Storm of Ghosts (Surviving the Dead Book 8)

by James Cook

  Two days northward, the tribe reached the broad waterways of the Neosho River. They encountered only a few infected along the way. This part of Oklahoma was, ostensibly, the edge of federally patrolled territory. But in truth, the government hardly ever sent troops this far south. Not since Operation Relentless Force, anyway. Despite the lack of a federal presence, the undead population was very low in the region. It had not been heavily populated before the Outbreak, and the architects of Relentless Force had sent more than ten thousand troops into Northern Oklahoma to ensure the undead there would not find their way into Kansas. Their efforts were still paying dividends.

  Maru informed Heinrich the men wanted to build another camp on the bridge and rest a day or two.

  “No,” Heinrich said. He stood on the roof of an abandoned fast food restaurant, a pair of binoculars up to his eyes, scanning the edges of the waterway. The area had once been home to a prosperous community of upper-crust lake dwellers and the businesses that catered to them. Now, it was a burned out ruin pocked with artillery craters, bullet holes, and strewn with heaps of rubble and ash. The restaurant was one of the few buildings still standing.

  “You want us to cross and camp on the other side?” Maru asked.

  “No.”

  Maru narrowed his eyes. “Then what’s the plan?”

  Heinrich lowered the binoculars and pointed toward the shoreline. “Every house on this side of the peninsula has a boat house. Over there to the east, you see that floating dock?”

  “’Fraid not, Chief.”

  “Here.” He handed Maru the binoculars. “See it now?”

  “Yeah, I do. Wait…those boats…”

  “Look pretty good, don’t they?”

  “Yeah. The motors are in good shape. I bet they even work. Somebody’s been taking care of them.”

  “You have any idea how much it costs in time, energy, parts, and fuel to keep a boat running these days?” Heinrich asked.

  Maru shook his head. “Just the fuel alone is a small fortune.”

  “You see anybody guarding them? Any sign someone’s been there recently?”

  “Hard to tell from here, but no. I don’t think so.”

  “Exactly. So tell me, who has enough trade to pay for boats like that and not give a fuck if someone steals them?”

  The binoculars came down, and Maru showed his teeth. “Smugglers.”

  “Get the squad leaders together. We have planning to do.”

  *****

  Four days passed.

  Heinrich began to think the smugglers were not coming back. Perhaps they had found a new route, or were captured or killed. Any scenario was equally likely. His prime motivation for staying and waiting had been the condition of the boats. They were in good working order, something one almost never saw anymore. He doubted they had been left to rot; someone was coming back for them, and soon.

  That had been his thought, anyway. Now, he was not so sure.

  He and Maru and a few other high-ranking tribe members had taken up residence in several abandoned lake houses out of sight of the shoreline. The rest of Heinrich’s men were spread out along the lake front keeping an eye out for anyone approaching the boats. This had been the situation since Heinrich discovered the boats and resolved to intercept their owners.

  Despite the frustration of waiting, there were factors working in Heinrich’s favor. Chief among them was the fact the tribe now had working radios. They had brought the radios with them from the supply caches outside Parabellum, but had, until now, lacked the ability to charge them. The day they arrived at Lake Neosho, during their reconnaissance around the lake, a team of searchers had found a house with operational solar panels. The panels needed cleaning, but once that was done, they charged the house’s bank of deep-cycle batteries to 100%. Heinrich immediately ordered a charging station set up and selected a cadre of men to act as runners. The runners, for their part, had found several bicycles in decent condition, only needing to re-inflate the tires. Twice daily they visited the central supply cache and, under Maru’s supervision, swapped out dead batteries for charged ones and delivered rations to the men keeping watch over the lake.

  “Two more days,” Heinrich said thoughtfully. He sat on the front porch of the house in the late afternoon drinking hot water and picking his teeth with a fish bone.

  “What’s that, Chief?” Maru asked. He sat in a chair on the opposite side of the porch.

  “We’ll wait two more days,” Heinrich said. “Then we’ll take the motors off the boats and move on.”

