Surviving the Dead (Book 4): Fire In Winter

by James Cook

  Stepping in front of them, I slung my rifle across my shoulders and drew the Beretta Hicks had loaned me. “There’s no need for you to die,” I said, holding the gun at my side. “I want information. If you give it to me-”

  The squawk of a radio interrupted me. “Raven, this is Eagle. Come in, Raven.”

  I looked at Thompson and gestured toward their pile of gear. “Which one of them did you take that radio from?”

  “That one,” he said, pointing at the older man.

  I picked it up and motioned to Hicks. “Cut his hands loose.”

  The man glared up at me, giving me my first good look at his face. Glancing between him and the two boys, I saw they all had the same hazel eyes and shared a similar curvature of face. Lifting my pistol, I pointed it at the head of the kid next to him. “Let me guess. Nephews, maybe?”

  The old man simply stared.

  I thumbed back the hammer on the Beretta and held the radio out to him. “I’m going to count to three.”

  Before I could start, he reached out, took the radio, and pressed the talk button.

  “Eagle, Raven. Go ahead.”

  “Did you find the truck yet?”

  “Yes sir. We found it on Highway 19, just like you said.”

  “I knew it. They’re headed for Brownsville, gotta be. You see any sign of them?”

  I pressed the gun a little harder to the kid’s head, one finger held over my lips.

  “No sir. The wind is blowing pretty hard out here, it must have covered their tracks. Do you want me to send out a patrol?”

  “Negative, Raven. Powell and his men secured Brownsville last night. I’ll have them set up roadblocks and send out riders. You can coordinate with them later. Now how about the truck, is it operable?”

  The old man glanced at me. I shook my head. “Negative, sir. They disabled it before they left.”

  “Figures. All right then, tell Marco to proceed to Brownsville and to be on the lookout for those Union fuckers. Make sure you radio ahead and coordinate your search with Powell’s men. I’ll send someone out to retrieve the equipment in a few days. I don’t think it’s going anywhere. Acknowledge.”

  “Roger, Eagle.”

  “Copy. Eagle out.”

  I glanced around at my impromptu squad and saw the same question on all of their faces. Thompson took the radio back and aimed his rifle at the old man’s head.

  “You can’t fight them all,” he said as he stared at me, one side of his mouth curled in a defiant smirk. “You have no idea what you’re up against.”

  “You let me worry about that.” I reached up to my vest, drew my Ka-bar, and squatted in front of him. The smirk vanished.

  “Now tell me. Who is this Powell guy?”

  FORTY-ONE

  One of us had to ride with the prisoners.

  It was going to be cold and miserable, but mercifully brief. Brownsville wasn’t far away, and with our newfound supply of fuel, we would make it there with plenty to spare. Maybe even enough to take us back to Hollow Rock, assuming we survived to see another day.

  I found a piece of paper in the abandoned house, wrote our names on it, tore it apart, and rolled it into little balls. After a few tosses in his helmet, Cole drew a piece and read it out loud.

  Thompson.

  The big sergeant cursed fluently as he loaded the prisoners on the flatbed and tied them to the large antenna array. The rest of us piled in the front and enjoyed the warmth as we trundled southeast on Highway 19.

  Less than a quarter-mile from the scene of the ambush, we saw the first stumbling figures of the walking dead emerge from the forest. There were only a few at first, but within minutes several large hordes, probably numbering a thousand or more each, populated the surrounding fields. Hicks drove straight through them, only having to run over a dozen or so before we were clear.

  “Those things are going to follow us,” Hicks said, casting a nervous glance at his side view mirror.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find a place to circle around and lead them off,” I replied.

  When we were a little over a mile from Brownsville, I had Cole consult his tablet to find a place for us to await nightfall. He pulled up the most recently updated satellite imagery available and located a large structure ahead of us about a quarter mile off the highway. It was surrounded by a copse of trees, and when the photo was taken, the parking lot was empty.

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. Everyone agreed.

  When we arrived, we found a snow covered, but otherwise none the worse for wear funeral home. Hicks picked the lock while Thompson and Cole helped the prisoners down from the flatbed. Once inside, we conducted a thorough sweep, ensuring we were the building’s only occupants. As we moved from room to room, I marveled at how untouched the place looked. Aside from a thick layer of dust covering every horizontal surface, it looked as if the owner had simply finished a day’s work, locked up, and never returned.

  In a back room, where a mortician had once prepared bodies for their final rest, the tools were neatly laid out, the various machines were clean and ready for their next use, the stainless steel worktable was spotless, and the shelves holding bottles of chemicals were neatly faced and well stocked. We did not find any dead bodies, thankfully, but we did find a bottle of Crown Royal and a Smith and Wesson .357 revolver in the director’s desk.

  “I can’t believe this place hasn’t been picked over,” Thompson said as he searched the cupboards in a small kitchen. “Look at this.”

  He held up two boxes of Dixie Crystals sugar, one opened, one still sealed. “This stuff is like gold. Why do you think no one’s been in here?”

  I shrugged. “I guess even at the end of the world, people still avoid these kinds of places. Must be a psychological thing.”

  “I don’t know about that. Being here doesn’t bother me.”

