“Prospect,” he croaked. He licked his lips and tried again. “Prospect Mountain. They’re on the tramway.”
“Copy that, we’re on our way. Get your people out of there if you have any on the mountain.” Raymond hesitated and then added, “Are you all right, Chief Colton?”
Colton felt the darkness sweeping him. He changed the channel to the one he used with Raven, struggling for air. He used his last breath to relay his final message.
“Raven, get off the mountain. If you make it, tell my family I love them.”
22
FENIX COULDN’T HEAR anything aside from a dull ringing in his ears. Over the years, his hearing had been damaged from being too close to explosions, but this was the worst it had ever been.
I’m deaf. I’m fucking deaf!
Although he couldn’t hear the gunshots, he could see his men on the platform overlooking the area where his mortar crew had been just moments before, firing at hostiles. Smoke swirled into the sky, obstructing his view to the west. The smell of burned flesh was overwhelming.
He was still trying to piece together what was happening. His first thought was one of the shitty Chinese mortar tubes had blown up, causing a chain reaction. But seeing his soldiers at the railing, this was no accident.
Some of Colton’s people had made it up the slope and past his commandos. As he waited with Horton next to the aerial tramway shops, he had a feeling he knew exactly who it was—the same man who had ambushed the Sons of Liberty at the Castle a month earlier.
Damn that fucking Injun!
His soldiers were supposed to have taken care of Raven Spears the night before, and Thompson had promised Fenix the Indian’s head after today’s battle, but sometimes you just had to do things yourself.
Fenix crouch-walked around the corner of the concrete ledge with his M4 at the ready. The gunfire from the platform, where his remaining men were in prone positions near the edge overlooking the western slope of the mountain, continued. Smoke shifted away from the firing zone, revealing the crater where his mortar crew had been.
He looked over at Horton. The sergeant’s lips were moving, but Fenix still couldn’t hear anything.
“What?” Fenix shouted, unable to hear his own voice. Horton pulled Fenix back behind the wall and then used his hands to tell the story. There were two hostiles over the slope. Horton pointed at the sky, which told Fenix they were going to have more company soon.
“Get to the trucks,” Fenix said.
Horton nodded with understanding, and motioned for Fenix to follow him. They began to move along the concrete walkway curving away from the platform and toward the area where tourists had once boarded the red tramway cars. To his right, a staircase led to a coffeehouse, a gift shop, and the second lookout.
They took a path around the building to the south side, where multiple walkways had provided tourists with gorgeous views of the town, lake, and mountains. The trucks were on the other side of the building, disguised with camouflage tarps.
Both of the M240 guns remained in position overlooking the eastern side of the town, but Fenix didn’t stop to grab either of them. The tides had changed on the Sons of Liberty, and he was once again feeling the vise clamping down.
He did pause to sneak a glance over the railing to see the battle on Highway 36. From what he could see, the fight was starting to die down. Fires still burned at the first barrier along the highway, and sporadic muzzles flashed from the second barrier. Return fire came from a cluster of vehicles where Colton’s militia was making its last stand, but most everyone was dead or injured, from what he could see. Bodies littered the road.
His hearing began to return as he followed Horton around the building and onto a dirt path. Fenix glimpsed the outlines of their camouflaged trucks at the end of the path. The silence gave way to a ringing sound, and then the muffled noise of gunfire.
Fenix looked to the west, where his men were still firing at the two hostiles. Judging by the rapid fire, he had a feeling there were more Estes Park militia soldiers out there. No way could a single Indian and his friend could keep his men so busy.
Horton suddenly stopped in the path and balled his hand.
Raising his rifle, Fenix searched for whatever had spooked the sergeant. He scanned the trees framing the path, looking for any movement. Horton did the same thing, sweeping the left while Fenix swept the right.
A flash of white darted between two ponderosas, and Fenix squeezed off a burst that slammed into the bark of the second tree. He followed the direction of the movement and fired again.
