cannon fodder.” He kicked Billy. “What about it do you like so much?”
“Me? I get to walk straight up that road, blazing away at the bad guys with this mother of a machine gun. I’m wearing near bulletproof gear and tearing up the enemy. Hell, I might even get to blow up a few barrels of fuel ‘n shit,” and by now he was grinning. “What’s not to like, mi amigo?”
Noodle shrugged, “Now you put it that way…”
A single shot rang out followed by a pause, then came four in rapid succession. Zac sprang up and vaulted out of the bunker, Noodle and Billy soon flanking him. Ahead, soldiers were looking up toward the slope, at the mouth of Project Firebird. They looked confused at first, then more shots rang out and panic set in. Over the valley, by the blackened gates, soldiers started dropping to the ground. In front of Zac, though, the knotted clumps of nearer
soldiers had now turned to stare at the advancing bikers, only slowly seeming to comprehend. But then, one by one, they raised their weapons. In reply and as one, Zac and his men opened fire, their bullets tearing through the enemy as they advanced.
Billy and Noodle split off as Zac broke into a run, crouching low and now picking out his targets. The enemy were rushing to group, spilling from their tents and a line of containers beside the road and jumping into ditches. Zac reached an unattended jeep and crouched down behind it as the ground around him erupted in a hail of bullets. At a pause, he bobbed up, gun on the hood, and let loose a hail of his own, but the thud of returned fire raking toward him across its metal soon forced him back down.
A quick check revealed Noodle was pinned down in a ditch to Zac’s right, heavy fire coming in from behind a digger. Billy appeared to Zac’s left, seemingly invincible as he strode toward the digger, screaming at the top of his voice. Zac sprang up and let loose a hail of his own bullets to give Billy cover, blood and guts soon arcing into the air from beside the huge machine as they struck home, but more soldiers kept coming. Zac wrenched open the door of the jeep and slid along its seat, feeling for the ignition. The keys were in and it started first crank. Keeping low behind the wheel, he gunned the gas, the tires scrubbing dirt as they scrambled for grip, but then he was racing toward Noodle who was still pinned down. Slewing to a halt beside the man, Zac grabbed his machine gun, smashing the butt against the unyielding windshield as Noodle leapt in.
“It’s bulletproof glass, dumbass,” Noodle hollered. “Go, go, go; I’ll do the firing,” and Zac launched them straight at the digger, Noodle’s gun spitting carnage from beside him.
“All good, Noodle?” Zac screamed.
“Hell, yeah.” Noodle leaned farther out of the jeep, concentrating his fire on the digger. “C’mon, Billy,” he screamed.
Billy was still blasting away, looking like a giant of a man as he bore down the road. But then he seemed to hesitate, momentarily, before jerking backward, not once but a number of times. Noodle screamed his name and started firing wildly around. Miraculously, Billy appeared to recover, rage now spilling from him, and he again stormed toward the digger, finally diving into its bucket, the pings of savage firepower sparking around it. Zac slammed on the brakes and Noodle leapt out, crashing down beside Billy in the bucket before popping up to loose off a volley at the enemy. Zac had by now slid out of the jeep and crawled behind one of the digger’s huge wheels, Billy soon at his side.
“You okay?” Zac barked.
Billy checked his jacket. “This is some bulletproof shit.” But then he nudged Zac. “Over there.” He pointed, and about a hundred yards up the valley—tucked between shipping containers—there was a wooden stockade full of what were clearly prisoners, a child was looking out from between its close-spaced posts.
“Changes everything,” said Billy.
“There aren’t enough of us to take on this whole army.”
“Ain’t that what we’re doing already?”
Noodle popped his head up for a quick look. “That?” he said as he bobbed back down under a hail of bullets.
“Yeah,” Billy shouted.
Noodle grinned. “Cover me,” and he leapt up into the digger’s cab. As they laid down fire, the whole machine shuddered then growled into life, jerking forward, Billy jumping from the bucket to join Zac behind the cover of its wheels, shots thudding into their rubber. Noodle maneuvered the big beast around and aimed it straight at the tents and their surrounding earthen bank, raising the bucket a couple of feet off the ground as he did.
The plan had been simple: disrupt and so delay Banks, giving Loser time to steal a vehicle, but that was all out of the window now, and Zac remembered Renshaw inferring their indiscipline would cost them dear. Noodle sped up, the digger growling toward its target, and he jumped clear. “Least we can do is free them,” he shouted as he got back to his feet beside Zac. They broke off to one side, firing all the while.
The stockade seemed primitive, but no fingers were now grasping its wooden posts, no scared eyes peering out from between them. Bullets were still peppering the ground around them, though, growing so intense now they had to scramble for cover behind the nearest container. Then came a wall of fire from beyond the stockade, whistling over their heads toward the enemy behind them. Renshaw’s men must have cottoned on to the new plan, and the distraction they were now providing gave Zac, Noodle and Billy a chance to duck into the gap between the two containers. But before Zac could draw breath, Noodle had jerked his arm, nodding toward some steps at the back of one of them.
