Theo returned to his seat, and Fenix went back to watching the deer outside. The moon had slipped back into the gray clouds, shrouding the ground in darkness. Shadows moved in the weak light near the burned-out building to the east. They vanished before he could get a look at what was creating them.
“You know, I’ve been wonderin’,” Theo said.
Fenix rolled his eyes. This guy just didn’t shut up.
“How do you become a Nazi?” Theo asked. “Do you just wake up one day and think, ‘Oh shit, I’m a racist asshole and I want to oppress anyone that’s not white’?”
Theo waited for him to respond, but Fenix wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. At this point, the redskin was just annoying.
“Not going to answer? You don’t want to give me some insight on what fills someone with so much hate for other races? Because I assume it’s fear. Fear turns men into cowards like yourself.”
Fenix still didn’t take the bait.
Theo remained seated at his table, but reached for the .357 Magnum next to his soup bowl. He picked it up and pulled back the hammer, closing one eye and aiming it at Fenix.
“All that gold and weapons you promised are the only things keeping me from blowing your dumb head off, you know that?”
Fenix couldn’t help himself any longer. “You sure are judgmental for someone that works for a criminal. Don’t act like your shit don’t stink, man.”
He looked away, not worried about Theo pulling the trigger. Outside, the moon had returned. Another flurry of shadows moved across the landscape, and Fenix spotted a deer bolting away from the courtyard. Something had spooked it.
“Do you think I won’t kill you?” Theo asked. He got up from his chair, still pointing the gun. Fenix watched the small man in the reflection of the windows as he approached.
The glass in the central pane shattered, and Theo jerked as a bullet punched through his expensive suit. He dropped to the ground, losing his pistol on the floor, and cried out in pain.
Fenix smiled at the sight and muttered, “Who’s the dog now?”
The other windows to the right exploded, raining glass on the carpet. Rounds punched into the tables, floor, and walls. Shouting for help, Theo scrambled for the cover of the table he’d been sitting at earlier. He propped it up to shield his body.
Fenix remained where he was, his appetite slowly returning. He brought up another spoonful to his lips as bullets peppered the room.
Theo covered his head with his hands and shouted, “Hacker, Jade!”
He glanced over at Fenix, who was in the process of bringing the final spoonful of cold soup to his lips. He swallowed, set the spoon down gently, and stood, heedless of the gunfire.
The Sons of Liberty didn’t miss.
Fenix walked toward the .357 Magnum. Theo reached out to grab it first, but gunfire lanced into the ground, forcing his hand back.
He picked up the pistol and aimed it at Theo. He was on his back now, hands on his gut, legs and feet squirming as he bled out.
The automatic gunfire continued for several seconds before waning into sporadic shots. Fenix brought the gun up and aimed it at the door as footsteps sounded in the stairwell outside.
The door swung open and Jade stumbled inside, three rosy spots on the front of his coat. He dropped to his knees, and Fenix fired a shot that hit him in the top of the head, blowing off his red bandana and splattering his brains over the wall.
Three more men emerged in the open doorway, carrying M4 rifles and dressed in all-black. The leader pulled down his facemask and smiled when he saw Fenix.
“General,” Horton said in his gruff voice.
“About time, Sergeant,” Fenix said. He moved over to Theo, who was looking up, eyes wide and fancy Italian shoes kicking at the ground.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Fenix pulled out the tracking device Horton had dropped inside back at the cabin earlier that day. He bent down next to Theo.
“You thought some stupid radiation signs were going to keep my men from coming for me?” Fenix asked. He tilted his head to one side. “That plan was almost as dumb as you talking to me the way you did earlier.”
“Nazi pig...” Blood bubbled out of Theo’s mouth. “Rot in hell.”
“Maybe, but not for this,” Fenix said. He stood and pointed the .357 Magnum at Theo’s face just as more SOL soldiers moved into the room.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” Fenix said when he saw they had captured Hacker. The man stumbled through the open doorway, his hands bound behind his back.