Shadows darted back and forth around the two men, and Fenix followed them with the barrel, moving from left to right and then back again. He exhaled an icy breath and tightened his grip on his rifle. His fingers were freezing, and he could hardly feel the stock.
Horton bumped into Fenix as he backpedaled and fired off his own shots into the forest on the other side of the road. The bullets pinged off rocks and slammed into the base of a tree.
Over the gunfire, Fenix caught the sound of a growling animal. He saw the dog a moment later, stalking them from behind a row of rocks.
“I got you now,” Fenix said. He lined up his sights on the animal. He had never really liked dogs, and had no problem killing this one.
The animal walked slowly, giving Fenix a chance to line up a shot on its head. Before he could pull the trigger, Horton bumped into him again, sending the shot off target.
“You dumbass!” Fenix yelled.
Horton suddenly dropped to his knees, his hands behind his back as his fingers fished for the grip of a hatchet buried between his shoulder blades. Fenix quickly whirled to fire on the man that had thrown the blade.
The bullets lanced into the sky, narrowly missing the enraged face of Sam ‘Raven’ Spears, the Indian Fenix had been tracking for months.
Raven plowed into him with such force it knocked Fenix off his feet. On his way to the ground, he saw the dark eyes of the former Marine that wouldn’t die.
The snow padded their landing, but Fenix still hit dirt hard enough that the wind escaped his lungs. He managed to wrap his arms around Raven’s back and hold him down before the Indian could hit him in the face.
“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Raven growled.
“Good luck,” Fenix snarled back, bringing his head up to hit Raven in the nose. The Indian reared back and brought one hand up to his face. He kept his other hand on Fenix’s chest.
“Help!” Fenix shouted, hoping some of his men would hear. He craned his neck to look at the timber, searching the upside-down terrain for his soldiers, but all he saw was the growling Akita with a muzzle crusted in frozen blood icicles.
Something hot slid into Fenix’s side, and his eyes widened as a sharp wave of pain rushed through his body. He screeched in agony. His eyes flitted to his stomach where Raven had jabbed him with a knife.
“He’s mine, Creek,” Raven said to the dog snarling at Fenix. The Akita slowly backed away, and Raven bent back down so his lips were next to Fenix’s left ear.
“Guess a redskin got you after all,” Raven hissed.
Fenix blinked and tilted his head so he could look Raven in the eyes. “You’re nothing but a mongrel son of a—”
Gunfire silenced Fenix, and Raven looked over his shoulder as three Brandenburger Commandos fired at Creek. Bullets punched into the dirt, and the dog scrambled away.
Fenix groaned in pain as Raven rolled off his body, leaving the knife in his gut. The Indian tackled his dog and dove into the underbrush off the side of the path. Bullets ripped into the bushes a moment later, but Fenix couldn’t see if the commandos had hit anything. He focused on the knife sticking out of his side, reaching for it with shaky hands.
“Sir, are you okay?” one of his men asked.
Fenix managed to point to where Raven and his dog had escaped. “Go...go find them.”
Two of the men took off with their rifles, sweeping for Raven and Creek, while the thi
rd soldier bent down to help Fenix up.
“Best to leave that in for now,” the man said.
Fenix saw it was Brian Sanderson, a forty-year-old former corporal that had served under Fenix in Iraq. He was one of the best fighters left in the Sons of Liberty.
“Get me to the truck,” Fenix said, his voice crackling.
Sanderson helped him down the path toward the vehicles. More gunshots rang out in the distance, but it was the sound of a helicopter that made Fenix freeze. His blood boiled as he looked up at the sky and saw the Black Hawk. This was the end of the road for the Sons of Liberty unless he got the hell out of here soon.
The bitch Secretary of Defense was coming for them.
_____
Raven rested with his back against a ponderosa, panting. Creek was looking up at him. He could tell his dog was scared. Raven was scared too. But they were alive, and neither of them had been shot.
Yet.
He peered around the tree to check for the two Nazis hunting them. This would never have happened if he hadn’t taken his time trying to kill Fenix. Now the man was about to escape.
