by Hunt, James
James’s stared down at his Winchester. The weapon was unique in the fact that it was a good balance of power and precision. It could bring down big game, and the high-caliber bullet meant that there was more force thrust behind the weapon, which allowed for more stopping power.
James slowly aimed the rifle away from Jake and toward the wall. Based off of the barrel of the rifle near Jake’s temple, it told James that the gunman was about two feet to the right of Jake, and he aimed the weapon accordingly.
With a bullet already in the chamber, James kept his finger on the trigger and raised the rifle’s stock to his shoulder.
“One!”
Jake shut his eyes.
“Two!”
Jake trembled.
James knew that if he missed, or if he gave the man any chance to try and retaliate, then his son would die. But after everything he’d witnessed from the group and the others, James knew that the man wasn’t bluffing. They didn’t care about who they killed, or why. They were absolute in their mission. He was sure of that. And James wasn’t going to let his son fall victim to their cause.
“Three!”
Jake screamed, but his son’s voice was quickly drowned out by the gunshot that blasted from James’s Winchester, blowing a hole through the wall, and the rope holding Jake dropped.
Jake sprinted toward his father, and James pulled both of them out of the hallway just as the gunmen charged from the office, firing wildly on his escape toward the back door.
Once they were out of harm’s way, James returned to the hallway, but the gunman was already gone.
Before James had time to react, more fighters charged through the front door, and James grabbed hold of Jake, pulling him toward the back door. When they were in the hallway, two more fighters barged through their only exit.
James pulled both himself and Jake into Mel’s office, slamming the door shut behind him as gunfire filled the hallway.
“Get to the back corner!” James reached for the desk, heaving it from the middle of the room and against the door. He then toppled the shelves and cabinets over that to help fortify the loose structure further and then joined his son in the back corner. “Stay behind me.”
James aimed the rifle at the barricade, positioning himself between the door and his son. He glanced up at the ceiling, which was drywall instead of the ceiling tiles like he used in Nolan’s office to escape.
No other windows, the only door to their freedom currently blocked. They were trapped with the worst of humanity coming to kill both of them without mercy or prejudice.
“Dad?” Jake asked, his tone growing more worried the longer he lingered behind his father.
“We’re okay, Jake,” James answered, feigning confidence. “We just have to hold them off.”
Hold them off until what? Until they ran out of bullets? Until they broke through that door and overwhelmed them? James flexed his grip on the rifle.
He still had one of the grenades, but because the office was so small, the moment it blew up, it’d take anything that was inside the office with it. The only chance he’d have would be to provide kill shots for anyone that busted through the door, which would be difficult.
James made sure that he kept his position between the door and his son. They were coming for them. This was it, this was the final stand.
More shouts, and then screams, and then an explosion of gunfire that sounded like hail striking a tin roof. But something was wrong. The gunfire sounded like they were pointed in the wrong direction.
The hail storm ended, and then there were only a handful of sporadic shots spaced out between a few of the gunfire, and then there was silence.
“James?” Luis asked. “You in there?”
James lowered the weapon and then shoved the desk and cabinets aside, opening the door to find both Luis and Zi in the hallway, a string of dead terrorists behind him, both of them wide-eyed and panting. “The plan was to have you take everyone back to the ranch.”
“We weren’t leaving you behind,” Luis said.
Zi stepped forward. “We need to move quick.”
The four of them maneuvered carefully to the back of the buildings. On the way back to the gas station, James set fire to the buildings, the gas igniting quickly. He then double-checked with Mick to make sure everything was loaded and then detonated the explosives, blowing the Humvees and the blockade in the same sweep.
Mick jolted forward, moving through the town quickly as it caught fire, while James, Ken, Luis, Zi, and Jake headed back toward their horses, riding fast, shooting any of the enemy that ran from the burning town.
When they were done, and the glow of the fires behind them were challenged by the first rays of dawn, James was glad to be gone. But he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder at the smoldering town behind him. He hoped that this would be the end, but the hope was marred by the tingling sensation running up his spine.
35
Nothing but smiles and hugs greeted the group upon their triumphant return to the ranch, and everyone was glad to see the pallets of supplies stored in the truck. With the water sourced from the river, they would be set for a very long time.
“We’ll need to unload everything and get it organized,” James said, speaking to the group. “Proper storage will be important to ensure that our supplies don’t spoil. And we’ll want to make sure that we keep our resources spaced out, so in the event that one location is compromised, we’ll still have multiple sites that we can pull from.”
“Boss, we got this,” Luis said. “Go and check on Mary.”
James smiled. “Thanks.” He left Luis in charge as he descended back into the bunker, slipping from the morning sunlight to the darkened subterranean layer that the enemy and circumstances had forced them into.
Nolan was still by Mary’s side, and he smiled when he walked over, answering his question before he even had a chance to ask it. “She’s doing very well.” He looked back to Mary and winked. “Tough broad.”
“Texas doesn’t make ‘em weak, Nolan,” Mary said, managing a smile.
