Ten seconds passed before he squeezed the trigger. The report was loud and flat and the sow fell to her side, dead before she hit the ground.
The gunfire electrified the second pig. She shot a foot straight up, landed, spun about in a circle, and dashed into the woods.
Running in a straight line was her undoing. Coy kept a bead on her until she reached a small clearing. He waited until she made the midpoint of the clearing and fired.
The second shot wasn't as clean as the first. He didn't lead her enough and ended up with a gut shot. She ran ten feet and fell, flailing about and producing a squeal that sounded like a human scream of pain and terror. Her death throes had slowed to weak kicks of her legs by the time Coy reached her. Her snout was slick with blood and her breathing was labored and shallow; her eyes rolled in their sockets. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled his Beretta from its holster. He kneeled down and stroked her neck, murmuring kind words to her; then he placed the pistol above her ear and pulled the trigger.
For two minutes he sat and concentrated, still and silent. He listened for footfalls, snapping twigs, moans and snarls- anything that told him a nearby creeper had honed in on his gunfire and come to investigate. When the two minutes had passed he pivoted in a slow circle, peering through the trees for movement. Sometimes he completed the circle and the hair on the back of his neck refused to allow him to relax. On these occasions he re-shouldered the Remington and made another revolution, this time magnifying his vision thirty times as appraised his surroundings through the Woodmaster’s scope. Only when all of his senses said it was okay to proceed did he detach a sturdy pouch from the bottom of his pack.
The pouch held a small, light hatchet Coy kept honed to a lethal edge. In a close-by sugar maple, He selected two branches from a nearby sugar maple that were within reach and of similar girth. He removed the protective plastic cover from the hatchet's blade and hacked the branches off their trunk, stripped them, and lopped inches off one until they were the same length.
Next, he pulled out a neatly folded tarp. When he unfolded the tarp it was bloodstained, five feet long, and shaped like a rectangle with the top and bottom rounded off. Loops of rope ran along each side; he threaded the branches through the loops and tied them off at the bottom.
When he finished, he had a primitive but effective travois. No self-respecting Plains Indian would have come near the thing, but it worked fine for Coy's needs.
He set it aside and field dressed the hogs. He kept their shoulders and legs, the loin, chops, and belly. After cutting a section he wrapped it in plastic wrap, covered that with a piece of cloth, and place it on the travois. He cut and sliced, keeping the hocks, liver, kidneys, and cheek meat. He placed the hearts in a Tupperware container in his pack. They were perfect for cutting up and mixing with the dog's food over the days to come. Every time he dressed a pig in the field, he threw the spareribs and back ribs in the pile of scrap left behind for scavengers. It hurt his stomach and his heart to do so, but the bulky ribs took up so much room on the travois that including them wasn’t an option.
Through it all, Annie sat close and kept a patient but watchful eye on the goings-on. He tossed a steady flow of scraps in her direction. She caught them in the air with a snap of her jaw and stayed alert for the next treat to come her way.
When he finished cutting and wrapping he piled the meat on the travois, raised the branches to his shoulders, and slogged back to the tunnels.
Today the walk back was a long and hard, through mud and wet snow. The trek up the hill left his thighs and calves burning and a gave him a stitch in his side. On the ridge, He paused to rest on the ridge, among the rocks and the dead witch grass. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the cool, clean air. He’d say this much for the end of the world- it improved the air quality. After a month on the road, the stench of fried hydrocarbon became less noticeable; after six months, it was hard to remember the way the dirty air smelled at all. No more car exhaust, no more smokestacks belching out fouled air twenty-four hours a day, no more poultry houses stinking of ammonia or cattle lots stinking of shit.
Clean air, plentiful game, and rivers so full of fish a man barely needed to bait his hook to catch a keeper, Coy thought. If only the country wasn’t full of dead guys that wanted his liver for their supper.