Raven’s mind shifted from thoughts of Sandra and Allie back to his friends on the road. The message from Colton had crossed into his muddled mind when he heard the faint but unmistakable sound of a helicopter on the horizon. The clock was ticking.
Shit, we have to get out of here.
If the military was on the way—if they knew Fenix was here—they would likely carpet-bomb the entire mountain. Raven checked the magazine in his Glock. There was one round left, but two men stalking them. His crossbow and M4 were both empty, and he’d left them behind to travel lighter. Both hatchets were buried in SOL soldiers, and his knife was stuck in the gut of their general.
One bullet, his bare hands, and a very pissed-off Akita.
It would have to do.
Raven looked to Creek. The dog knew what to do. He took off into the woods, leaping over a fallen log and vanishing behind a cluster of snow-covered rocks.
Drawing in a breath, Raven snuck a glance at the closest of the SOL men. They were moving slowly, their rifles sweeping with calculated precision. These men were trained killers. Probably former soldiers.
But they weren’t Marines.
Raven moved out from behind the tree and aimed at the closest of the men, pulling the trigger. As soon as the bullet left the barrel, he was running for cover.
Gunfire riddled the snow where he had been a second earlier, and he leapt through the air into a ravine, sliding down the side. His boots hit the bottom, and he quickly climbed up the steep embankment on the other side. At the top, the remaining soldier was striding toward the area Raven had just abandoned.
Taking off at a hunch, Raven flanked the man. The sound of the approaching helicopter disguised the crunch of his boots in the snow. The man looked toward the sky, and Raven slipped behind a tree. He waited, and then moved back into the shadows. His advantage was the night vision goggles he still wore. The SOL soldier had nothing but moonlight.
Raven saw his opportunity a second later, the same moment Creek emerged from his hiding spot. Together, they slammed into the unsuspecting soldier. The dog tore into the man’s leg while Raven climbed on top. He pulled a knife from the Nazi’s belt, looked him in the eyes, and then traced the blade deeply across his neck.
“Let’s go, Creek,” Raven said. He traded the knife for the M4 on the ground and took off toward the trail where the vehicles were located. An engine growled nearby, and he ran faster, leaping over rocks and fallen logs until he got to the road.
The camouflage tarps had already been removed from the three Humvees, and Fenix and the man that had helped him were driving toward a curve in the road ahead.
Raven aimed the rifle and fired at the truck, bullets pinging off the back before it rounded the corner. He ran after them, his rifle clutched across his chest, sucking in cold air and doing his best to will his body forward. His muscles and mind were exhausted, and the pills were starting to wear off. Even worse, he kept thinking of Sandra and Allie. Not knowing their fate was eating him alive.
But this was his duty. He had stopped the mortar and M240 fire, and now he had to stop Fenix.
The sound of the helicopter grew louder, and he saw the big black bird to the west. It was a Black Hawk, and while he wasn’t sure if it was the same one that had flown over Lily Lake, he was certain this was just a recon party. The real threat was coming from the south.
Raven froze at the low rumble of fighter jets. It had been ten minutes since he had talked to Colton, and it appeared the clock had finally run out.
Oh shit.
“On me, Creek!”
Raven looked to the path that curved off to his right, away from the other two Humvees. If Dale was still alive, he would be down there with Sarah. Fenix was already long gone. Raven would let the military deal with the bastard. He had to get off this mountain with Dale and the girl.
He made his way back to the smoking crater in the middle of the field. The scent of burned flesh and death filled his nostrils. Creek took off as Raven searched the gore-peppered area for Dale and Sarah.
A few minutes later, barking came from near a truck across the debris zone. Raven ran over to find Creek had located Dale and Sarah. The big man was on the ground behind the truck with the girl by his side.
Sarah said something to Raven, but he was too busy staring at the pickup. The explosion had speared the tires with shrapnel and peppered the hood. There was no way they were driving it out of here, and he didn’t want to risk going back to the Humvees without having a key in hand.