  Maru stood up and leaned against one of the columns supporting the second floor balcony. In front of him, a flat expanse of trees and waist high grass stretched westward toward the lake a quarter of a mile away. Birds chirped and squawked. Insects buzzed and fluttered their wings in the still air. A grasshopper jumped onto the porch railing next to him. Maru flicked it away with one thick finger.

  “Won’t have much to trade when we get to the Springs, way things are going,” Maru said.

  “Don’t worry. Something will come along. It always does.”

  Maru stayed silent for a while. When he tired of standing he walked back to his chair. “What if it doesn’t? Way I hear it, trade routes are better guarded now. Seems what we did to that big caravan a while back got people’s attention.”

  “So what? They’ll be more vigilant for a while, and when nothing happens, they’ll go back to the way things were. Ain’t the first time, won’t be the last.”

  “Sure. But that don’t help us now.”

  Heinrich felt his irritation growing. “What are you getting at Maru? Don’t fuck around with me. You got something to say, say it.”

  The big Maori looked at his chief, then down at the boards under his feet. “Don’t know what I’m saying, if I’m honest. Letting doubts creep in, I guess.”

  Heinrich settled back into his chair. “Well knock it off. We got two more days of this shit, and if nothing happens, we move on. We’ll find a caravan sooner or later. And if we don’t, worst case scenario is we go up north and raid some farms. It’s only June, Maru. We got plenty of time to store up supplies for winter.”

  Maru nodded. The sun descended the horizon as another hour passed. The two men did not speak to each other. Just as the sky was beginning to turn purple to the east, Heinrich heard the sound of tires crunching over gravel. He stood up, climbed the stairs inside the house, grabbed his binoculars, and stood on the second floor balcony. One of his runners was inbound, pedaling for all he was worth on a pink bicycle decorated with white kittens. Maru met the runner at the driveway.

  “We got something, sir,” the rider called out.

  Heinrich walked downstairs and came out onto the porch. “What?”

  “Sixteen men, all armed, driving wagons, headed toward the lake.”

  “Coming from the south?” Heinrich asked.

  “Yes sir.”

  He paused to think. “How many wagons?”

  “Four.”

  “Livestock?”

  “Horses. Two per cart.”

  “Any idea what’s in the carts?”

  “No sir. They’re covered.”

  “What kind of weapons?”

  “Assault rifles, mostly. Pistols and shotguns too.”

  “Explosives?”

  “Not sure, sir. Couldn’t tell.”

  “All right. Give me your radio.”

  Heinrich sent out a message to all squad leaders and told them to pass it down to the men. When he finished, he added, “And remember: don’t shoot the goddamn horses. They’re valuable. We need them. Heinrich out.”

  He gave the radio back to the runner and motioned for him to leave. While the man pedaled away, Heinrich smiled at Maru. “See? Told you something would come along.”

  The big Maori nodded assent, one hand resting on his machete. “Right you are, Chief.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “They’re meeting someone,” Maru said.

  Obviously, Heinrich thoug
ht. “No other reason to stay on the island.”

  “We got eyes up north, Chief?”

  “I sent Locke and his crew this morning. Should be in position by now.”

  Maru brought up his binoculars. “Seems like north is where they’ll come from. Why else meet here at the river? Could meet on land anywhere they want. Gotta be from up north.”

  Which is why I sent an entire squad to look for them, idiot. “If they do, our guys will spot them.”

  Before Maru could state the obvious again, the radio crackled.

  “Chief, Six Lead. How copy?”

  “Lima Charlie, Six. What do you got?”

  “Boats, Chief. Five of them, hidden in a barn, all in good shape.”

  “Roger. Back off and keep eyes on them. Leave no trace. Call in if you see anyone coming.”

  “Copy, Chief. Six out.”

  “Three and Seven, move to positions designated Sierra and India. One and Two, proceed to position Zulu. All other squads, round up the canoes and land them on the western bank of area designated Tango. Once on land, move the boats to the southeastern shore. Move quietly and stay out of sight, but make sure those canoes are in position by nightfall. All stations, acknowledge and repeat.”

