Trackers 4: The Damned (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Dale nudged his large horse next to Willow as the path widened.

  “You feeling good, boss?” Dale asked. He watched Raven down the pill with a slug of water.

  “Boss?” Raven said with a raised brow. “I’m fine, just got a headache.”

  “Good. I need you frosty. When I find the fuckers that killed Jennie and took Sarah...” His angry words trailed off.

  “We’re going to find Sarah. Don’t worry, brother.” Raven adjusted the strap of the crossbow slung over his shoulders. It had caught on one of the hatchets sheathed behind his back. His AR-15 was hanging over his chest, and he grabbed the grip once he’d finished with his crossbow strap.

  Creek bolted through the woods ahead, tail up. The dog had picked up a scent.

  “Let’s go, girl,” Raven said, giving Willow another nudge.

  The two horses took off after the dog. Raven scanned the terrain for movement in the green hue of his NVGs. Colton had given them the precious optics for this mission.

  They were coming up the back way to get a better view of the lake and the highway on the other side of the water, which was where Raven suspected Fenix and his men were camped out with their heavy weapons. But so far, he didn’t see any fresh tracks from man or machine.

  Spindly pines lined the bluff on the right side of the path. Raven directed Willow up the slope, her hooves crunching the snow. At the crest, Dale and Raven dismounted and followed Creek to a ridgeline that looked over the lake. The rocky terrain stretched about a quarter mile around the lake.

  Raven checked the ridgeline, and then got down on his belly to crawl to the edge, where they propped their rifles up and scanned the lake below.

  “See anything?” Dale whispered.

  Raven did a quick scan without his scope, looking for movement or anything out of the ordinary. All he saw were some abandoned cars covered in snow on the highway, and another few parked near the lake. That was it. No trucks or Humvees. Nothing to indicate the presence of SOL.

  “The fucker lied to us,” Raven mumbled.

  What if this was a trap? What if Miles was trying to get Colton to send men south of town?

  “We have to get back,” Raven said, pushing himself to his feet with a grimace. His head was still acting up, and he felt light-headed.

  Dale cursed. “Maybe he wasn’t lying after all. Look at the highway again.”

  Raven brought his scope up and zoomed in on the highway one last time, where he saw something he’d missed earlier due to his damn head. The tire tracks on the road were fresh enough that the snow hadn’t covered them yet.

  Creek growled, but Raven kept his eyes on the tracks. They were heading north, directly toward Estes Park.

  He took his right hand off the rifle stock to reach for his radio, but then he saw another set of tracks. These were boot prints leading away from the lake, up the slope, and into the trees about a tenth of a mile from their position.

  Creek growled again.

  “What the...” Dale begin to say.

  Raven was already bringing his rifle up. He moved it to the right and held it on a figure in white camouflage, holding a shotgun and moving at a hunch along the rocky ridge.

  “Dale, get down!” Raven shouted.

  The boom of the shotgun sounded before Dale could move, peppering the ground with pellets. He rolled away, and Raven stood with his rifle shouldered. A trigger pull sent three rounds punching through the center of the shooter’s white coat, splattering it with carmine. He crumpled to the ground, bleeding out onto the snow.

  Muzzle flashes came from the trees a hundred feet away from the fallen man. Raven hunched down behind a rock with Creek while Dale found cover. Bullets cracked off the rocks all around them.

  “Two hostiles in those trees,” Raven said. “I’ll draw them out, and you take them down.”

  “No, you’re the better shot. I’ll go.”

  Raven agreed, and raised his gun over the rock, firing a three-round blast to give cover. Dale took off running, drawing fire instantly.

  Holding in a breath, Raven aimed for the trees. His first shot lanced into bark, but the second clipped the arm of a shooter. The man stumbled away from cover, and Raven put a bullet in his neck. He then trained the barrel on the final hostile and put a three-round burst into the right side of his chest. The man spun away from the tree, hitting the dirt on his side.

  “Clear,” Raven said. He did a final scan, and then looked for Dale. The big man was panting behind a rock and gave a thumbs up.