The quiet was another new thing. He'd never noticed how loud the world was, even out in the country. Passing cars, trains rolling over the tracks a half-mile way, planes flying overhead, small engines operating near and far, the buzz of a dozen household appliances. It added up to a steady roar you didn't even notice until they all stopped running and you experienced real quiet.
That quiet is why he heard the rumble of several large engines wound tight and headed toward the underground long before he saw the trucks.
The other side of the ridge banked down in a long, gentle slope. The decline leveled out when it got to Civil War Road, the county road that ran alongside the quarry. Standing on top of the ridgeline, he had a view of the road and the guard shack that rose over the quarry entrance. Coy’s position gave him a view of the road to the south for about a mile and a half, but not near as far to the north. A few hundred yards past the pit, the road north curved to the west and disappeared behind a bluff.
He looked to the south, the same direction the rumble of the engines came from. Civil War Road came into view at the top of a hill and ran alongside the river for a short distance before the waterway meandered to the east; the road continued over a set of railroad tracks, climbed a long hill, and passed in front of the entrance. About thirty seconds passed before they popped over the hill- four Humvees, running fast and in a line.
The sight of four military vehicles driving in formation prickled the hair on Coy’s scalp and their speed gave him a quiver in his stomach. You didn't drive fast in the zombie apocalypse- it wasn't safe. Abandoned cars and creepers wandering the streets weren’t the only problems. Debris littered the roads and highways. Anyone driving over thirty-five miles an hour risked their life and limb. When a stalled out semi-truck might be just over the next hill or an old refrigerator sitting in the middle of the road just around the next bend, drivers made slow and careful their watchwords.
Coy dropped to his belly and scuttled back so just his head peeked over the ridge. He unstrapped his rifle and laid it on the ground next to him. Annie bounded over to him, her eyes filled with joy; why would he get on the ground except to play? He dodged her wet tongue, pointed to the spot near his feet and told her to sit. She sat, wearing her saddest expression.
He watched the big, boxy vehicles roar up the hill, hoping they would race by and continue around the bend. To his consternation, they slowed and turned into the entrance. The lead Humvee stopped twenty yards from the guard tower and the others lined up behind it. Coy picked up his rifle, placed it against his shoulder, and peered through the Remington’s scope to get a better look at the goings-on below.
The lead Humvee’s front passenger door opened. A man stepped out, walked toward the tower, and gave it a friendly wave. Coy sighted his scope on the tower. Four people manned it- two on the ground level and two more on a second level eight feet above the first. An all-wood construction, it had a door that faced the road and large windows on each side of the bottom floor. The guards on duty accessed the top floor via a ladder on the inside. Each wall on the top level bore a pair of porthole windows with a murder hole underneath. In theory, the guards sighted their target through the porthole, stuck their gun barrel through the murder hole, and fired. In reality, they monitored the flow of refugees into the quarry and warned the community about nearby creepers. Will and Jiri designed the entrance tower and the structures like it at each corner of the pit to watch for creepers and other potential trouble, not as a defense against an invading army. If the people manning the tower were operating as trained, the man who exited the Humvee had a rifle pointed at him and a second gun zeroed in on the first Humvee’s driver. That was all they could do- t
he tower just wasn’t constructed for a situation like this.
One of The Originals, Greg something or other, appeared to be in charge. He stepped through the doorway, moving with the caution of someone who knows he’s outgunned.
Coy turned the scope to the stranger. He was dressed like someone in military ops or on a tactical team. He wore a black bullet-resistant vest over a windbreaker and camouflage pants tucked into lace-up work boots. Pouches for supplies adorned his vest and a belt around his waist held an assortment of tools, a flashlight, a pair of batons, and a radio among them. The ball cap on his head didn't conceal his earpiece and microphone.
A conversation ensued. Coy couldn't hear it but he saw their mouths move and read their body language. Greg relaxed as it progressed — his shoulders loosened and he looped his thumbs through his front pockets — before his expression turned to sudden panic. His body jerked and he raised his rifle. Before it was halfway up, a red dot appeared in the center of his forehead and the back of his head blew off.