“No, they don’t.” Nolan clapped James on the shoulder as he passed and then ascended the ladder, leaving Mary and James the only two in the bunker.
The door to the bunker closed with a heavy thunk, and James knelt by Mary’s bedside, taking her hand in his own, and then kissed her lips.
When he pulled back, she smiled. “You look terrible.”
James cocked his left eyebrow up and chuckled. “Look who’s talking.”
“I got shot,” Mary said. “What’s your excuse?”
The pair smirked, and Mary sighed.
“Everything go all right?” Mary asked.
James nodded. “We have enough supplies to feed everyone for at least a year. And by then we’ll have crops in the ground, and I’m hoping I can find some livestock that survived the slaughter. And we can still hunt and fish, and—”
“Hey,” Mary said, locking eyes with her husband, who had a tendency to drift whenever he was talking about work. “You did good.”
James relaxed, letting his head hang between his shoulders. He’d only ever been able to be vulnerable around her. To really let his guard down. It was hard work running a ranch, and there wasn’t room for a lack of will and determination.
A hard life typically bred a hard man. And a hard man that continued to harden over time, growing rougher and coarser, well, eventually that man was too rough to even touch, and he ended up hurting the people that he cared about.
“You did what needed to be done,” Mary said. “What about the town?”
James gave her a brief rundown of what transpired, choosing to leave out the part about Jake and the group’s leader.
“Do you really think he’s going to come back?” Mary asked, her voice equal parts of fear and skepticism. Over the past twenty years, the pair had been able to know what the other was thinking without even having to speak the words out loud, and when James didn’t answer, Mary simply no
dded. “Well. We’ll be ready for them if they do.”
James smirked. “Planning on becoming a one-woman wrecking crew, darling?” He added an overly sweet tone to hammer the point home, but she punched his arm.
“You know how good of a shot I am.” Mary pointed at him, and then closed one eye and then shaped her finger and thumb like a weapon. “Besides, I know that you’ll get everyone in shape by the time they regroup.” She reached for his collar and pulled him just short of her lips. “They won’t know what hit them.”
James smiled, glad to see the strength returning to his wife. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it, and just before he brought his lips to hers, the bunker door flung open, a beam of light spreading into the bunker and overtaking the false lighting from the fluorescent bulbs.
“James! Get up here!” Luis said.
The panic in his friend’s voice caused James to grab his rifle as he quickly ascended the ladder, reaching the surface and expecting to find an army marching toward them from the south, tanks rolling, terrorists screaming, an unstoppable force of death.
But when James returned with Luis to the crumbled remains of the farmhouse and the barn where they’d parked the semi, there was no enemy.
Luis dismounted the horse and waved James forward. “C’mon.”
Still confused, James lingered a few seconds before he dismounted and followed Luis to the back of the trailer.
“Luis, what is going on?” James asked.
“You’ll see,” Luis answered.
Half the trailer had been emptied, but one of the crates had been opened, and he saw both Ken and Mick standing on either side of the large crate and staring inside.
Luis climbed in the back, and still sensing no danger, James propped the rifle up against the bumper and climbed inside to see what the commotion was about.
“So we were going through everything like you said, and we found something that wasn’t rations.” Luis gripped the side of the crate and gestured for James to look inside.
James approached the crate warily, unsure of what he would find, but when he finally peeked over the side, the fear was replaced with confusion and more questions. “What is this?”
Luis tossed it over to Mick, who adjusted his grip on the edge of the crate and leaned forward. “It’s a cooling device. I saw them a lot when I did power plant inspections.” He stared at James as he said this, and while James heard him, it took a moment for the words to sink in.
“Is it radioactive?” James asked.
“There’s no plutonium,” Mick answered. “But I can tell it’s been used. Restored, but used.” He pointed to some of the markings inside the concaves of the device.
James frowned, staring at the device. “They have a cooling motor for a nuclear power plant.” He tossed a look to Luis, who nodded at Mick to continue.
“There are some applications that I was trained to look for when inspecting the devices at the plants,” Mick said, his eyes on the device. “They were to make sure that the operations hadn’t been compromised or attempted to be converted to a bomb.”
James rubbed his eyes together, trying to gather his thoughts. “God.” He stared into the back of the trailer and the remaining crates that they hadn’t gone through yet. “And this is the first thing we’ve seen that hasn’t been MREs or other food supplies?”
Everyone nodded. But if James had just stolen a piece of the enemy’s bomb, he was confident that others would come looking for it. The only question was, how many?
36
The ringing in Dillon’s ears didn’t stop for the first few miles of wandering south, and he didn’t look behind him until the sun came up. By then the town was miles away, barely a glint in his eye.
He snarled, clenching his fists. Anger boiled his cheeks red, which would stay permanent after a few hours in the sun.
Dillon had departed the town unprepared, but he knew that was no excuse. The rancher had caught him off guard, and he had no choice but to flee.
Still, even though he had convinced himself of the retreat, he felt a cold sense of dread spreading from the pit of his stomach to the rest of him as he wondered what it would be like when he was forced to speak to his superiors.