  The gunshots faded away, leaving the two men in silence. The cold wind rustled their clothing as they waited to make sure there weren’t any other snipers on the ridgeline. But every second they held position was a second closer to Fenix storming Estes Park with those M240s and mortar rounds.

  Dale moved over at a crouch. “That all of ‘em?”

  “I think so,” Raven said, looking over at Creek. The dog sat on his haunches, relaxed.

  Raven pulled out his radio. “Hawk 1, this is Akita 1. We took down three wolves, but the rest of the pack is on the way to the pasture.”

  “We’re about to have company here, too, Akita 1. Get your ass back here and find the pack.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Let’s check those dead guys. Then we get to the horses and hightail it back to town,” Raven said.

  Rifles shouldered, Dale and Raven made their way across to the ridgeline at a cautious trot. The first man lay sprawled in the snow on his back, eyes open and staring at the moon. Raven bent down to pull his stocking cap off, revealing a shaved head.

  “Definitely a Nazi.”

  Dale was already on his way to the trees. “Got a live one,” he said.

  Raven hurried over.

  The man was squirming on the ground, holding his guts where Raven had shot him with a 5.56 mm round. Dale had picked up his dropped M4. Raven picked up the other M4 from the third shooter, who was already cold to the touch.

  “Hurry. Police up their ammo,” Raven said to Dale. Then he bent down next to the dying man to look him in the eyes.

  “Where is Fenix?”

  The man’s eyes flitted to Raven. He winced in pain and tried to speak, but all that came out was a bloody bubble that popped on his blue lips.

  “Tell you what. I’ll give you a few of these if you tell me. It’s going to ease your pain.” Raven reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of pills Sandra had given him.

  The SOL soldier reached up with a gloved hand, but Raven pulled the pills back. “Not until you tell me where Fenix is.”

  A distant chopping noise sounded to the south, drawing the man’s attention. Raven and Dale both turned to look at the sky.

  “You hear that?” Dale asked. He hurried back over holding two grenades he had taken from the corpse.

  Raven slowly stood and put a boot on the man’s arm so he couldn’t move. Creek trotted over and sat next to Raven. The sound grew louder into a whoop, whoop, whoop that left no doubt in Raven’s mind. He knew that noise like a gunshot. The black bird came into focus a few seconds later, the helicopter carving through the clear sky like a boat in calm waters.

  “It’s a Black Hawk,” Dale said.

  “Yeah, but is it one of ours, or is this more SOL backup?”

  Dale and Raven hunched down, just in case.

  The man reached out for the pills again. “Please,” he muttered. “It hurts...”

  “Tell me where they are,” Raven said.

  “Mo...” Blood bubbled from his mouth again, coating his lips in red.

  Raven pulled out his water bottle and brought it to the man’s lips, earning a frown from Dale. He coughed and tried again to speak, but the Black Hawk drowned out his voice. Looking over his shoulder, Raven saw it had veered toward the lake. The bird did a quick circle and then flew northeast, toward Fort Collins.

  “That was one of ours,” Dale said. “Must have been Secretary Montgomery’s people checking out the coordinates.”

 
; Raven snorted. Charlize had sent the pilots to this location to see if Fenix was really here, but the man had already bugged out to a new location.

  Smart son of a bitch.

  Raven looked back down at the SOL soldier and put his finger into the stomach wound, expecting a scream. But the man didn’t make a single sound. His eyes stared at the sky, cold and dead.

  “Fucking hell,” Raven said.

  Dale handed out one of the grenades. “Take this. I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

  20

  THE COLD WIND stung Colton’s eyes. They had adjusted to the darkness, and the vibrant moon provided just enough light to make out the terrain beyond the roadblock. He crouched behind a concrete block with his AR-15 aimed down Highway 36.

  The barriers were set up at the intersection with Mall Road. There were a dozen vehicles blocking the road ahead, and then a wall of concrete blocks covered with barbed wire as a second barrier. Mall Road was clear, giving John Kirkus and his men from Storm Mountain passage to come from the north when the battle started.