“There’s a few other prisoners downstairs,” Horton said. “Figured I’d let you decide what to do with ‘em.”
Hacker glanced over his shoulder and growled at the SOL soldier who’d pushed him into the room.
“Hey, pencil dick,” Fenix said, his smile returning. He waited for Hacker to look him in the eye, and then said, “Seems to me like you’re out of a job. You want a new one?”
Hacker hesitated, then shrugged. “Never really did care for Nile that much, to be honest.”
Theo spat blood in Hacker’s direction. “Fucking traitor.”
Fenix laughed, and aimed the barrel at Theo with one hand and motioned for Hacker to join them with his other.
“Tell you what,” he said when Hacker got there. “You can join the Sons of Liberty if you perform one simple task.”
Fenix pointed with his other hand at the pliers on Hacker’s duty belt. “You pluck out Theo’s eyes for me so I can send them to his cousin. The treaty between SOL and these redskins ends tonight.”
7
THE ANCIENT PICKUP truck climbed a hill, chassis groaning like an old man walking down stairs. Another old man was sitting in the bed of the truck, blindfolded and hands bound in front of him. Like the truck, Colton’s body had seen better days. His eyelids were both swollen and obstructing his view. The right eyelid was completely closed. His lip had been split in two, and he was pretty sure he had a stress fracture in both of his shins.
But the physical and mental pain would all be over soon.
This was it. He was going to die today. Clint Bailey’s words emerged in his mind.
They are going to kill you tomorrow. If you have a chance to run, do it.
Clint was already dead. His body had been left on the road just outside Estes Park, according to Sheriff Thompson. He had ordered Colton to get into the back of the truck, and then had placed the blindfold over his eyes. The food drop must have gone awry, and he was going to pay the price.
They had been driving for about ten minutes, and were now climbing, which told him they were heading into the mountains. He considered jumping out of the bed, but even if the fall didn’t kill him, it would break his legs, and then what would he do?
You are a dumb son of a bitch, Colton thought. Coming out here thinking you could make a deal.
He should have stayed in Estes Park. He should have never left his family behind. Everything had changed the night he found Melissa Stone and the fighter jets fell from the sky. The world had changed, and the wolves that had been hiding among the sheep were now in charge.
Colton shielded his swollen face from a gust of chilly wind as the driver took a right and accelerated down a new road. He wasn’t sure who was in the back of the bed with him, but he had heard two other people climbing in. He guessed one of them was Thompson.
He wanted to be angry, but it quickly changed to despair. He had fought, and he had lost. Colton never thought he would plead for his life, but desperation set in. He wanted to see Kelly and Risa, to hold his girls again and never leave them.
“You don’t have to kill me, Sheriff. Please let me go. I can help you. We can help each other,” he said.
There was a chuckle over the noise of the wind, but it faded away, leaving Colton alone in the darkness and the cold.
“You’re a brave man,” Thompson replied. “But you lack what it takes to survive in this new world. You’re a decent fighter, but you’re not a killer.
That’s the difference between you and me.”
The truck stopped a few minutes later, and the lift gate clanked open. Someone grabbed Colton under the arm and helped him down.
Then his blindfold came off.
He blinked into the cold wind, looking at the rolling hills east of Fort Collins instead of the Rocky Mountains to the west.
Sheriff Thompson and his Russian henchman stood next to him, both of them focused on the burned-out FEMA Survival Center camp in the distance. A mile of debris spread across fields now covered in a sheet of snow.
“I own this land,” Thompson said. He turned to Colton, a cocky grin under his broken nose and bruised eyes. “I’m the king.”
“Not for long,” Colton said. “The government will be here soon. They will stop you.”
“What government?” Thompson said, his smile fading. “The only thing I’m worried about is the fucking Chinese.”
Colton couldn’t resist asking. “What about them?”
“Those bastards are streaming across our borders to ‘help’ with rebuilding efforts, from what we’re hearing over the radio.”
“Invading,” Ivan said.