They slipped nearer, Noodle breaking free and tearing up the steps and into the container. Rapid-fire boomed out from within, soon followed by screams, then Noodle rolled out and down the steps, looking dazed as he sat on his ass before them.
“Fuck it,” he shouted. “Forgot about the ricochets.” He grinned and jumped back up, following Billy and Zac as they more cautiously went up and stole a look inside. Zac wished he hadn’t: the few soldiers who’d been in there hadn’t stood a chance.
When he turned away, he realized he was now on his own, Noodle already shooting out the stockade’s lock, Billy beside him. As the gate flew open, Zac listened to the firepower of Renshaw’s men passing overhead, laying down covering fire. Between the containers and the side of the valley ran a clear stretch of road and onto where the captives were now spilling. Zac realized he’d at last come to the end of his impromptu plan, and he looked around frantically, desperate for options.
A cloud of dust approached along the road and the cab of a truck punched through it. Noodle tried to push the captives back into the stockade, but they just ducked around him and continued to stream toward the sanctuary of the tree-covered valley side. As the truck came into full view, speeding toward them, Zac briefly noticed the young boy dash from the stockade, a quick glance Zac’s way before a middle-aged man dragged him away.
Billy’s shout ripped Zac’s attention back to the stockade, where the big man had taken up a position and was firing at more soldiers who’d appeared from another container. Zac tried to be decisive, but his eyes were ineluctably drawn back to the boy, after whom he began running—toward the approaching truck. He soon knew he wouldn’t make it in time, but then the truck’s tires locked and it slid to a halt just short of the line of fleeing prisoners. Loser’s stoic face stared out from its cab, Laura next to him. Noodle shouted and pointed to the back of the truck.
Although some of the fleeing prisoners took no notice, others jumped aboard, Zac losing sight of the boy in the melee. Billy then screamed for help, and Noodle dashed toward him, unleashing a long burst of fire on the way. Zac raced to join them, shouting “Now” at the top of his voice as he, too, unleashed a stream of fire. By now, Loser was gunning the truck, Billy and Noodle grabbing hold as it passed, and swinging themselves onto its back. Zac kept firing until he was beside the cab, whereupon Laura pushed its door open and reached out to him. He grasped her hand and swung himself onto the truck’s running board, from where he laid down more fire until they’d rounded the containers and rejoined the road. From behind, he heard Billy and Noodle take over the covering fire, and so Zac lowered his gun and took a deep breath.
“Nice truck,” he said.
Loser flicked him a glance through the side window. “Renshaw’s gonna shit a brick. What happened to throwing down a bit of fire and beating it into the forest?”
Zac shrugged. “Got carried away. ‘Sides, once we saw they’d kids locked up in there, well, what were we supposed to do?” and he jumped in.
“Stick to the plan? Still, got the truck I had my eye on.” Loser lit himself a smoke. “But what are we gonna do with this cargo of prisoners?”
“Hadn’t quite figured that out.”
“Well, you might want to start soon, couple of hours and we’ll be at the rendezvous.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“You could just call it ‘Plan B’,” Loser
said, and grinned.
“What do you mean, Plan B?” Renshaw raged, looking down the valley at Banks’s camp. “I did say your indiscipline would cost lives.”
“Did anyone die?” Zac said.
“Beside the point. Still, looks like a kicked-in yellow-jacket’s nest down there.” Renshaw tried to stifle a smile. “You know, Zac, the world might have had its clock reset, might be cowboy time with automatics, but gunslingers didn’t enjoy old age—don’t believe the old legends.”
Zac gave him a rueful smile. “But it sure was fun.”
Renshaw grunted. “Sure looked it,” but then he cast an eye over the prisoners now milling around them on the forested valley side as they got used to their freedom. “So, I count sixteen with the boy. Tell me, what the hell are we gonna do with them?”
“According to Noodle—he’s the sociable one—they’re mostly from Morton, a few from Aldertown. What say we just drop ‘em back there?”
“Is that what they want?”
“Beats being in a stockade or running through these woods. Least they’re away from Banks, well, a little bit. Could take ‘em to Christmas, but that’d be a couple of days lost.”
“Just leave ‘em here?”
Zac shrugged and looked at them. “They’re mountain folk. They’d survive—ain’t winter yet, but, well, there ain’t no place like home, Renshaw, you know that. ‘Sides, we’re going that way.”
“In which case, I hope your man’s as good at throwing that truck around as he is at shooting. Say, what unit did he serve in? Man’s a mighty shot.”
“Not a clue; he don’t talk about his army days.”
“Best ones don’t,” Renshaw muttered and walked off.
Noodle wandered over. “What’s up, Zac? You might wanna talk to that man over there—he seems to be some kind of, well, if not leader then reluctant spokesman, and he’s got a mighty familiar name.”