Coy gasped and jerked the scope's viewfinder to the right. The movement below centered around the second Humvee; the back door hung open and men assumed tactical positions on three of the truck’s corners. A fourth man squatted on a bent knee a few feet away; a metal tube balanced over his shoulder.
Coy’s blood ran cold. "The shitters have an RPG," he muttered. He flicked the rifle’s safety to the off position and centered the scope on the guy with the grenade launcher. Before he pulled the trigger, a flash of bright light surged from the end of the tube. A split second later the guard tower erupted in a fiery blast. The earth shook and fire mixed with bits of lumber rained down on the quarry entrance.
The sudden and unexpected violence was so stunning Coy couldn’t react. He watched numbly as the Humvees raced down the hill and turned toward the bottom.
Eighteen
* * *
Will sat at a table across from the Judge, trying with both hands to his temper. It was right before the evening meal, the normal time for the older man’s daily bitch session about all the things that made him unhappy. Today he had his man Jax in tow, and together they registered complaints about Terrence’s job performance (he wasn't nice enough), Danny's training sessions (they ran too long), and the results of the recent scavenging trips (finding meds should be a priority because supplies in the medicine locker were almost spent).
Will nodded, made sympathetic noises when it seemed appropriate, and tried to keep a concerned look on his face. He was taking one for the team. Better they complain to him then to Terrence or Danny- either of those conversations would go south in a hurry.
He waited for a pause in the Judge’s soliloquy so he could fit in a question about the medicine supply, the only complaint of theirs he found valid, when a loud, hollow boom sounded from above. Confusion clouded the Judge's features; Jax tilted his head and looked up at the tunnel ceiling.
Will stood and double checked his holster. He looked around, counting his people. He accounted for everyone except Coy, Terrence, the Hendrickson sisters, and David. No doubt Terrence could take care of himself, and Coy was on a hunt.
"Does anybody," he said, his voice sharp, "know the whereabouts of David or the Hendrickson girls?"
Before he got an answer, the growl of multiple engines coming down the hill filled the air. The unknown explosion coupled with approaching vehicles set off warning sirens in Will’s head. "Gear up," he ordered. The tunnel came alive with activity as his team grabbed weapons, checked magazines, and pulled on vests and packs. "Jax, hustle down your way and get your people tucked away and safe." To his credit, the man nodded in affirmation and hurried out without asking questions.
Will turned to the Judge. "Jody, you'd best find a place to hunker down."
The Judge paled and sweat popped up on his forehead despite the cool air. "Why? Who’s coming?"
"I have no idea." Will look past him at the quarry bottom. Four Suburbans had bounced down the road and were speeding across the bottom.
"If you don't know who they are, what makes you sure they mean us harm?"
"Experience." Will caught the attention of his team with a whistle. "Stay away from the entrance until we figure what's what."
The Judge removed his glasses and polished them with his shirttail as if he was angry at them. "What if we provoke them by arming everybody?"
Will's temper wore through and he spun to face him. "Jody, all I know is when there’s a mystery explosion and a minute later four big SUVs drive up your front door uninvited it ain’t a good thing." He stepped forward until loomed over the smaller, more timid man. "I’m too busy to debate this with you. Get deeper in the tunnel and stay down and out of the way." He gave him a gentle shove to get him started and turned away. "Everybody," he said in a loud voice, "get away from the entrance." He swung both arms backward for emphasis. "Jiri and Danny with me. Everybody else, stay behind me."
Tires squealed and dust flew as the line of trucks came to an abrupt stop near the bottom’s midpoint. Doors swung open and men jumped out. They all wore military garb and were armed. The men who got out on the driver’s side raced around until the entire contingent had a wall of metal between themselves and the tunnel entrances. Will squinted but couldn’t make out what type of weapons they carried. Semi-automatics, no doubt- AK-47s or AR-15s. Two of the intruders carried guns with the distinctive short and ugly barrel that only came on an Uzi. Some of them rested their rifles over the hoods of the Suburbans; others took up positions around the truck’s front and rear ends. Jax lumbered across the bottom toward his own tunnel. He hugged the bluff wall, his big belly bouncing to lead the way. Will was sure that at any moment a shot would ring out and the fat man would crumple in a pile on the dusty concrete. Jax seemed to have the same idea because he dove the last few yards and rolled into his tunnel.