“I’ll kill any of them that step into these parts. Like I said. I’m the king.” Thompson shrugged. “Besides, I don’t need the government’s help, and never did. We have dozens of warehouses packed full of supplies, food, medicine, and other shit we took from the FEMA camp. Soon we will have the weapons to hold back the Chinese, and anyone stupid enough to try and take Fort Collins by force.”
Colton could tell by the crazed look in Thompson’s eyes that he already had a plan to deal with the so-called invaders, but his concern now was the sheriff’s plan for Colton. Would he crucify Colton on one of the poles down the road like he had Sheriff Gerrard? Would he cut up Colton and send him back in pieces, like he’d threatened?
The questions swarmed his mind as they walked down the road. Why would Thompson show him all this just to kill him? Maybe he just wanted to talk. He was a narcissistic sociopath, and those people were near impossible to understand or profile. They were the worst type of criminal, feeding off power. No remorse. No morals.
“Anyone who challenges me will end up like them,” Thompson said. He didn’t elaborate, but Colton knew who he was talking about. Almost every pole on the side of the road had a dead body nailed to it.
“You won’t win,” Colton said. “Evil never wins in the long term. It’s always conquered by good men.”
“Evil?” Thompson asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Good men? You think you’re a good man? Please, spare me the bullshit, Marcus.”
Colton turned to get a better look out of his left eye. Judging by the confused look on Thompson’s face, the man really believed he was doing the right thing. There wasn’t anything else Colton could say. Thompson was batshit crazy.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Get back into the truck.”
Colton hesitated to look out at the corpses once last time. This was what Thompson’s kingdom would look like if Colton didn’t find a way to stop him. But what could he do?
Ivan turned back to the truck with Thompson, and Colton saw a sudden opportunity. Maybe there was something he could do, and if he was going to die anyways, why not go down fighting?
He grabbed the Glock in Ivan’s hip holster, and drew it with his bound hands before the big Russian could react.
Thompson spun to face Colton, but found himself staring down the barrel of the gun instead.
“Don’t move, or Thompson takes one to the heart!” Colton yelled at the two men who hopped out of the truck. They both shouldered rifles at him, but Colton kept his pistol aimed at the sheriff.
“Think about what you’re doing,” Thompson said. “This is a big mistake, Marcus.”
“Tell your men to drop their weapons or I swear to God I’ll put a bullet in your head and another in your black heart,” Colton said.
Thompson held Colton’s gaze, reading him for a bluff. The sheriff must have seen he was serious.
“Do it,” Thompson said after a short hesitation.
“But boss?” Ivan protested.
“I said drop your fucking guns.”
The driver and passenger slowly lowered their rifles.
“No, throw them in the truck,” Colton said.
Thompson nodded.
Both guns went inside the pickup. The truck was still running, the muffler coughing in the chilly weather.
“Leave me a knife too,” Colton said. “Then get over to the side of the road.”
“You’re making a really big mistake,” Thompson said. He chuckled, and looked at Ivan. “It’s actually really funny that he got the drop on you.”
“You made the mistake, asshole,” Colton said. “Now get moving or I’ll shoot you right now.”
“Feel free to shoot Ivan,” Thompson said.
“I said move!” Colton said.
Thompson drew in a deep breath and nodded. The driver pulled a knife out of a sheath and placed it on the seat of the truck. Then he raised his gloved hands and walked over to the shoulder of the road with the passenger. They lined up next to Ivan and Thompson, while Colton retreated to the truck.
“You fought well against me,” Thompson said. “I respected that. I was going to let you go. I was preparing to take you back to Estes Park and drop your dumb ass off, but now you’re a dead man.”
“We’ll see about that,” Colton said. He backed up to the front seat of the truck with the gun still aimed at the men. He could easily jump in and speed off, leaving them here. That would make him a better man than Thompson.
You lack what it takes to survive in this new world.
“Never let a rabid dog have a chance to bite you again,” Colton muttered.
“What was that, Marcus?” Thompson asked.