“Raven, you have to help Dale,” Sarah said.
Dale moaned. “Get her out of here, man.”
“Not leaving you,” Raven said. He pointed down the hill. “Sarah, go get the horses. They’re tied up about a quarter mile down there. Creek, you go with her!”
She didn’t hesitate, and took off with Creek while Raven bent down to help Dale up. The big retired soldier had taken at least three rounds, from what Raven could see, and couldn’t stand on his own.
“Are those fighter jets?” he rasped.
Raven nodded. “We have to get off the mountain.”
Dale leaned on him as a crutch, and they set off down the slope.
“You shouldn’t have come back for me.”
“Like you wouldn’t have done the same for me,” Raven said.
They navigated the rocky terrain like they had each been trained decades ago in boot camp, moving together as one. Brothers. Raven’s head ached from a migraine, but adrenaline kept him going.
The roar of the fighter jets closed in. Raven had heard that sound many times, and knew what was coming. He moved faster, a mistake that cost him his footing. They went down together, rolling until they came to a stop against a fallen tree. Raven pushed himself up and reached back down to help Dale.
“No, man, I’m too far gone—” Dale protested.
Raven could barely hear past the raucous sound of the approaching jets. He bent down and yelled over the noise, “Get on!”
He picked Dale up and set off with the man over his shoulders. This wasn’t the first time Raven had carried another man. Back in the Corps, he had carried his fair share, but that was years ago, and he was now hurt and out of shape. And Dale was heavy as a horse.
Raven focused on each step, trying to ignore the sound of incoming death. The jets were closing in. There were three of them, and they were heading right for Prospect Mountain. Several missiles slammed into the aerial tramway far above them. The explosions rocked the mountain, and Raven lost his balance again.
“We have to get up. They will be back,” Raven said, crawling over to where Dale had fallen.
“Leave me,” Dale said.
“Get your butt up, Dale!” shouted another voice. “That’s an order!”
Dale and Raven both looked to their right to see Creek and then Sarah, who was standing with the reins of both horse
s clutched in her hands. The little firebrand had come through for them.
Creek barked at them as if to say, move!
Raven helped Dale over the back of Rhino, and then climbed on to Willow, with Sarah clinging to his back. Raven gave the horse a good nudge and then whistled at Rhino.
The horses took off down the steep path as the fighter jets were preparing to make their second pass. Raven looked up to see two of them were Chinese L-15/JL-10 and one was an American F-22 Raptor.
“Go, go, go!” he shouted.
Sarah wrapped her arms around his waist. The horses loped down the slope, hooves crunching over snow and fallen branches. The rumble of the jets was so loud Raven had to resist the urge to clamp his hands over his ears. Another salvo of missiles lanced away from the Chinese jets, and the F-22 Raptor dropped a bomb that tumbled away toward the top of the mountain.
“Hold on, Sarah!” Raven shouted.
The concussion seemed to shake the entire slope. Rocks and snow rained down, and shards of broken trees torpedoed through the air. A sharp piece of bark stuck into Raven’s arm, and Sarah screamed in pain as she was also hit.
A wave of heat followed, and Raven looked over his shoulder at a tsunami of fire racing down the mountain. Creek was right behind them, running between trees and jumping over rocks.
Raven turned and focused on a bluff just ahead. If they could jump over the edge, they might just have a chance of not being barbequed.
“Jump, boy!” Raven shouted at Creek.
Willow protested when he kicked her, but a second kick pushed her forward. Raven grabbed the reins on Rhino and pulled the beast after them. Creek didn’t need to be told twice. The dog darted past them and leapt over the edge. The horses both jumped a moment later.
Sarah screamed again, and Raven looked up just as an avalanche of snow, fire, and debris rushed overhead.
23
THE TOP OF Prospect Mountain had vanished in a blast like a volcanic eruption. To Charlize, it seemed like a fitting end to the Nazi bastard that had terrorized Colorado and killed her brother.
Trackers 4: The Damned (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series) Page 26