  Sporadic coughing and whispers came from all around him, and he took a moment to look at the silhouetted shapes. There were thirty civilians-turned-warriors positioned here, and another twenty at the roadblock a half mile behind them. There were snipers posted on every street, just in case Thompson’s men made it past the barriers.

  All throughout Estes Park, men, women, and teenaged boys and girls pointed weapons. Colton imagined many of them were praying it wouldn’t come to violence. But he knew it would. After seeing the Black Hawk, he too had hoped it wouldn’t come to war, but the bird had kept flying, and hadn’t returned.

  Now that the military had decided not to intervene, Thompson would roll right into town, sacrificing his own people for a shot at expanding his territory.

  This was where the heart of the battle for Estes Park would occur, now that Highway 34 was washed away.

  “Shit, it’s cold out here, but at least the snow stopped,” Lindsey said. She was crouched behind the barrier to Colton’s right, looking up at the spotter that had climbed the transmission line. “Jack’s got to be freezing up there.”

  Colton snuck a glance at the high school baseball star perched high in the tower that had once distributed power to Estes Park. The boy had volunteered to climb it and watch for hostiles. His friends Alex and Gordon, both track stars, had also volunteered as scouts on Highway 36.

  “Any word from Gordon?” Colton asked Lindsey.

  She shook her head. “He’s still not answering.”

  “Try him again.”

  Lindsey spoke into the radio, but a different voice came over the channel. It was Alex this time.

  “I see light,” he said at a whisper. “Looks like about twenty vehicles. Maybe fifty...no, seventy men.”

  “Give that to me,” Colton said, heart racing at the news. Seventy men? That was a small army. How could his people stop so many with their shotguns and pistols?

  “Alex, you hide until those vehicles pass,” Colton ordered. “When it’s safe, you get back here, got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Colton contacted Raven next.

  “Akita 1, this is Hawk 1. What’s your status?”

  It took several moments for Raven to respond, and Colton used the time to check the roadblock to the east. He was already considering pulling people off that one, but he needed them there just in case Thompson had ground troops moving toward town.

  “I read you, Hawk 1,” Raven said over the radio. “We’re following those tracks. Looks like they took a detour around the roadblock here on Highway 7. Must have Humvees or something heavy duty.”

  Colton cursed. They were already being flanked. “How many vehicles?” he asked.

  “Four.”

  Colton gritted his teeth. “Find ‘em, Raven. Find ‘em before it’s too late.”

  “On it, Chief.”

  Colton put the radio back in the pouch and rose very slowly to take in the faces of those around him. They came from all walks of life. There was the owner of the Stanley Hotel, Jim Meyers, next to Rex Stone. Even Tom Feagen was here, holding a shotgun to his chest.

  Missing were all of those who had perished in the past two months. Colton took a moment to think of everyone from Captain Jake Englewood and Major Nathan Sardetti, to refugees like Susan and Todd Sanders.

  Colton would not allow their sacrifices to be in vain. He would not allow his town or country to fall into anarchy.

  “Listen up, everyone,” he said.

  Every set of eyes focused on him in the low light. Cold breaths puffed out of mouths as the civilians waited for him to say something reassuring or profound‌—‌something that would encourage them to stand their ground when the bullets started flying.

  “We are the town’s first defense,” he said. “What happens here could very well determine the fates of our loved ones in the high school. Make no mistake, the men that are coming will not show mercy. I saw what they did to residents of the FEMA camp. We must hold them here at all costs. We must make them pay for every foot of asphalt.”

  “Every foot,” Rex Stone growled. There was anger in his voice, and pain. Colton could tell he was ready to die to protect the only thing he had left in this world: his wife.

  “When they come, we must stand our ground. We are stronger together,” Lindsey added.

  Colton imagined the terror of the gunfire that would be on them shortly. Some of these people, like Tom Feagen, had never even fired a gun, let alone been shot at. Truthfully, Colton was more worried people like Feagen would accidentally shoot him in the chaos.