  The other six squad leaders repeated back the orders given to them.

  “Very good,” Heinrich said. “Chief out.”

  “Time to go?” Maru said.

  “One second.”

  Heinrich looked again through the binoculars. The men that arrived the previous day had split into two groups. One group had driven the wagons to the northern shore of one of several peninsulas jutting into the winding river. There, they had waited for the other group to drive the boats to a covered dock nearby. The wagons had then been offloaded and their cargo transferred to the boats. Afterward, twelve of the smugglers landed the boats on a narrow stretch of beach on the western side of the island, then dragged the boats ashore to keep them from floating away on the strong river current. Four men had remained behind on the peninsula to guard the wagons and livestock.

  Four men weren’t much of a challenge for Heinrich and Maru alone, much less the entire Storm Road Tribe. The other twelve smugglers now camped on the western shore of the island would not be much trouble either. The only wild card was the party approaching from the north. Heinrich wanted eyes on them before he made a move. Until then, he had to wait.

  *****

  The smugglers on the northern shore pushed their boats into the river an hour after nightfall. It was full dark now, a haze of clouds turning the sky opaque. The four men left behind to guard the wagons were still on the northern peninsula, sitting around a fire roasting fish they had caught earlier in the day. This was good news. Staring into the flames would ruin the smugglers’ night vision, whereas The Storm Road Tribe, having spent the last hour in darkness with their eyes adjusting to the night, had no such handicap.

  Heinrich keyed his radio. “Six, Three, and Seven, this is Chief. Hold position. Anybody comes your way that isn’t tribe, take ‘em out. All other squads, prepare to begin assault. Sound off assignments by numbers. Over.”

  “Chief, One. Position Zulu, northern shore. Eyes on the docks. Over.”

  “Chief, Two. Hundred yards southeast of One. Over.”

  “Chief, Four. Location Tango. Over.”

  “Chief, Five. Hundred yards south of Four. Over.”

  “Acknowledged. I’m sending Maru to One. Two, converge on One’s position. Over.”

  “Chief, Two. Wilco. Over.”

  Heinrich turned to Maru and handed him a radio. “Take charge of squads One and Two and deal with the rear guard. Do it quietly. I’ll go up on overwatch.”

  “Right, Chief.” Maru took the radio and slipped soundlessly into the night.

  When his second-in-command was well out of earshot, Heinrich belly crawled out of the ditch he lay in, slid down a shallow embankment, grabbed his pack and rifle case, and set out northeast at a fast jog.

  The road he followed led to a group of lake houses positioned on the northern shore of the peninsula. As he ran, he passed a wide road leading to a parking lot that once served the boat dock where the four smugglers still on the peninsula had struck camp. Heinrich kept running. In another thirty yards he turned northward on a tree-lined driveway leading to a massive lakefront house.

  The front door was open. Heinrich had come by earlier in the day to make sure of that. Once inside, he climbed the stairs to the top floor, entered a bedroom overlooking the river, put his gear down on a dusty, long-unused bed, and opened a window. That done, he went back downstairs and retrieved a chair from the dining room. He sat down so he could see out the bedroom window and brought up his rangefinder.

  “Two-hundred twenty yards,” he muttered.

  Heinrich opened the rifle case and took out his M-110. The semi-automatic sniper system was equipped with his secret weapon, a forward looking infrared (FLIR) long-range scope. He checked the batteries and found they were at full charge. Heinrich turned off the scope and picked up a magazine loaded with 175-grain match-grade 7.62x51 NATO cartridges. There were ten rounds in the mag, more than enough to suit his purposes. Heinrich seated the magazine and pulled back on the charging handle. When he released his grip, the bolt carrier group went forward and a round went into the chamber. He checked the suppressor to make sure it was seated properly, then flicked the safety off.

  Next, Heinrich reached in his pack and pulled out an Army issue aiming stick. The stick had a telescoping handle that stretched as tall as six feet and collapsed down to two feet. At its top was a padded, Y-shaped rest where he placed the fore-end of his rifle.