  “Yeah, but you’re on the run and surrounded by enemies. If you could hunker down somewhere else, would you still pick this place?”

  He thought about it for a second before shaking his head. “No. I wouldn’t.”

  After allowing the prisoners to relieve themselves outside, we freed their hands long enough to eat a meal, then emptied a small, windowless office down to the carpet and ushered them inside.

  “If you want to live,” I told them, “you’ll take a seat and stay the fuck quiet. Do anything stupid, make too much noise, or even look at me in a manner I find displeasing, and I’ll feed you to the walkers. Am I clear?”

  “Can you at least cuff our hands in front of us?” one of the boys asked. “My shoulders are killing me.”

  I stepped further into the room and blasted him with a withering glare. “Let’s get things straight between us, sweetheart. You were sent to kill me, and you would have done so if I had given you half a chance. So don’t expect any fucking sympathy. You’re alive right now because you are useful to me, but you’re only useful so long as you remain cooperative. Being cooperative means keeping your fucking mouth shut until I tell you to speak. Which means if I hear anything else about your inconsequential physical discomforts, your shoulders won’t be the only thing killing you. Got it?”

  He looked down and gave a sullen nod.

  I turned to Sanchez. “Keep an eye on them. I’ll have someone relieve you in an hour. If the radio buzzes, have the old man talk to them. Make sure he doesn’t try anything cute.”

  The Mexican nodded. “No problem.”

  I found Cole in the kitchen heating water over a Sterno stove. A handful of little single-serving MRE coffee packets lay on the counter next to him.

  “Mind if I borrow your tablet?” I asked.

  “Not at all,” he said, handing it to me. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

  “Still working on it.”

  “Cool. You want some coffee?”

  I rubbed my eyes and shook my head to clear it. “More than life itself.”

  *****

  According to the old man we captured, the small bu
t once-prosperous community of Brownsville had, less than twenty-four hours ago, fallen victim to a nighttime assault. The perpetrators of this crime were led by a man known only as Powell, who commanded a force of between twenty-five and forty mercenaries. They called themselves the Crow Hunters, ostensibly because they thought it sounded cool. From the way the old man described them, they were little more than gun-toting thugs.

  Unlike Hollow Rock, Brownsville did not enjoy a high level of federal protection. The town’s population was less than a fifth of Hollow Rock’s, esteeming it as little more than a trading post in the government’s eyes. They were still considered Union citizens and identified themselves as such, but did not have a military presence like some of the larger outposts. If they called for help the Army would have responded—most likely drawing troops from Hollow Rock—but the attack had come so unexpectedly the town never had a chance to muster an organized defense, much less request federal aid.

  The assault on Brownsville had been planned long in advance, with many Blackmire guardsmen involved in the logistics—including the old man zip-tied in the room next to me. Tanner himself had hired the mercenaries, his intention being to annex Brownsville and expand his small trade empire. Because Brownsville was so small, he did not figure the Union would retaliate.

  He figured wrong.

  Thompson came into the room and took a seat across from me. “We have authorization.”

  I nodded. “Good. How about support?”

  He held up empty hands. “All assets are otherwise engaged. That’s what they told me. There’s a big push right now to clear the infected out of Kansas. Central Command wants to send more settlers out there. Colorado Springs is getting overcrowded, and it’s taxing the Army’s resources.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair and lowered my forehead to the table. “Figures.”

  “Listen, Gabe. I heard something else while I was on the radio I think you need to know.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  There was a moment of hesitation, then he said, “The Marine Corps has been disbanded.”

  My head shot up. “What?”

  “They’ve been absorbed into the Army, along with the Air Force. The Marines are now the Army Expeditionary Corps, and the Air Force is once again the Army Air Corps.”

  “You have got to be kidding me. This better not be a joke.”

  He shook his head sadly. “Afraid not.”

  There was a little warm spot on the table when I lowered my head again. “I could give a fuck about the Air Force, but the Marines? What are they thinking?”

  Cole chimed in. “They’re probably thinking they don’t have the resources to manage two armies, and putting everybody under the same umbrella streamlines things. Removes a lot of duplication.”

  I considered that for a minute or two, and had to admit the big gunner had a point. The country as a whole would probably be better off without all the recent dick measuring and infighting occurring between the three branches’ chains of command. But that didn’t mean I had to like it. “It still sucks.”

  I’m not sure which one of them patted me on the shoulder.

  After allowing myself a brief but heartfelt pity party over the demise of my beloved Corps, I sat up and consulted the tablet again. Cole, Thompson, and Hicks joined me at the table and sipped their coffee while I worked.

  “Okay,” I said finally. “There’s too much we don’t know about Brownsville right now. We’ve all been there a few times, but we always slept in the caravan quarter. None of us have been inside the town proper. Right?”

  I looked up to see them all nodding, then leaned over so I could shout through the doorway. “Hey Sancho, you ever been to Brownsville?”

  “Not inside the wall.”

  “That’s what I figured. All right, so the first thing we need to do is recon. We’ll wait until a few hours after nightfall, and then Hicks and I will head out. You down, Hicks?”