  But he needed boots on the ground here. Numbers meant everything.

  “Remember to conserve your ammo and fire on the vehicles. We can’t let any of them get past these roadblocks,” Colton said.

  A crack sounded, and the black cowboy hat Jim Meyers was wearing flew up into the air, part of his head flying off with it. There were screams, but Colton’s mind was still trying to process what had happened.

  Jim slumped to his knees, and then fell face first into the ground, gore spilling from his broken skull.

  “Sniper!” Colton finally yelled. “Everyone down!”

  Lindsey and Colton hunched behind the barrier. Return fire came from the roadblock. That was good; at least his people were fighting back. But the noise made it impossible to hear where the next shot came from.

  “Hold your fire!” he shouted.

  Most of the firing ceased.

  “Does anyone have eyes?” Lindsey yelled.

  Several cries rang out as another gunshot cracked, pinging off the barrier Lindsey was hiding behind. Colton gestured for her to crawl over to his position. Another flurry of gunfire came from the blockade, but it quickly ceased.

  Silence claimed the night.

  “Did anyone see where it came from?” Colton asked. His radio crackled with a message from Officer Matthew, but Colton ignored it.

  Another shot broke the momentary quiet, and a cry of pain followed. Judging by the noise, Colton put this weapon at a high caliber, and judging by the gaping hole where Jim’s hairline had been it, was probably a 30.06.

  “Who has eyes?” Colton said, louder this time.

  “Came from the trees at three o’clock,” someone yelled back. Colton looked to the right of the road. Someone had snuck into the timber without them seeing.

  “Covering fire,” he said to Lindsey.

  She nodded and got to one knee, preparing to fire at the pine trees, while Colton moved into position. As soon as she fired off a burst, he came up at a crouch and fired a blast into the woods. Rex fired with him, and they painted the trees with enough rounds that branches fluttered to the ground.

  Colton went to crouch back down when he saw something streak toward the barrier of vehicles blocking the road in front of their barricade. The projectile hit the center of the junked vehicles, exploding in a brilliant flash of light.

  “Down!” he yelled.<
br />
  Shrapnel and shards of glass whizzed through the air, slicing into several of the sentries that hadn’t gotten down in time.

  Someone had fired an RPG at their first line of defense, blowing a gaping hole in the wall of cars they had pushed together. He heard engines a beat later, and then saw the small armada of vehicles rounding the corner of Highway 36.

  “Open fire!” he shouted.

  The gunner in the bed of the lead vehicle fired first, filling the night with the bark of an M240. Gunfire lanced into the concrete blocks and cut down several people in front of Colton, splattering him with fresh blood.

  He hunched down and looked up at the distribution tower behind them.

  “Jack, get down!” Colton yelled up to the boy. Then he rose to scan the road. The man with the RPG was standing behind a ditch, attempting to reload. A muzzle cracked from the tower, and the man dropped with his launcher.

  “I got him!” Jack yelled.

  The boy’s bravery attracted tracer rounds from the vehicle barreling toward the roadblock. Several bullets cut into Jack and slammed into the tower. He dropped limply to the ground like a fried bird.

  Colton closed his eyes, gripped by a messy combination of fear, anger, and despair. When he opened them, he saw people staring at him on both sides. Terrified people with wide eyes, shaky hands, and sweat dripping down their cold skin as 7.62 mm rounds slammed into their defenses.

  You have to lead these people.

  “Aim for that truck!” he shouted, standing to set the example.

  He let out a war cry, and aimed at the muzzle flash of the mounted gun on the first truck. All around him, the militia stood and opened fire, sending a stream of rounds into the convoy. Someone to his right dropped, screaming in pain. Lindsey shouted an order, and someone else moved to take the fallen person’s place.

  The gun on the pickup went silent, and the truck skidded to a stop just in front of the smoldering hole where their roadblock had been. Colton finished off his magazine and reached for another when he saw another flash from the woods. There was more than one sniper.