  Now the waiting began. Heinrich checked his watch. His men would most likely need six to seven minutes to get into position. He decided to give them ten. The night was young. No need to rush. No need to wait too long either. Too much waiting made people paranoid and sloppy. Warm muscles became cold and stiff, empty bladders filled with piss, fatigue and boredom set in, hunger and thirst became distracting annoyances, and the anticipation of battle made otherwise stern minds uneasy. Best to get his men moving while they were still fresh and aggressive.

  Ten minutes passed. Heinrich picked up his radio. “All stations, Chief. Status.”

  The reports came in. His men were in position.

  “All stations, Chief. Stand by.”

  Heinrich’s breathing steadied. His hands moved with deliberate precision. The aiming stick was at the right height, the scope set to the proper magnification, the contact paper he’d put on the trigger a rough texture under his fingertip. He centered the reticle on the only target facing him and adjusted for the difference in elevation. All four of the men at the dock were sitting around the fire. Perfect.

  “Point Man, Chief. Engage.”

  “Copy, Chief,” Maru whispered into the radio. “Moving in.”

  Heinrich waited. The four smugglers sat and talked and made small gestures. They spoke quietly and were careful not to let plates, pans, and other items clank or thump, a sure sign of people accustomed to traveling through infected territory. But at the moment, they were not expecting trouble. The river protected them on three sides, and any undead approaching from the south would be heard long before they arrived. The smugglers had no reason not to relax. Or so they thought.

  The man facing Heinrich sat up straight. The raider chief could not make out the smuggler’s face in the washed-out FLIR image, but he could tell by the man’s posture he had heard something. Even relaxed, these men were still alert. Heinrich repositioned his scope and felt a small pang of regret. Not at the impending loss of life, but at the fact these men would have made good additions to his tribe. Sadly, this was not a recruiting drive. It was a raid. He needed trade, and livestock, and wagons, all of which these people possessed. And they were not likely to give any of it up willingly.

  Heinrich watched and waited, willing his heart to beat slowly. His breathing became shallow, his finger tight around the trigger. The
man in his sights stood up and swiveled his head from left to right.

  “Point man, Chief,” Heinrich said. “You’ve been heard, but not made.”

  “Copy, Chief. You got eyes on him?”

  “Affirmative. Move in, but tell those bastards with you to be fucking quiet.”

  “Copy, Chief.”

  The image of the smuggler shifted as he walked to the outer edge of light cast by the fire. Not a smart move. Even without the scope Heinrich would have been able to see his silhouette against the backdrop of night. As Heinrich watched, the man turned and began speaking to his friends.

  Now or never.

  Heinrich squeezed the trigger. The rifle made a muted crack similar to dropping a wooden board on concrete. The smuggler jerked, stumbled backward, and fell on his ass. Heinrich began to shift aim but stopped when Maru and sixteen other men emerged from the darkness ringing the campsite. The three remaining smugglers had enough time to stand and face their attackers before the raiders were on them.

  Heinrich watched Maru slug a man in the jaw and then swing his machete in a horizontal slash. The man clutched his throat and went down, lifeblood pulsing from his neck. Maru looked for another target, but the other three men were already down, bludgeoned and punctured by a dozen weapons.

  “Chief, Point Man. All targets down.”

  Heinrich scanned the four bodies. In seconds, they were still. Maru and his men had managed to get very close before being heard. Impressive, but not perfect.

  “Copy, Point Man. Hide the bodies and have four of our guys guard the loot. The fuckers on the island might have eyes your way. If they look, I want them to see four men sitting around a fire acting like nothing’s wrong. Got it?”

  “Affirmative, Chief.”

  The men moved quickly and efficiently, just as Heinrich had trained them to. He allowed himself a small smile and a moment of satisfaction. Perhaps losing over a hundred of his previous number was a good thing. The strong survive, and the cream rises to the top. At least that was what his father had always told him. Life had thus far given him no reason to disagree.