Colton hesitated, knowing that what happened next would stick with him forever. This could very well be the defining moment of his entire life. Specters of those he hadn’t been able to save formed in his mind, followed by the images of his wife and daughter. He couldn’t let them die. He couldn’t let a man like Thompson survive.
Thompson’s eyes widened with realization just as Colton pulled the trigger, twice. Both bullets hit the sheriff in the chest. He spun away, hitting the dirt, and then rolling into the ditch.
Colton roved the gun to Ivan.
“Nyet!” screamed the Russian.
He ate a bullet that exited the back of his head. The other two men took off running. Colton aimed the barrel at the fat man on the right, but he had never shot a man in the back before, and hesitated again.
You can’t afford to have mercy.
With the sights lined up, he shot the man in the back three times. The second man turned and shielded his head, knocking off his baseball cap on the process.
“Please,” he said. “Please don’t shoot me. I have a family.”
Colton looked over to Thompson, who lay in the dirt at the bottom of the ditch, his sightless eyes staring up at the sky.
“Please!” the man entreated.
Colton slowly lowered the Glock. “Tell your friends that Estes Park is off limits. If anyone shows their face there, they will meet the same fate as Thompson.”
The man nodded rapidly. “Yes, sir. I promise.”
Colton scanned his handiwork as he backpedaled to the truck; the fat man lay sprawled on the pavement with blood ballooning around the holes in the back of his coat; Ivan was face down, snow flurries falling into the gory exit wound where his skull had been moments earlier; and finally, Thompson.
A month ago, executing three men in cold blood would have made Colton throw up. But he was no longer that man. This was no longer that world.
After Afghanistan, he’d thought he had seen the worst humanity could do to each other, but atrocities like the burned-out FEMA camp in the distance, and the dead civilians hanging from poles on the side of the road, had taught him how cruel humans could be. Witnessing the things Thompson h
ad done was sickening, but it had been necessary in teaching him what he needed to do to protect those he loved.
He was no longer a lawman.
He was one of the damned now.
_____
Raven patted Willow on the neck. The mare snorted and continued up the trail. The sun was starting to go down over the mountains, leaving an orange streak across the iceberg-shaped clouds.
Chilly wind whipped Raven’s long hair across his face. He pulled the curtain back and redid his ponytail. His ear was really hurting from the cold. The stocking cap helped a little, but he was really starting to worry. An infection could cost him his ear, or worse.
“It’s cold as balls out here,” Dale Jackson said. He rode Colton’s horse, Obsidian. Saddlebags packed full of elk, deer, rabbit, and even squirrel meat hung over both horses.
“You think this is cold? Man, you white people don’t know cold,” Raven said.
Dale heaved a laugh, his breath coming out in a cloud of white. “You know, I didn’t like you much at first, but you’re a good guy, Sam. Funny, too. I didn’t realize you had a sense of humor.”
“I don’t,” Raven replied. He thought of the night of the North Korean attack, when Dale had nearly shot him on the road, and added, “For the record, I didn’t like you much, either.”
Dale hung his head ruefully. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinkin’ straight when I said those things to you. Went a bit crazy that night. Reminded me too much of...”
“No need to explain,” Raven said. “I’m a combat vet too, you know.”
“Right, and that makes us brothers.”
“Yes it does.”
He gave Willow a nudge, and continued down the road in silence, save for the sound of hooves clicking, as the sun retreated behind the mountains. They were headed for the new supply bunker on the eastern edge of town to store the meat. Raven had his crossbow strapped over his shoulder, wary of wild animals like coyotes and anyone that might be watching. He cradled an AR-15 and searched the woods framing the road for movement, but all was quiet.
After thirty minutes of trotting down the frontage road, they came upon the soccer field in the middle of the forest. It was a very odd place for it, but the perfect place to hide their supplies. Only two trails led to the area, and it was surrounded by forestland. The field was owned by a private school a mile away, and Lindsey had worked with the administrator to secure the land.
Trackers 4: The Damned (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series) Page 8