Dillon walked, continuing his trek south, finding nothing along his path save for open spaces and the occasional bird that circled overhead. It made him think of the buzzards that had circled the town when the dead had been sprawled out over the streets and left to rot there under the sun because of his orders.
The birds pecked at them immediately, snacking on the bodies all day, and with that imagery in his mind and the birds flying overhead, Dillon quickly looked away from the bird and down at the ground. He wasn’t going to allow himself to become a meal.
Unaware of how much time passed, Dillon slowly disrobed, the day growing hotter. He knew that it would be a full day’s hike to the nearest post, but he had underestimated the Texas heat. He had underestimated quite a few things about Texas.
It was better when the sun went down, but the temperature dropped slightly, and because he’d gone practically the entire day without any water, his lips were parched and cracked and he stopped, collapsing to his knees in the sand and dirt. He landed forward with his palms touching the grit of the cool earth.
His strength left him and he shut his eyes, trying to catch his breath. He should have reached the outpost by now. At least that’s what he thought. His mind was so jumbled and confused that he couldn’t be sure what was right and what was wrong, and his sudden indecision had caused doubt to creep in, doubt he had fought so hard to eradicate.
Had he veered too far east or west? Had he missed it already and would have to retrace his steps? Dillon lifted his head and glanced up at the sky, and he was so absorbed and concerned with trying to figure out where he was that it wasn’t until he heard the click of the safety and felt the muzzle of the rifle against the back of his head that he realized he wasn’t alone.
“My name is Dillon Thompson,” he said, slowly raising his arms by this head. “I’m from post twenty-seven.”
“Up, Gringo.”
The rifle was removed and Dillon stood, spinning around to find the pair of men completely clothed in black, save for the single red stripe that was wrapped around their right bicep. It was the symbol of their cause.
Neither of the men introduced himself, and the pair walked for another ten minutes to the west. It turned out that Dillon had overshot the trajectory, and when he finally saw the outpost, he knew that something was different from his previous visit.
The security had been elevated, but why it was increased, he didn’t know.
The outpost had been an old Mexican border town for traffickers coming into the city. It was off grid and self-sufficient, and there were no roads that led to it, at least none that were paved. Unless you knew where it was that you were looking for, you never would have known it existed. It was where Dillon had been trained. It was the epicenter of their regional coordination attempts to spread across the southwest.
But the last time Dillon was here, they didn’t have this kind of manpower, and he saw people that he’d never seen before. The location had exploded with new folks, and Dillon wondered if they had pushed up the date of their next phase. If they had, Dillon hadn’t been told, and that made him nervous. It wasn’t good when you weren’t told things. It meant that you had lost favor. And to lose favor in an organization like this…
Dillon passed men busy cleaning their weapons, the entire camp in a commotion, buzzing about their duties with a harried attitude, as if they were heading out today.
Eventually Dillon was brought to the center of the village and forced into one of the huts where their lieutenants gathered for briefings. Dillon shielded his face to guard himself against the long reeds that acted as a makeshift door that hung from the entrance. They were scratchy and old, one of them cutting a line across his cheek that stung from the harsh burn he received from his wandering across the southern Texa
s landscape.
Torches on the walls flickered with flames, casting their moving light around the small mud hut. Dillon saw the shadowed faces of the men at the center table, all of whom were in mid-discussion when he walked in, and all of whom fell silent when he set their eyes upon them.
And when Dillon saw their leader amongst the other lieutenants, Dillon’s heart caught in his throat and he immediately dropped to his hands and knees, bowing in humility.
“Khan,” Dillon said.
Silence lingered while Dillon kept to his position on his hands and knees. The longer no one spoke, the more visible Dillon’s trembling became. Finally, hands roughly grabbed his shoulder, picking him up and off the ground and stood him closer to the table, keeping their hands on him so he either wouldn’t run, or he wouldn’t bow again.
Dillon didn’t dare try and make eye contact with Khan in fear that it would be the last thing he would see in this world.
“Why are you here?” Khan asked, his English slightly broken, his voice like gravel being chewed up in a garbage disposal. His voice was deep, and his words always lingered long after he had finished speaking. It was like some illusionist’s trick, a terrible echo that he couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard he tried.
Dillon stared at the tips of his worn and dusty boots, embarrassed that the pair of guards that were holding him could still feel his trembling. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.
“The town was attacked,” Dillon said, his voice wavering despite the effort to keep it still. “We lost our position.” He lifted his gaze just quick enough to see the other lieutenants at the table exchange a few glances, but he still didn’t dare look Khan in the eye. He didn’t have a death wish. “We were overrun—”
“I gave you forty men,” Khan said, keeping his tone even. “Humvees, armor, weapons, all of it to deal with the threat that you said needed to be eradicated. And the last transmission you sent was confirmation of that eradication.”
Because the only light was by firelight, Dillon couldn’t be sure what exactly the stain on the ground was made up of, but from the darkened color, he knew it was probably dried blood. Blood from some idiot who had misspoke, mis-stepped, or done something unforgivable.