Will turned to Jiri. "Did you get a count?"
"I got sixteen, but that’s not certain. It’s what I could see."
Why in the world would sixteen start a fight with over a hundred? Will wondered.
"What do you think they want?" Danny asked.
Will answered without taking his eyes off the scene on the quarry floor. "They want what’s ours."
Nothing happened outside. For the time being, the intruders seemed content with not announcing their intentions.
Will finally looked away, turning his attention back to Jiri. "It seems safe to assume that the explosion was the tower blowing up. Who had guard duty today?"
"One of the Judge’s guys, Greg Seitz led this shift. I don't know who else was working, though." Jiri dropped his eyes as if to apologize.
Will clapped him on the back. "What about the other towers? Tell me we have some shooters up there." One of the first things Will had done after the Judge ceded protection of the community was oversee the construction of the guard towers. Besides the one at the entrance they built four others, each erected atop the bluffs that overlooked the quarry.
Jiri pressed his lips together and shook his head. "During the day, we staff the towers with teenagers and older folks that don't possess a lot of other skills. Their function is to watch for creepers; we never considered we might come under attack. We put competent people in the entrance tower, but not in the other four."
Will gave him a resigned nod. "Maybe we'll get lucky and our teenagers are ex-gamers and crack shots."
"I wouldn't count on that for my defense. But it does beg a question…."
"What?"
"Why didn't they take the other towers out?"
Will gazed at him, slack-jawed. He realized his mouth was hanging open and closed it with a snap. "I hadn't thought of that."
"Either whoever’s out there did so much reconnaissance they know the guards in the towers aren't a threat, which is scary, if that’s the case-”
"No. No way they’ve watched us that close long enough to figure that out. We have the towers, patrols, people come and go on all day on scavenging trips. Coy wanders around ou
t there every day. If they were that far up our ass, someone would have noticed them. What else have you got?"
"It could be that whatever they're here for, it’s not to wipe us off the map. Or they haven't noticed them- which is hard to imagine. Or they haven't taken them out yet, but that’s their next move."
Will sighed. "Or it’s something else. It can be anything. I guess we'll find out."
Jiri nodded his head but didn't comment.
Danny took advantage of a break in the conversation. "I wish Terrence was here."
Will shrugged his shoulders. "Terrence is where he needs to be. If this breaks off, he’ll be in the fight."
A high-pitched electronic squeal broke the silence outside. A burst of feedback followed the shrill tone, and a muttered, "God damned thing."
Will stood behind one of the massive support pillars; he peeked around it for a glimpse of the action outside. An invader had climbed up on the running boards of the lead Suburban. An old-fashioned electric police megaphone, the kind you plug into a vehicle’s power point, obscured his face. He pushed a button on the megaphone’s handle and spoke.
* * *
“People in the mine shafts. This location is no longer yours. My people and I are taking over. You have 120 seconds to exit the shafts with your hands empty and above your head. Do so, and you won't join your unfortunate colleagues at your guard tower up top. They didn't comply with my wishes, so they are dead. I give my word- no harm will come to you if you come out peacefully. The important thing for you to understand is that you are no longer welcome here. And in a little over two minutes, you’ll be gone. Whether you leave dead or alive is up to you." He lifted the hand that didn’t hold the megaphone to eye level. "When I start this stopwatch, your two minutes begin. Understand, we're not here to kill women and children- but we will if you force us to. We are armed with automatic weapons, machine guns, and RPGs, and we will use them. Your two minutes starts right… now." He clicked a button on the stopwatch and stepped off the running board.
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