  “You know me, man. I’m always up for startin’ trouble.”

  I grinned. The kid was really growing on me. “Excellent. Thompson, I need you, Cole, and the Pride of Hermosillo over there to keep an eye on the prisoners. I know it’s boring, but it’s important. We’re going to need their testimony if we want the feds to start taking these insurgents around here seriously.”

  Thompson leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Testimony? What makes you think they’ll say a word? Even if we can get them brought up on charges, which is a big fucking if by the way, it’ll be our word against theirs. They’ll keep their mouths shut and walk.”

  “Yes, but they don’t know that. And as long as we don’t tell them, that ignorance works in our favor.”

  Thompson considered it for a moment, then one side of his face began to slowly tilt upward. “If you can get Sheriff Elliott to play ball…”

  “I always said you were a smart man, Thompson.”

  He sat back in his chair. “Okay. I guess we’re on prisoner detail tonight.”

  Cole downed the last of his coffee, grimaced, and picked up his SAW. “I’ll go set up a perimeter. Holla if you need me.”

  “We should probably try to get some sleep,” Hicks said. “Gonna be a long night.”

  I stood up and stretched, spine popping alla marcia. “Best idea I’ve heard all day.”

  FORTY-TWO

  Despite the clouds obscuring the moon, the night was illuminating.

  Hicks and I returned just before dawn, the batteries in our NVGs all but spent. The infected had been out in force around Brownsville, making an already tough and dangerous task that much more difficult. My right arm was tired from swinging my falcata, and I had used nearly all of the preloaded rounds for my Sig Mosquito. Hicks and I were both tired, dirty, and more than a little chilled, and I wanted nothing more than to melt some snow, wipe myself down with a cloth, and sleep for ten hours.

  But first, debrief and planning.

  “It looks like they killed most of the men,” I said, after everyone had gathered in the funeral home’s little kitchen. The prisoners were asleep, but I had asked Hicks to watch them anyway. He didn’t need a mission brief, being that half the plan was his idea. “The teenagers and children are still alive,” I continued, “but I think it’s only a matter of time until they’re sold into slavery, along with the women.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Thompson said, face darkening with anger. The others didn’t look any happier.

  I found a piece of paper and had the soldiers gather round while I sketched a map. “Most of the hostages are being held here in this gutted-out garage. We counted three guards on duty, rotating in four-hour shifts. These here,” I pointed at two squares drawn near the western wall. “are bunkhouses. The Crow Hunters are using them as barracks; it’s where most of them sleep. Over here,” I pointed to another square in the middle of town. “Is where they’re holding the town’s leadership hostage and storing their generators and communications equipment. Before we do anything else, we need to secure this building. But we have to do it quietly. If the troops wake up, we’re going to have a hell of a fight on our hands.”

  “So how do you want to handle it?” Thompson asked.

  “We’ll do it in three phases. For the first one, Hicks and I will scale the wall on the western side. I’ll take out the guard in this tower here, and Hicks will proceed to where the women and children are being held. He’ll take out the guards there, and I’ll use Sanchez’s sniper carbine to take out the ones posted on the wall. When that’s done, I’ll radio you three and have Hicks let you in through the western gate. From there, you’ll take up position near the bunkhouses. Be on the lookout for stragglers around town, these guys don’t exactly enforce the strictest discipline. Some of them might still be out drinking.”

  Sanchez’s dark eyes flashed in anticipation as he nodded. “No problem.”

  “Once in position, stand by and wait for orders. Hicks and I will assault the communications building and make contact with what’s l
eft of the town’s leaders. That’s phase two. With any luck, I can take this Powell character alive and … convince him to lure Blackmire and his men to Brownsville.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute,” Cole broke in. “Since when is fighting Blackmire and his people the goal here? I thought we were just saving the hostages?”

  “We are,” I said. “But this Blackmire son of a bitch has a personal vendetta against me, and he’s not going to stop until one of us it dead. All the trouble we’ve been having in Hollow Rock lately—Sean Montford’s murder, the burned bodies in that cabin, the ghoul wranglers, the assassination attempt on Mayor Stone—it all traces back to him. And it’s not going to stop unless we do something about it.”

  He was silent for a long moment, then said. “Yeah, I guess you got a point there. But what’s this personal vendetta? What’s his beef with you?”

  I shook my head. “It’s a long story, and not relevant to the situation. The bottom line is he’s a threat to Union citizens, and Central Command has authorized us to take him out. I’m authorized to render assistance. This is no longer about doing the job Eric paid you for. This is about following orders. Thompson is technically in charge here, but I have more combat experience than all of you combined. You do this my way, and I’ll get you all home alive, provided you don’t do anything stupid. Fair enough?”

  Cole glanced at his fellow soldiers. He got no argument. “Fair enough.”

  “Good. So anyway, while Hicks and I are taking the comms building, I want you three to keep an eye on the barracks. If it looks like they’ve been alerted, hit ‘em with the LAWs, SAW, claymores, grenades, and the goddamn kitchen sink. Show no mercy. Kill every one of them. Can I assume you’re all competent enough to establish your own firing positions without my direction?”

  Thompson nodded grimly. “That we are.”